SIR GREGORY'S SILENCE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13844, 2 September 1908, Page 10

SIR GREGORY'S SILENCE.

BY ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT, Author of " The Man Who Was Dead." " By Bight of Sword." etc.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER VIII. PERSECUTION AND A NEW FEAR. " Is Mrs. Chancellor at home?" "Yes. miss." "Ask her if she can conveniently see me for a minute;" and Helen followed the neat maidservant into, the morning-room and waited while the message was taken. She had received a letter that morning from Mrs. Chancellor, cancelling, without any reason, an engagement booked a few days before, and had resolved to < try and find out the cause. It was the sixth engagement- cancelled in the same fashion, and she could not believe that it was mere coincidence. ! When the servant " returned there was amarked difference in her manner. "Mistress is going out, and can't see you; and you are not to call again," she said curtly. Helen crimsoned at the tone. It confirmed her suspicions. "I wish you would tell her that it is of great- importance to me. and that I am sure there is something which I can explain. I will not detain her a moment. "It wouldn't be any good : I was told not to leave you in the room alone," answered the girl. ' | Helen fired at the insult-: but an instant's reflection showed her the unwisdom of taking notice of .it. "Very well," she | said, and left the house. | But she was not going to submit withj out making an effort; and she waited about- close to the nouse until she saw | Mrs. Chancellor come out, and then went up to her. "Please excuse my speaking to you in this way. My name is Paxtoii, and a letter to me* this morning" ." I have nothing to say to you, and I will not speak to you. I "do not. want you to-morrow night. That is all," was the promising ply. "But,l am convinced there is some misunderstanding. Please toil me what reason. yoiCiiave. It means so much to me," persisted Helen earnestly. "It is., the sixth time it jias happened to me, and— "I am not compelled to give any reason, and don't ; wish to be mixed up in anything unpleasant. I cancelled the engagement, as I had a perfect right to do: but if you insist, upon being paid the half-guinea—" And she took out her purse. i "It is not the money. That is the least part of it. . But what you say shows me you must have some strong reason; and I beg you to tell it me." : Mrs. Chancellor locked at .her and hesitated : but- then shook her. head. ' " I will not have anything to do with it. . If you want to know the reason, you can .ask your friend, Dolly Letchmere. And now be good enough to leave me." < "Bat I don't know, anyone of that name," protested Helen. " If you persist in annoying me, I shall call a policeman," declp-red Mrs. Chancellor angrily, as she quickened her pace and left Helen staring after her in blank amazement. _ After a moment's hesitation Helen retraced her steps'to the house. "Hullo, you again. Mistress is out," said . the maid rudely. - "I came to ask you a question. Can yoa tell me anything about a woman named Dolly Letchmere. who" . ;" No, I can't, and if I could I shouldn't. I know your sort;", and with an angry toss of th<» head she shut the door in •Helen's face. , ' Helen returned home in great trouble. The thing was unaccountable. "Did you ever hear such a tiling in your life, Mary?" she exclaimed, when she had told her friend. "I don't believe it," was the reply. " That Chancellor woman's rich, and a rich woman would, tell any lie to get out o( paying people." • " Rut she offered me the money in the street; and it . was clear from her manner that there was something behind, and ■,she didn't want to he mixed up in.it. She said so in fact. But what on earth can it mean? I was never so puzzled in my life before." • "There's a. mistake somewhere, that's all. You're not going to ask me to believe that someone is- taking the trouble to go about behind your back to set people against you? Who's going to do that, I should like to know? Besides, who's to know where you are engaged? It's ridiculous, Helen, to talk like that." " But she gave me the name, Dolly Letchmere, and called her my friend." " She's probably a fool; most of those fat rich women are. Pel-hap-, someone went to the house, and, besides being a fool, she thought it had something to do with you. and got- this, bee in her bonnet. I shouldn't take any more notice of it." " But it's the sixth time it lias happened ; and all 'my typing work has gone as well, or nearly all, and without any reason. It can't all be just chance." " There's lips and .downs with ii« all ; and mostly downs for people like us," was the characteristically gloomy reply. I'll go round to every one of the others this afternoon and try to get to the bottom of it. I sha'n't take this lying down. I can't afford to.-indeed." She. spent the whole afternoon in making the inquiries: but returned home without having found out anything. In every case she had been refused an interview. Not content with this, she wrote to each of the ladies, setting out the facts, and asking why the engagements had been cancelled. ; But no result followed, and her spirit* suffered in consequence. And the following evening Mary Pescott had a surprise for her. "I shouldn't let it worry me, Helen," she said when they were discussing the matter. " You're going to marry Mr. Trevellock, and you can afford to laugh at all this." "Would you laugh if you found your work slipping away in this fashion?" "I should if I was going -to be married; but speaking of work. I think I've got .something at last. It's in the country. Just as well, as you're going away." "You-haven't told me anything about it, dear. I am glad." "I didn't say anything because you were worried, and this wasn't certain;" and she went- on to describe what the position was she had obtained. "I sha'n't have to go

' . . .J = before you're married, I think. You have made up your mind to marry, haven't you?" Helen sighed. "I don't know what to do," she said. . Oh, now, isn't that stupid of me? ■ ex. claimed Mary. This telegram came for you while you were, out, and thinking it . might be important or something I could do for you, I opened it." . / " It's all right," said Helen with a smile. It was from Bulmcr to say that be wascoming to town on the following day, and .must see Helen the first thing. "We know what it means," laughed her friend. " It's a good thing that I got an engagement in time, eh?" ' The thought of seeing her lover brought a look of happiness to Helen's face. " I am almost afraid of making the decision, Mary," she said. • - ! " I shouldn't hesitate if I had the chance ; but. nobody wants a wizened-faced little beast like me.'" "I shall quarrel with you if you call yourself names like that, Mary, .: You're the only friend I have in London," and she bent across and kissed her. " Shall you worry Mr. Trevellock with all this Airs. Chancellor business and the rest ,of it, Helen?" asked Mary after a paute. "I don't know. I shall see. ' I'm very full of it just now; but, as you say, it might 'worry him ; and if I—-if I do decide as lie wishes- it wouldn't- do any good." "He couldn't do anything ;either, could lie,?" -7' . i- : "No. , It seems that no one can do anything." Satisfied wi'-h this answer, Mary Pescott. said no more about it. ' When Buhner came in the morning, Helen saw at. once that he was worried and the cause soon came out. , "I have some news, and for the life of me I don't know whether you'll be glad or sorry to hear it; but I know beastly well that I'm sorry." " ' . Tell me." " I'm afraid you're going to get your own way after all, unless we make up our minds to take a double risk." "That, isn't telling me.much," she laugh* cd. " It's about our marriage, dearie. ' I had a letter from that fellow Burrell, and lie says that he forgot to tell me that one of tho conditions of the appointment was that the man getting it must bo unmarried. He says that the place isn't tit for a decent Englishwoman to go to, and that lie prefers to have a man with no ties of any sort. I think it's a fool of a reason, and the man must be an ass. I haven't answered him yet. I car-e up to see you first, of course. I'm ready enough to take the risk of marrying all the same, if you are; or I'll chuck the whole thing and look for something else." , "You mustn't do that. Buhner, mustn't do either for mv sake. 1 think lam rather relieved to hear it, I was so puzzled what to do." " Hadn't you made up your mind then?" lie asked with a quick glance. "j 1 "Don't ask inconvenient questions, sir," she laughed. "I'm quite content, to wait. And just think what a delightful prospect there will be to look forward to. You'll go out there and do well, and rush things into order for this Mr. Bun-ell;' and then you'll come home and — { He caught her round the waist and drew her to him. "I shall be working for the dearest little woman in the world, who'll be waiting here" " Counting the days till you return," she put in. "and living in such hope At that- point the talk became somewhat inarticulate*, with intervals sue]! as only lovers understand. * When it was over at last, and Helen had laughingly smoothed her hair, Pulpier said : " Are you busy to-day, or can you come on the river?" "1 have nothing at all to do to-day, she declared. "Then we'll do it together," he cried gladly. " Get your hat and a wrap and we'll be off." - . • As she was irettine ready Helen considered whether she should" tell him her troubles; and a remark he made as they were leaving tho house, decided her not to do to. " I didn't expect such luck as this. You're generally so full up with work. But. it's a blessing', too. If I didn't know that-you were doing well here, and would be able to wait for my return in comparative comfort. yvsd j horses wouldn't make me leave you behind, ' Helen." ' , ■< . 4 ' : "I have, not been quite so busy lately, but I soon shall be again." she answered w ; t!i a smile. And she was glad that she had not spoken. Nothing must- be allowed to interfere with his accepting the chance which had offered. ' Their whole future might depend upon that. \The thought held her silent for a while, and he rallied her, asking jokingly what her thoughts were. ' ' ! "Of the lovely day we are going to j have together, Buhner. Perhaps the last | for ever so long," she said ruefully. "But ! I sha'n't let the time seem long." " i "You face the parting more cheerfully than I.can,'- ho replied, with a shake ;Of his head. - "I shall, lix my thoughts on your return, Buhner." They talked first of bis journey; and he told her all he knew of the work lie; would have to do; and late in the afternoon, when they were again speaking of America, she began' to tell him of her own life in the States; her childish recollections of her mother; her years with lier relatives in Massachusetts: and then of .what she had heard from her mother's relations about her father.' "I am afraid he must have'been a very bad man, Bulnierbad, even for,the west of America at that period. His desertion of us was cruel enough, but I'm afraid that, wasn't by any means the worst thing lie ever did.' '" It doesn't trouble . me. Helen and I shouldn't let it worry you." " But it seems almost uncanny to have to think of one's father as bad. You'd feel us- 1 do if you could imagine Sir Gregory anything but the soul of honour. And mv Aunt Deborah used to say that; Powell of the Bl .ck Gulch, as -he was called, was one of the worst men in Montana. But, of course, she was prejudiced, for my dear mothers «ike. And mother was one of the whitest women that ever lived." . ; What name did you say? Powell?" T " I declare I forgot I had never told you that my real name is Powell. v I told Sir Gregory when I was at the Chase, and I asked him to toll you. I suppose he forgot it, and T never thought, to ask you;" and she went on to explain how she had taken her mother's name. ; X "My father, certainly, never told me; but lie was right that it didn't matter.-.-. It isn't your name I care about, sweetheart; it's yourself. Did you over change it legally?" "Not that I know, of. My mother took her family's name to prevent her ever being found by my father. But there was never much fear of that, I should think. Massachusetts is to.> far from Montana toi have made that likely." * ■ "By jovc. I sav, there a singular thing. . My father must have been out in Montana about that time. He was there as a young man, , you know; years before, lie came into the Chase, of course; and his name then was Powell. I wonder if he ever heard anything of your father? I'll' ask him when I get- home! Arc you cold, child?" lie broke off suddenly, seeing her start and shiver. ' ° "No. It's nothing."; she answered in some confusion. "Yet I did .shiver, didn't. I? I—l am always troubled when I think of my father." Then we won't think of him any more I'll pull over into the Sunlight." You are looking quite pale. I'm sure vou are cold ' And you're looking as sad as "if we had to say good-bye now." • - "I'm all right again now," she replied with a smile. - ■ k ' "Hullo, look at,those- idiots in that boatover there. , They'll be in the river in a minute; fooling about in that • rotten fashion. , In this way his attention was distracted from Helen, and the talk turned afterwards into other channels. She was very thoughtful for the rest of the day. She told Bulmer it was because they were to part so soon, and he tried to cheer her up. _ But the remembrance of that scene with Sir Gregory' at the Chase was strong in her thoughts all the evening, and a horrible iear which she dared not put in definite shape even to herself hud been roused by .the afternoon's - conversation..- ' " Can there have been two Gregory Powells in Montana at the same time, both English? If not— the unspoken alternative kept her awake all the long night, • ITo be continued ou Saturday next.)