THE LADY OF ASHLANDS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14004, 9 March 1909, Page 3

THE LADY OF ASHLANDS.

P v E. B. COLLINS,

Author of "A Well-kept Secret." "A Hidden Fortune." etc.. etc. CHAPTER XXXVI. A BE VIOLATION". Quite unsuspicious in his still dazed condition, Hugh followed the old doctor out upon the damp, unpleasant pavement, and in at an open door. An elevator was there, to be sure, though to all appearance no one travelled in it very often. No indication of anyone to run it, either; so, with a low laugh, Balthazar pushed Hugh inside and followed him. "I can manage' it all right," he said. " Don't be annoyed, Mr. Thorn Keith !" he corrected himself quickly. "Mr. Ware and his friends arc waiting patiently, and"

The elevator came to a sudden halt on the fifth floor, and pushing the door open, Balthazar stepped out. upon a dirty landing, where swarms of idle, slouehy-looking people were coming and going. "Let us make haste," he said, with apparent concern. "Really, Mr. Keith, 1 do not fancy your friend's taste in 'sending for you to meet him in such a place as this. Be patient, however; no doubt it is all right, and — He threw open a door as he spoke, and half led, half pushed Hugh inside. "Ware!" called the young man, nervously; "Ware, arc you here?" But even as he spoke the door was slammed to, and he heard the key grate in the lock, and he knew he was a prisoner in that dull, dreary room, which had no windowsonly a skylight overhead — and the only door was fast locked against any possible intruder. An awful horror took possession of Hugh Thornton, and made him for the moment fully realise that he was in some dreadful, some nameless danger. He sank into a chair which stood near—the room was plainly furnished as a sleeping room— covered his face with his hands. ( " I am in a trap," he murmured, and his olden self seemed to suddenly come back; "caught like some harmless creature in a trap— prison. Unit man outside is a fiendan evil creature this is all a plot to hide me away herefor what purpose?" No answer came. Only silence and gloom—the dreary ending of a cheerless, wintry day, as the sun sank slowly in the west, and* the twilight shadows strayed through the skylight overhead and filled the dreary room like dusky spirits. Outside the locked door, with the key in his pocket, old Dr. Balthazar gave vent to a low chuckle of satisfaction. " Done lie exclaimed, grimly; "done at last, after a long time of waiting. Now, Mr. Hugh Thornton, you shall learn a lesson in life that will last you as you live. And you, Madame Althea — he ground his yellow teeth sharply together" you shall live to curse the day in which you dared to oppose old Jerome Balthazar Of course Anton Ware's quest lor the missing man was fruitless. Warren Cunnigham blamed himself*entirely for the occurrence, since Hugh's mental condition was such that he required attendance at present. Cunningham saw that his own eagerness to begin with the details of the Ashland ownership was entirely to blame. He should have waited, especially as Anton had so desired it. He continued to censure himself severely during the search for Hughand a very thorough search they made of it. Everywhere probable they drove in mad haste. The depot, the Grand Hotel, where they succeeded in [ alarming: Brownie and Mrs. Barton with the news of Hughs disappearance. Before they left the hotel Anton managed to say in a low tone to Brownie: " ll—believe I have a slight clue to your—to the mystery connected with-Mr. Keith," he said, gently; "but I cannot hope that it will make you very happy, dear Mrs. Keith. Pardon me for referring to it," he add?d, in alarm at sight of her increased pallor "perhaps I"have made a ! mistake.- I am■ sure I hope it-is a mis- j |take. Only, it is nothing wrOng that he ever didno sin, no fault of Keith's that you • have; not.been reunited. .v Good-bye, 'Mrs. Keith," he added, softly. " I will come back to you in a few days and report." •• v ■ " Good-bye,'' she faltered, and he was gone. - s , "Brownie!" Mrs. Barton's voice sounded very solemn and severe; " I must eay I don't like the way that young man behaves toward you. His eyes are seldom off your faceand you—don't know whether Reginald is living—or dead." "He is not dead," sobbed Brownie, the quick tears filling the beautiful dark eyes; "he is not dead. I arc. certain of it, aunt. and yet"—she stopped short, and for a few moments no sound broke the silence of the room save the tempestuous sobbing of the mourning young wife"if he were living he would surely come home to me," she added, piteouely. Mrs. . Barton nodded her head. "So I say— anybody that ever knew Reginald Keith would be .sure to say!" she exclaimed. "Dear, I think you may as well make up your mind to the truth, and try to reconcile yourself. , Then if our I fears prove wrong the surprise will be the I greater —our happiness complete when Reginald comes back to you.' [ But somehow the wedge was in, and Brownie began to feel from that hour that their fears were only too true—that her husband was dead. In , vain 'she tried to divest herself of the belief. It was there in her heart; and come what may, she could not forget it. Yes, Reginald was dead.- Something within her loyal little heart warned her of the truth—but how and when and where had he died? "I will find out," she declared, stoutly, as she wiped her eyes and strove to be calm. " I will wait a week hero for Mr. Ware to enlighten me. If, at the end of that time, I hear nothing from him, and— and—my worst fears are confirmed"she choked back a rising sob" I will start out with Aunt Barton to try and learn Reginald's fate. I have the address of tlnftftudio here in New York which he occupied while here, and poe>,ibly somebody can give me a clue. 1 car© not how small or frail it is; I must find some trace of himand I will!" A whole week passed, but Anton did not come, and there was no news from him — not even a postal card. Brownie had grown quite thin and pale, and there was a hopeless droop to her red lips, and dark circles beneath her pretty eyes, which to'd their own story of sleepless nights, and davs spent in tears and heart-break. *" I ran . bear no more," announced Brownie on the eighth morning after her interview with Anton. "I shall go to-day to the old studio. You will come with me, Aunt Margaret?" "Is it likely that I wous let you go alone?" asked "Mrs. Barton, reproachfully. So a cab was called and the two ladies drove away in the cold, crisp December morning to the studio where Reginald Keith had been quite well known, and a universal favourite with' his brethren of the brush and palette. But, alas! he was no longer known to most of the artists there, as the studios had been recently taken by arrivals from other cities. Only one man remembered Reginald Keith and his handsome face and winning smile.

" Ye«?, ma'am; I remember Mt. Keith very well," he said in answer to Brownie's agonised inquiry. "He closed up his studio and said that he was going home to England and the little wife there. He used to talk a great deal of her to me, and even told me her name—an odd name ; to be sureßrownie." Brownie Keith burst into tears. The man looked frightened. . "I beg your pardon, ma'am," he eaid, kindly; " but you asked me to tell you—'' " Go on," she cobbed. " Where did he 0 *" The man shook his head. " I don't know. He told me, however, that lie was going to sail on the Belgenland in November. I afterwards verified his words. Reginald Keith did sail on the Belgenland." " He never reached England!" sobbed Brownie. "Oh, Father in heaven! what shall I do?" * Meantime, Anton Ware, accompanied by Warren Cunningham, arrived at Ashlands. Muriel hastened to the drawingroom, .where the two men awaited her.

Pale and trembling was she; her eyes large \ and unnaturally bright; her slight form looking ethereal. And there, (standing like a statue, she listened to Anton's story of all that had taken place, and heard, us in a dream, Warren Cunningham take all the blame tipon himself. - " All my silly pride in my legal knowledge and desire to be the'first to speak of some legal business to Ware," he explained in his own characteristic manner — " somo business which, after all, failed to interest him. I feel like kicking myself, Mrs. Ashleigh, I assure you. I wish now to withdraw from any further connection with your business . affairs and Ash lands, as I feel that I must be getting in my dotage, and am utterly incapable of managing them any. longer." Still Muriel could not speak; she could find no words to say. What was the use in weeping and wailing and mourning over the thing that had occurred? Her first suggestion was eminently practical. "Send for the beet detective in America," she Slid when at last she could find a voice "but, oh, my heaven! how can 1 ever face his mother? It will break her heart! It will break her heart!"

Even as she spoke there was a loud ring at the doorbell. Muriel started, and grew even paler than before, while the look of terror and anguish that flashed into her great, dark eyes was pitiful to see. "Who can that be?" she asked in a trembling voice. " Not more sorrow, more suffering, for me? Ah, truly, I have paid fo- my accession to riches, I have paid a bitter price for my wealth and grandeur! Truly, to be the Lady of Aslilands has brought me all the sorrow and suffering that a human heart can bear! I would that I were a poor girl again, and had the love of the one man on earth whom I have ever loved, and that lie were in full possession of his faculties. I would rather far live among the humble mountaineers here, and work for my living, than to carry this load of sorrow in the midst of luxury. A gilded sorrowa gilded desolation!"

There had been a confused murmur of voices in the hall. It ceased now, and the door of the drawing-room was opened slowly, irresolutely, and the footman who had served at Aslilands for years appeared in the doorway, white to the very lips. " If you please, ma'am —Mrs. Ashleigh," he stammered; "if you please, sir"— turning to Anton Ware, with a troubled look — there's a person here who — He never finished. The " person" had pushed past him and swept over the threshold into the stately drawing-room. Althea!

For just a moment she stood there, facing Muriel, a mocking smile upon her lips —then:

"Muriel Kent— Randolph Ashleigh!" her voice pealed forth like a trumEet call to battle; "you and I are quits, I elieve! I am only half recovered from the wound which Hugh Thornton inflicted upon me, but I followed the Belgenland as closely as possible; and I am here at last! "I have come to tell you, madam, that your reign here is over. You are not the Lady of Ashlande, my dear Mrs. Randolph Ashleigh. in spite of the infamous will of your 'late lamented.' You have no more right here than I! The wheel of fortune has turned once more, and there before you stands the true owner of Ashlands — Anton Ware!"

(To be continued daily.)