A VELVET KNAVE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 14925, 24 February 1912, Page 3 (Supplement)

A VELVET KNAVE.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT,

BY RALPH RODD, Author of " The ' Hand 011 the Strings,™ " Splendid Paupers." "The Crime Club. " The Queeu of the Thames," " A Millionaire's Love Affair," etc., oto.

'COPYKIG2T.\ • CHAPTER XXV. (Continued.) The words brought a quick stab of compunction. Those others had been so full of Lady Fleda's affairs that for the moment they had overlooked the fact that it was Grace Langrishe who deserved their pity. Lady Fleda had suffered, now her hour of triumph had come; there was no possibility of triumph for the woman whoso lite was dedicated to guarding and ministering to a man. broken on the wheel of fate. Lady Fleda was comparatively young and very beautiful, she spoke with easy confidence; Grace Langrishe was old before her time, her face was worn, and. lined, and when, they waited for her to speak she flushed timidly. " Vernon Monckton's public disgrace could do no good, it would only do harm." . , , "Harm, Miss Langrishe, harm: questioned Sir Philip. But Dick knew what she meant quite well, to him she had spoken with simple force when he had gone to her only yesterday. "Yes, because to do anything now would bo to stir up past bitterness, to rekindle animosity. Have you forgotten why I went, to Cranston Square yesterday? It was to find my brother, because the moment I discovered ho had slipped away I knew, knew quite well, where he had —why ho had gone." The pain, in the woman's face deepened, yet she went on steadily. "My brother went with the fixed intention, of killing the man about whom he had never spoken, I believe had never thought, for years until yesterday. No one remembers the Langrislies now— have disappeared from the face of the earth. Norn is, dead. Would it do any good, for the sake of my own pride, to tell strangers that the sister who died so long ago had, after all been legally married to the man who broke her heart and deserted her?" Without waiting for their answer, and there could be but one, Grace Langrishe went on. "Our mother is dead, so she understands all that happened now. There is no one else that matters at all." She spoke without the least bitterness,' yet, gimplo as her words were, they brought homo to those who listened the absolute truth of what she said. Patrick Langrishe would always be a broken man, old before his time; each day he would dig his self-allotted task, to the end he would remain a child—that was unless, by stirring up the turbid waters of the past, they should turn the child into a primeval man, clamouring for the blood of his enemy. "You arc quite right! Yes, I am suro we all see what you mean." Sir Philip's voice was full of sympathy. here is only just this point— does this decision affect your niece, Vernon Monck* ton's daughter?" " Need anyone ever know that Cynara is his daughter'?" she asked. " For all these years ho has never wanted to claim her, never had one generous impulse with regard to her mother; wouldn't it be make-believe sentiment to pretend now that father and daughter need each other?" , . _ , t,, , There was no doubt in Ladv lea as answer, only the lawyer looked a little uncertain: tho best of lawyers are prone to act by specific rule.-?, and 110 matter how unfortunate the fact might be the girl was Vernon Monckton s daughter, and not of age, . "May I tell you about Cynara? Crace Langrishe spoke to them all, yet her eyes turned to Jardine. "I want to tell you why when I discovered that she had been placed at the convent, I was willing to leave her there. I was very poor, because while our income was always small, I had to pay heavy law costs by instalments, costs which crippled me for years. Then when my brother was free I had to find a homo where Tie could live an absolutely secluded life. That again cost what I could ill afford. But truly it was not just the lack of money which made me seem to neglect poor little Cynara. Every moment of my time was taken up by my brother, Meadow Manor was no home "for a young child, it was even worse fitted for a girl who was growing up. 1 was always in communication with the mother superior of the convent, I knew that Cynara was happy, and that she was obtaining a far better education than I could over have hoped to give her, and so I let her stay. And I never regretted I doing so until I learned, to my dismay, that*Vernon Monekton had fetched her away suddenly. I needn't tell you just how I traced her, just'how I found out what bad happened, just how I felt when I learned that Cynara had been married with such amazing rapidity to a man of i Vernon Monckton's choosing, a man Cynara could not have known more than two or three days." They were all of them listening with sympathetic interest, only Dick moved uncomfortably—" a man of Vernon Monckton's choosing.'' " Well, I traced Cynara to Mr. Jardino's flat, and I went there with no very clear idea how I was to induce Mr. Jardine to give up my niece. He' was out. , I found . Cynara alone, alone and unhappy.'-

Dick Jardine turned away and stared otrtj of tho window, yet he saw nothing of the beautiful old garden, with its wealth of simple flowers, he could only sco Cynara " alone and unhappy." " I told her who I was. I assured her that her marriage, since it had not been, made under her own name, was no marriage at all. 1 believe I was wrong." And Grace Langrishe glanced at the lawyer. "The mistake is a very common one," ho murmured, as though anxious not to interrupt her story. " Cynara would scarcely listen to that, nor would she believe that Mr. Jar dine was a friend of Sir Vernon's, still she was ready to go with me, and we left the house before Mr. Jardine's return." Sir Philip Whitlock was a very clever lawyer with a profound knowledge of the world, yet it struck him as a little hard that Jardine's young wife should have left him so readily on the, very . day of the marriage; while Barry found it quit© difficult to restrain his indignation, especially as he saw his friend's look of mortification. Only Lady Fleda nodded her head j understanding]}-; she was a woman, and she knew just why Cynara had been unj happy, seated there alone in the home of - (he man she believed to have befriended her merely from motives of chivalrous compassion. Dick Jardine was not the one to have spoken so early of love, lie would be afraid of frightening Cynara, of even hinting at a possible reward for his j services, yet it was hard that the very silence which proved his worth should have done more than anything else to rob him of the girl he loved. "Fortunately Mr. Jardine's servant quite failed to recognise me when he came down t6 Churston a few days later to bring me certain papers which had come into his late master's possession; since, had he done so, he wo-dd probably have told Mr. Jardine that Miss Palmer, of Meadow Manor, and the woman who had fetched Cynara away were identical. As it was, the night was dark, and the old man was so anxious to get rid of the.papers and of a troublesome task," that I knew there was no danger of him revealing Cynara's hiding place. My great aim throughout wasto be allowed to live unmolested, but I" think I might add that at that time I knew, nothing of Mr. Jardine save what Cynara told me."

Barry drew a deep breath, this was .the ;• nastiest cut of all. ■■■' • > »~ " Cynara is very young, it was that made me place little faith in her enthusiastic gratitude." Barry heaved a sigh of relief, Lady Fleda was smiling, pleased at the admission, yet the cloud on Dick's face , never lifted at all. It was not Cynara's gratitude that ho wanted. " But now that I have so much— very much, to be grateful for to Mr. Jardine ; myself," Grace Langrishe had never talked so much before, yet after, just the first it had not been as difficult 'as she had imagined, because she was very anxious ■•'■< to make all clear now, however, her Old nervousness was coming back. "So much ■;• to thank Mr. Jardine for," she repeated. 1 "For his goodness in saving my brother ;J from the fate I have always dreaded, for ;. his kindness, his chivalry, his—" • Her y< voice broke, Grace Langrishe was ' very ' truly at a loss for words. ■•'■■>•', ; "Yes," he knows, dear Miss Langrishe, ;f really he understands." . The woman's eyes were tear-dimmed as ,; she turned; to Lady Fleda. "You -are all of you very patient with me, but I think that what I wanted to say was that, feeling; as I do about Mr. Jardine, I see now that Cynara was quite right in all she said, and that. I "was quite wrong ,in - mistaking her girlish enthusiasm"— not for worlds would Cynara's ; < aunt have used the word which i flashed into her brain, so she substituted : something quite different." as she got up hurriedly. "And .now, if you don't mind, . I think I must be going. I never leave Pat alone lor long. I am sure I have explained everything'; I know I can leave all in your hands, that whatever you decide on you won't forget Pat." "Well, that just settles .matters,". remarked Barry, as he came back from seeing Miss Langrishe.- off. ;"You've ; got to- arrange things as best you can, Sir Philip, always provided you don't -lose sight of that dear 'saint's wishes. What an old brick it is!." . , * • '.' "Really, Barry,; you ■do - use the-todEf* ridiculous expressions; but anyway, Sir Philip, you see how quite impossible it is for' you <to deal harshly with Vernon Monckton. Wo should all just hate , it, % so you'll have to hush up everything in your own wise way and smooth out all the creases for us. It doesn't sound easy, but then I don't suppose you'd like it if it were." ' .' ; ' ~,,,• ' ' The lawyer. glanced at the clock; time was going on. "Yes, 1 suppose you are right, and I think I see how it can be done. A little diplomacy, a little gossip diverted into the right channels. I shall see Major Monckton at once. He will; of course, have ■ realised that the title and estates pass to Sir Barrymore naturally. Lady Fleda will confess that she made the unfortunate mistake of believing a spiteful story about her husband having ha a a wife living—of course without his know : ledge—at i the time of her own marriage,, and she will confess the simple 'truth, when she points out that, < horrified by | this discovery, she ; preferred to let Major. Monekton succeed as his brothers, heir./ rather than .take advice as to, the tenth of the story. There is no need to say from whom this malicious tale originated it is enough for us that it amply explains everything. To have taken any other stop than the one she did would have been to risk the late- Sir Rupert's reputation and her own son's social standing. As a lawyer I condemn Lady Fleda a.action, as a man of* the world I am" nob at all sure she was not right." :: > - v •;.•"- "I say, you've got that beastly cheque g safe?" Barry r broke i out anxiously. ;"1 mean the one Monekton made out I drew % in the chief's name. If I did write the word Lorchester,' I never know it was to a cheque." . :■*■--; . ... ■ , ~ '■ "My dear Sir Barrymore, you needn t oven think of it again. But ,I, should , liko to take it with mo when I see Monekton, though, of course, if you prefer to have it now, you can. I fancy I have plenty of other means of bringing una to his knees." ,\ Sir Philip was gathering up his papers. It was octd how the same thought occurred to all three listeners. ' Sir Ver> no? Monckton, Baronet," only yesterday was "Monckton" now, while tfougli the lawyer smiled charmingly as,. he Twwed. over Lady Fleda's hand, there was sometW rather hard, rather cruel . in the-, ev dent satisfaction with which.. spoke of humbling the man who had played and Barry looked uncomfortable. _, , "I know he's a beast," ho broke in"lt would bo fearful bunkum to pretend wo love him; still, if you should find him |i very .stony-nasty jar, don't you know, | losing everything in. a day-well, the, estate must mako him an allowance. "I understand, I understand perfectly, J though I may say that Mr. Jardine has y. said something of the same sort tin* morning. You need anticipate no trouble, Monekton is the most reasonable mail ' when driven into a corner." Then' tho speaker smiled. Really, you know, he does have tho most extraordinary, luck. Good-bye, Lady Fleda, thank ■ you for a | charming glimpse of • the country. -U. Sir Barrymore, you ; shall 'have 'a '■ , detailed ac-< count* of the interview as soon as possible. Good-bye, Mr. Jardine; are you' not sighing for the comparative innocence of your wild prairies?" ! ' Still smiling blandly, Sir Philip left the room, crossed the hall, arid entered the waiting broughan. And all the time bis thoughts were full of Vernon Monckton. , .., ''" ; ;'.. ■„"■,

" Luck, my friend What luck'." he\< murmured, as he felt for his cigar case. ; "A title and a fine estate for some 20 '; years, without'the slightest right to either . : ; of them. Another man punished in your place for embezzlement. " Enough ' *M|||| to ruin half a dozen criminals! And now that you have reached the end of. your tether and ought : by rights to be „ preparing for your final, scene in . to© central Criminal Courts,/you : ; am *£%*** «J down gently, to bo t P*gSf| <■ bitter tongue of society, to be f necessary, an adequate pension. I*cJc n th ßut V thenTe ! lawy«P never knew, probablv Sd Aver even have believed, Sailed *t have fortune all r tbat Ivlt would have Bartered it all * Z oi word of iove from the *onu,n •/:; Fate had driven him to. wake his enemy, • jo bo concluded 'ott Saturday nest,) ' ■■'•'.'■"■■' : "• ;■ ■'" ' ,*' \ W j "■ . ' ' '■■' " '•' > s v, '', 'i , 'V*'l