THE LONELY BRIDE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13814, 29 July 1908, Page 10

THE LONELY BRIDE.

: PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL AKRANGEMENT.

; BY FRED. M. WHITE, r ' Author of "The Corner House." "The Car- . dinal Moth," " The Weight of the Crown," Etc.

CHAPTER XXXI. §sJii' ; THE UNEXPECTED GUEST. Lett to - herself, Grace's first thoughts were for her father. Cattley 's revelations as to the extraordinary state of affairs which: had been brought about by the unexpected conduct of James Holder had somewhat softened Grace so far as the author of her being was concerned. Naturally she had imagined that her father had been speculating wildly with v,.e money entrusted to him by his clients, anu that he had made an attempt to shield one crime with a still greater crime of forcing her into an, alliance with Stephen Rice. . ...

It was good, at any rate, to know that this was not the case, and that Anstey had suffered, like many a better man before him,, from over-confidence in others. If what Cattley said was correct, then James Holder was no better than a cunning swindler, who had grossly betrayed the trust reposed in him, and had led a life of sheer hyprocrisy. But, as Cattley had pointed out, James Holder was not entirely responsible for his own actions. He had developed a mania which no one guessed for a moment. He had always been a quiet, reserved typo of man, given to study and booklore generally, , and no one had guessed ' that he had within him the makings of —a dangerous lunatic. On the whole Anstey had not been as much to blame as appeared on tho face of matters. larace went slowiy up the stairs in the direction/of her father's room. He was sleeping peacefully; there was an utter absence of that restlessness which up to now had marked the course of his illness. The nurse greeted Grace with a smile. "We are doing very well indeed,' : she said. " A little time ago your father seemed to recover consciousness for a mi- • nute, and asked one or two intelligent questions. The doctor reports of him very well indeed. You look a great deal moire in need of nursing than many patients I have had lately." '"I am very tired," Grace admitted, "and I have been through a very trying time lately." "I have heard all about it," the nurse 'replied; " I am very, very sorry it seems to me such a hard thing to have jy all this trouble through no fault of your r ' own. I don't wish to seem impertinent, : but I hope that it is true —I mean what I r. heard just now." Grace smiled wearily. She felt it almost beneath her dignity to go into ex planations, but she gave the nurse a short 1 account of the dramatic happenings of : -the morning. '"-.. " How foolish people are!" the nurse said. "Just as' if anybody could suppose for a moment that you had anything to uo with that dreadful business. Was anythin" discovered as to the bottle of strych- ;.' nine? I hope you won't iniad me asking I '"'. these questions, but I am generally interested in your welfare/* '. L ■ ; : "It is very gooo 'f -ou." Gra e said gratefully. 'I seem " .'-.ve more friends ; than I imagined. I will ;,o aw« 7 now and r have some luncheon and tr; - and sleep for an *: hour or two afterwards.- lam afraid I j : am not considering you as inuih as I I.; should—you have not bee.i out of the house for two days." ; ;:., "Oh, please do hot consider me," the nnrse cried. "In the circumstances I | > have put myself in the background, but' 2 .1 should be exceedingly grateful if you p could see your way to take my place or a, couple of hours or so this evening, as I want to go into Leverton. I have a '■■:;■ married sister there whose only child is ill, and! I am very anxious about the little _ r ..gkk" :,;,„■. ".. :.,v. -->,-v//; \y y± \ r : o--:. "There ie no escaping from trouble in this world," Grace said. " I will gladly -.take your place to-night, aud please do not hurry back on my account, You had - better take the carriage t» that you will, not have to troubi? about a train."

..." The ■•■■. nurse murmured / f her grateful '". thanks, and Grace went off to the dining- }-- room. ~\ For the first time- during three ■ weeks 'the sight of food did not "fill her • with nausea. > She was conscious now of ~■%: fine, healthy appetite, and did thor-v*-*«ueb. justice to the meal which had been bill out for her. A feeling of lightness / of heart and elasticity of spirit to which • she had been a stranger ,-. for some time •;" possessed her. And. 'indeed, it : seemed to her, she had cause for congratulation. In the course of a few hours most of the dark clouds had rolled'away, and she .;'■■■ could see the sunshine of hope in the distance. VNot. so long ago she had looked . forward with dread to a long'life of abject misery, tied to a man that she hated M and despised, and moving in fear of her '-, very existence. Not so long ago the other disgrace' had loomed large— dreadful ;, knowledge that her father might stand' .-"■ at any time as a felon in the eyes of his if; fellow-men. And yet, as if by magic, . these two dreadful terrors had vanished, never to appear Though Grace Ihad been greatly shocked by the appalling suddenness of Stephen Rice's death, it would have been iheer hypocrisy on her g part to profess the slightest sorrow; On &•'.", the contrary, Grace could not but regard | it as a direct interposition of Providence to j|H guard her from further misery. Now she could see the outline of 4 a happy future I before her, without outraging the proving Max Graham's wife at no very disri-; pneties, she coaid look forward to becom--0 tant date; she fold herself that not one % ;penny of Stephen Rice's money should ;; ever pass through her hands. ! ;> ■'Grace was not unconscious, too, of the • goodwill of those about her. Naturally, the servants said nothing, but Grace could judge fcy their manner that they were all ■. on her side. She cried a little softly to r herself as her head sought the pillow,* and ? . five minutes later she was fast asleep. t When she woke again she could hear the P clock striking seven,' and then she knew |: that she had had nearly five hours of sound V slumber. ' The sun was setting on the §■ ■"_ front of the house, the whole place was bathed with: a glorious yellow light that ; seemed to find its way to the remotest corners of Grace's heart. Shi felt a different girl now; once more life was plea- .,, sant and worth the living. It was nearly • eight o'clock before Grace appeared again I: in her father's bedroom. The nurse smiled at her it was good to notice the change in Grace's appearance. "I should hardly have known you," she r ; •aid. "I hope you have had a good sleep pl and feel all the better for it?" "I feel as if something had- changed mc {entirely," Grace said, " but I am not going to keep you talking here, knowing that • your heart is in Leverton all the time. I have arranged for the carriage to . drive you into Leverton and bring you back, so there is no cause for hurry. What am Ito do if the patient awakes?'' : ■ " You are to be very firm," the nurse explained. "I have written out a few sim- ~ ple directions on my tablets, and if you follow these carefully you will be on the safe side, only you are not to allow your father to talk." The nurse went off presently and left ,_.Grace alone in the sick chamber. The girl f" felt now that she was able to concentrate ■ her attention on a book, and the next hour 1 or two passed away rapidly. Indeed it |E"- was nearly eleven o'clock before Grace rea- /• lised the fact. A servant looked in preg • sently, and desired to know if anything I; more was wanted before the household 11 went to bed.

m "Nothing, thank you," Grace replied. i "Plpp.se; do not fasten the front door, as the nurse has not yet returned. I don't I . think there is anything else." \ . Gradually the house elapsed into silence, ; . the hands of the clock crept along, until | %y. the hour of twelve struck, and as yet the f 'nurse, had not returned.,., Grace felt no ; alarm, she had been liberal in her ideas •■ as to the time the nurse might take, in- '-■*' deed her absence made very. little differ-1 ence. The clock had - barely .finished IP Sine the hour before the patient turn- " fd uneasily m his sleep and opened his 14 eyes Grace was bending over the bed, in If.- ' '» moment.;. <" . „„„+» sMp whis. "Is there anything you want, she wins- , pered. / \'« '~ '

Iu a ■ feeble voice Mark' Anstey intimated that he would likij something to drink. Grace had got the nurse's instructions almost by heart, so that she knew exactly what to do. Anstey swallowed the patent food which the doctor had prescribed for him, then he asked Grace how long he had been lying there. -u ■» "You are looking very well, "my child,' he whispered. "I am*very well," Grace said. "Everything will bo very well before ; long. Your nurse has gone to Leverton on business, and she has not vet returned. She particularly told me that you are not to speak, so I shall tell you no more." "Have they caught him?" Anstey asked. "He flew at" me with an axe and struck me on the head." ,

"Who did?"' Grace asked. She had forgotten the nurse's precautions for a moment. "Who struck you?"

"I don't know," Anstey said vaguely. ! '* Perhaps I shall recollect in the morning. i I feel too terribly tired and sleepy to be j able 1.0 use my brains at all. The sufferer's eyes closed, and he lapsed into slumber again. Grace was thankful that her task was made so easy. She was glad also that her father would probably be in a position later on to speak, definitely as to the identity of the man who had so grievously assailed him. Grace was still puzzling over the matter when it seemed to her that she could hear the front door open and somebody stealthily creeping across the hall. Vaguely alarmed, Grace went on the landing, and looked over the banisters. This could not possibly be the nurse, she thought, for there was no occasion for her to creep into the house like that, besides, if it had been the nurse Grace Mould have heard tho sound of wheels.

She was feeling brave and strong tonight, so that she did not hesitate as to what to do. She went quickly down the stairs and looked into the dining-room and library. The lights had not been turned out. there was no chance of anybody .concealing himself, and it seemed to Grace that she saw a shadow fl it across the draw-ing-room. ) She entered boldly and demanded to know who was there. Then her suspicions became a certainty, for a figure stood un by the side of an- old fashioned bureau where Mark Anstey kept a number of private papers, and confronted the girl. To her amazement, Grace saw that she was face to face with James Holder, v. • .' ■

" What?" she cried. " Have you escaped again?" "It is no question of escape miss." Holder said. He spoke in his usual smooth and respectful way, but there was a restless gleam in his eyes that Grace did not like. She saw to her horror that he had a long clasp-knife in his hand. "Why are you not still in the hospital?" she managed 'to say. "Cured," Holder chuckled. Discharged this afternoon. But you go away, miss, and leave me to do my own business in my own way. But for me Mark Anstey would have mined the bank. I put him out of the way ; I prevented that, and now we are going to be richrich beyond the dreams of avarice."

The* speaker's voice rose so high that Grace was fearful lest they should disturb the patient upstairs. Holder might have been discharged from the hospital cured so far as bodily hurt was concerned, but Grace had a shrewd idea that she was face to face with a dangerous lunatic. There was nothing for it but to humour him. "What do you want?" she asked. "Is there any way in which I can help you? You have oaly to say the word, and—" " Oh, no," Holder muttered. "I don't trust anybody. All my life I have never trusted anybody. I want those papers. You must get me the key." Grace was about to make some suitable reply when her strained ears caught the sound of flying footsteps outside, and a moment later the frfcafc. door was flung open and somebody rushed with an incoherent cry into the, hall. Startled, and angry. Holder looked at Grace as if he suspected her of some plot against his freedom. With a snarl he darted .across the room in the direction of the windows, and. flinging the catch of one back, plunged headlong into the darkness. With, a feeling that she had had a narrow escape Grace hurried into the hall. • ";;*

A figure rose from the floor, a black figure with a face white as death, and clutched Grace appealingly about the knees. "Save me," she whispered. "Don't let them catch me here." '

" Why," Grace exclaimed, " why, it is Bessie Fenton.

CHAPTER XXXH. '-■•'•..- \ STRUCK DOWN. >

Suddenly mindful of her duty towards her father," and the danger of arousing him at this critical moment, Grace led her in? voluntary guest into the dining-room. At the same moment she heard.the noise of wheels outside, and gratefully recognised the fact that the nurse was returning. Bidding Bessie stay where she was for a moment, she Welcomed the nurse, whose placid features showed that she had heard no ill news in ljcverton.

" I am glad the child is better," Grace said, "if I may judge from your face. My father has only been awake for a few moments, and I have followed your instructions to the letter. I have a fiiend here to see me—a friend who is in a deal of trouble, but if you want me I shall be in the dining-room." " I am sure I shall not want you again tonight," the nurse replied. "If Ido I will come down." \

Grace felt, now that she could concentrate all her attention upon Bessie Fenton. She found the girl lying at length on a couch, utterly prostrated, and evidently in the early stages of some dangerous illness. Grace's heart went out to the girl; she could not forget that Bessie Fenton had done her a great service voluntarily, and at the same time she had every reason to hate the one whom she had assisted. Bessie opened her eyes as ©race came in. "I do not know what to do," she murmured. "You are good and kind, and I came to you. Don't let them touch me." Grace had too mush tact to ask who they were. She could see that not only was the girl really ill, but that she was suffering from some great mental strain. ' " You are perfectly safe here," she said soothingly. " You seem to be utterly exhausted. Shall I get you some food, or perhaps you prefer a glass of wine instead?"

Bessie turned away with a shudder. Grace knew what she meant. She had been through that phase herself too recently not to understand. She waited for Bessie to speak, "No, no," she said. " I could not touch food have not touched it for days. And if I had so much as a sip of wine now it would intoxicate me, ana then perhaps I should lose my head, and tell the dreadful truth. Do you know what it is to have something on your mind—something that you would give years of your life to forget? Do you understand that feeling?" " Yes, indeed, I do," Grace responded. "I have been so recently through it myself. I would not have believed that it was possible for anybody to go through what I have undergone and keep their reason. But you may speak plainly to me." "I had forgotten, I had forgotten," Bessie said wearily. What will not women endure at the hands of a scoundrel when they dive their foolish hearts to him. Stephen Rice would have ruined your life, as he would have ruined mine. But then, you hated and despised him, while -with alibis faults I cared for him still." "He is at the bottom of your trouble too?" Grace asked. '

' Oh, yes, yes, if I dared only tell you everything. But lam so wicked find you are so pure-hearted that I dare not tell you. There was one moment when I hesitated as to whether I should kill you or him. My words may seem wild to you, but I swear to you that I am telling you no more than the truth. It was to be one of you, I hardly oared which. _ You cannot conceive what a bringing up mine has been; if you could, you would understand my feelings. But i fought with myself, and to a certain extent I conquered. "Why should I injure you, who was but the victim of a scoundrel's conspiracy? I reasoned with myself that, even if you were out of the way, Stephen would never have married me. And now he is dead, and I am all alone in the world, with not a soul to care for me." The girl raised her voice in a passionate protest; she staggered tip and down the room as if her spirit was too strong for her body. Grace could:;not fail to note how deadly pale she was, and how that gripping illness was gaining the mastery overv mo- , ment. . ■■ J ,

" You are wearing yourself out," she said. "I cannot allow you to go on any longer like this. Where do you propose to sleep to-night? You cannot get to Leverton." Bessie threw her amis wildly over her head. "What does it matter?" she cried. " Scores of times I have slept out of doors. This is a warm night, and I have all the world before me. Besides, the further I sleep away from listening ears the better. I mav dream, and in my broken slumber tell the whole dreadful story. Ah, I must not sleep; I must—" The girl broke off and passed her hand across her eyes as if trying to rub out some dreadful vision. A lightning flash seemed to scarify Grace's brain and impress upon it the image of a frightful thought ; then Grace put the idea away as shameful and unworthy. Her first consideration now must be' for her visitor.

"You are going" to stay here to-night," she said. "You are going to occupy my own bedroom, and you are going to see a doctor the first thing in the morning. The sooner you are in bed the better." <

"No, no," Bessie cried. "I must not stop—l tell you I dare not. For days I have been trying to forget. I have tried to lose myself 1 in work, I have been amongst the slums of Leverton nursing tho very poor there. But it was no use. I could not get away from the hideous shadow. Then I went over to Stephen's house tonight and they nearly caught me. My last resource was to see you— know that you are- good and kind. Ah, there, they are.""

The speaker's voice dropped to a frightened whisper; she clung to Grace in terror as someone rang tho bell. Grace could hear the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside. Very gently she put Bessie Fenton on one side.

" Stay 'here till I come back," she commanded. " 1 promise that no one shall hurt you as long as you are under this roof."

Grace opened the door to find Cattley standing outside. There was another figure in tho shadow, and she asked who it was. "Mr. Mbx Graham," Cattley explained shortly. "He would not come in; in fact, I need not tell you his reasons. I want to know if you have had a visitor this evening. Has Bessie Fenton been here? Is she in tho house now?"

Thus put to it, Grace had no alternative but to tell the truth.

The girl is here," she explained. "She came a little while ago, bursting into the house full of a terror akin to madness. The door happened to be open, for the nurse had not returned, and I was downstairs when she came. lam quite sure that Bessie is suffering from some terrible mental strain, and I am equally sure that she is on the verge of some serious illness. lam going to keep her here to-night; in fact, she is. going to share my bedroom. Is it true that you had an encounter with her outside Stephen Rice's house?" "True enough," Cattley said, coolly. " But for a misfortune I should have been in a position by this time to tell you how Stephen Bice came by his death. If my foot had not slipped at a critical moment I could tell you now." " What has Bessie Fenton got to do with it?" Grace asked.

" That we will go into later on," Cattley said. "I had an idea by the direction she took that Bessie was making for this house —to tell you the truth I was rather afraid she had it in her mind to do you a mischief. Still, if you are in the least*alarmed—" "I am not alarmed at all," Grace said. "You may rest assured of one tiring, Bessie Fenton will do me no mischief. She came here this evening regarding me in the light of the only friend she has in the world. Does that satisfy you?" Cattley signified that 'it did. On the whole, it suited him that Bessie should remain where she was for the present, and he announced his intention of seeing her in the morning. . "It is very.shameful to disturb vou like this, he said, "but, believe me, I am doing everything for the best. You must be very tired, pwl I will not keep you env longer. J

"I am not in the least tired," Grace explained. " I had five solid hours' sleep this afternoon, and I am readv to listen to anything you have to say. "I might as well tell you whilst I think of it tliat I had two visitors tins evening, and of the two I regard the first as infinitely the most dangerous. , * ■

"James Holder, for a hundred." Cattley cried. "I heard it said that they were sending bin away from the hospital this afternoon practically cured so far as his bodily condition was concerned. I warned the doctor that he was suffering from hallucinations, but my warning seems to have done no good. What was the man after "Papers, so-far as I could gather," Grace explained. "Ho was trying to open the old Dutch bureau in the drawingroom with a clasp-knife, in search of some documents belonging to my father. The man is clearly mad, Mr. Cattley. He babbled about great fortunes, and all that kind of thine. There was a gleam in his eve and a look which I did not like at an." It was only when Bessie Penton rushed in here that he took ahum and vanished." Cattley was visibly disturbed. He muttered something to himself that Grace could not catch.

"This must be seen to in the morning," he said. "That man is more dangerous than people imagine. It seems hard to picture poor old Holder in the light of a dangerous lunatic, but such 1 regard him as being. And now that I am not going to keep you here any longer, I shall come round to see you in the morning." Grace woufd have liked to say a few words to Max. She liked it none" the less because he remained in the background but she refrained, and returned to the diningroom, where Bessie Fenton was lying utterly worn out on the sofa. It was with considerable difficulty that Grace got the girl upstairs and into bed. She seemed to want nothing now but sleen. She murmured her thanks incoherently, then for a long time she was silent. An hour or so passed before Grace felt. inclined for bed herself. She could see that Bessie was asleep now— deep sleep of utter exhaustion— her breath was painfully short. She looked like a white statue reclining there, so white and cold, and yet when Grace laid her hand upon the head of her strange companion the touch seemed to bum her fingers like contact with a living coal.

A doctor must see her first thing in the morning," Grace murmured. "I am quite sure that she is going to have a dangerous illness. Perhaps I had better sit up." - A little later, however, the sufferer's head seemed to grow cooler, and Grace crept into bed. The sun was fairly high before Grace returned to consciousness and the knowledge that Helen was in the room. She lost no time in explaining what had happened, »h« cou'd see now in the broad light of day that Bessie was still worse than she had been the night before. She turned to Helen and bade her go off at once and telephone the family doctor without delay, oessie lay there muttering in her uneasy sleep, but Grace could not rouse her, try as she would. She felt terribly anxious and uneasy she began to wonder if the doctor was never coming. He came at length, and Grace explained the situation of affairs to him. Ho bent over the patient and examined her carefully ; there was a look of dismay on his face as he turned to Grace.

" Do you mean to tell mo that you actually occupied the same room with this woman last night?" he said. "She shared your bed with you, and you never noticed anything .seriously wrong?" Well, I thought she was ill, of course," Grace said. "Not that I am in the least concerned for myself—l am no coward where illness is concerned. Pray tell me what it is."

"I know you are no coward," the doctor responded. "I am very sorry to tell you that tins poor creature is suffering from typhoid, and, what is more, she has it in a malignant' form. (To be continued daily.)