A PRIOR CLAIM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15504, 10 January 1914, Page 3 (Supplement)

A PRIOR CLAIM.

BY KOGAK PICKERING, Author n( "The Vanishing of Cornelius nrarc " " Righted »l Last." " Janet ,U." " Nada. ' "At the Eleventh Hour." etc.

COPYRIGHT. <'HAPTEN X. With unernng steps Marie led the way ~, a dist4.ni pint «>t the palace, where t,bov came to •'> doorway so overgrown as w bo alni. sl hidden trow sight, and parting the ' 1: in In ii l: l.';nrs tli.-v emerged from L ; lft builiiiiu' Ihe forest lay a cousidci aJjl« diftaii" 1 away. aiM to reach it the • l;lW rd'v:H walk fT«!» the open * pacts must h«. till'":- If l)c\errw\ and his companion «er>- ..eer:, and '" r all they knew some vatcher "".is ,ut loiied to give the alarm ,|irecliy tin- li i|'|h>ii.«l, their escape would j i( , prevei'i' 'i • Hi'' 1'" turned to Marie, i.„ | tl ,i J,,.- ii'if ml a word during their luirritxi lluht. ■V ia kn< '•* vv (.it. will happen if Lopez ~,,M m gvtii-; Hi®" tlio clearing''" ho sud. . „ "1 here i* ii > 'ithrr way of esca.,*. Do

u ii fear »•• (,'■•■■' "1 bi an -i:d I'"' you. 1 have no fear of the r.-K. an-.! '•' 1 "' idiot I shouldn't refKl it inn l : < " ul '-hero is uo need for jou to c :Lt " Hanger. ' "D" }•■'■•» ii ■ mi: that 1 should remain tier"?" 1 (.ere »'** ' lr ' inti>:.a'-ion almost of scorn in her questti>ii. .aid with it an accent of pa,,,, al.ii.li I >••>■. reux understood. His :n» '-'d a parting between his wife and h.mvli—J parting which would be for cw-r. ,n,d the thought of it had l„,, iU ■■ i •'' ~ "' agony U-> her heart. She wns traiugrii I.: lh« strict rule of tho order, l/'it I'M »as no thought of that; univ tlie >■' ■•w.-.ige "' her happiness in doing oiM- a*.*)], with her husband. ])i'vrreu\ /a • e her a quick look, unablo to replv lo !t, ' (juration. It would mean ecvct w ing her again. Did he regret their having met ' He could not answer tmusoif. but * sudden comprehension of ner courage *..d constancy cams and slrnncd him. She was prepared to risk her life i" leading him to safety, and | something fpr; closely akin to loving her | iim tin", finn',.' him. She was gloriously beautiful, (i',an.'<i! by the rigour of her (iiuveiit lift- !r< m the wild, untamed girl bo Ijad married into a self-possessed woman whom any man might have been I roild to win And she was united to him by a holy ii": he had vowed to love and < hcrish her. and all his manhood rose •into condemn him for the transient thought, of lemiug her. "U'e /hal l be safe if we can reach the trees, *1e said, >|uietlv. "It may be that Lonei will not discover us.' Devereux hesitated no longer, and side bv side they mapped out into the glowing ■.unlisht. walk quickly across the soft, thick grass, neither looking backward. "You will seek safety yourself if we are low in] . Promise me that.," ho said, presently. Are you armed?" •"They were careful to see to that when

I v,as caught hi the Casa.' he answered with a laugh. 'They are welcome to the inonev 1 had on me, but I should be much obliged if they hadn't taken my revolver, and hunting knife. iiiey left me my hands, and I may have a chance to use them, even if it's only to have the satisfaction of quieting my friend Ygnacio." Marie did not .loin in the laugh, but, taking a small dagger from beneath her black robe, she handed it to him, and ho looked at ii grimly. The weapon was scarcely more than a toy, and would bo very little use in % struggle. "I'm afraid I couldn't do much with this." he said. "I would rather trust to n\v fists.''

"Cannot you understand?" and Mario spoke with a vehemence 6he had not displa\ ■"d before, and it brought vividly to his mind the recollection of a scene which had happened between them once at the Casa Pueblo, when Marie had been aroused to anger. "Do you think such a little weapon would nerve you ? It is for me, if v.e are seen and overtaken—that, you will save me before they kill you. Let me die first. 1 could not live when you were gone. Strike here—'' And she put her hand on her breast.

Devereux bowed his head silently, having no words to give a promise impossible of fulfilment, and they went on, neither speaking again. The forest was almost reached now, and no sign had been given that they were in danger. Another hundred yards and t.ie danger would bo passed lor a time at least—then the first of the tre»fl had sheltered them, and Marie stopped, her far« reliant with relief.

"Have you any idea of the way to Vera Cruz?" asked Devereux. steeling himself against any show of sentiment. "The town cannot be many miles away, and until I get there nothing can ho done. I'd not coins to make trouble about Pedro Lopez and the others. I know Mexico too well to expect the authorities would help me, hat I have a particular wish to see Porfirio Loreto before I go away." "You will go? Where?" And Marie steadied her voice, fearing he might detect the sharp pain his words had caused her. "I cannot say. I have no plans, but Tvc so wish to remain in Vera Cruz."

"Where did you go after leaving the Casa?"

"1 went back to England. I was almost a stranger there. Old friends had forgotten my existence." "Yi as it for that you came once more In Mexico?"

"I hud reasons," answered Devereux, curtly, and Marie, divining that her curioritv annoyed him. held her peace.

At though the winding track were familiar to her. Marie walked on with a light, elastic stop, and Devereux, immersed in thought* which had become a tangled weight on his mind, had glanced once or twice, into her clear, resolute face. She '**» his wife, and even were it only to reward her service* id rescuing him from his enemies, some gentle word and sign of reconciliation was due to her. Love, such love a* he had felt for Cynthia Severne, *a* not his to eivn. hut to remain silent and morose would be the basest ingratitude

"bid von ever s.<k Loreto for the money 1 left in his charge for you. Marie?" he sa:d. breaking the silence at last.

"He came on'e to the Casa—it was in my father's hist hours—and Loreto told •J 1 * wa» left without the means of living.'' "Wnat did vou think of me when you "?re told that'lie?" 'A» I always thought of you—as I have '"ought of you ever since." i o'i were angry? ' , • r Never thai. I was grieved too ■'"ply to Ik- angry, unless it was with "7»" that I failed to make vou happy "hfnwehved together at the Casa." . ~L)') you know U,al Fernando Lopez ,f» you had died?" went on Devereux. 1 had bee,, ill-very ill. One does ™* V d " that '" h'-'li'Ved I was dead. TOM Fernando. 011 hive heard that ho ™ taken and shot in the Plaza?" ev«„t I 1 know ' lhj,t f »rv." And the nri .1 , luui flowed hearing it passed 2L U » trough Devereux'., mind. He £» «"* think of them, for it was treason tain, ik I*"' 1 to<: 'v"thia even to enter"»"e w« Phantom of the hopes that were thn 11 and '" forced himself to continue •,-..!, his ordinary blunt-j

rent ,«j°" mv anv l' l -'"' "here you ran m L, 8 * f '^ l '" h, asked. • "Yon m 's n J» tired to death, Marie." »»«»nid "..V" 1 '' 1 ~0, ■ f:,r "ff." "I" m °ned wh„„ '"" '" wh "li I «as mimlaiKllord „ .* ,r:,v "' l " r '">• '" there. The an<J thiwlw '" !!l " rv " ,vcnt for a Bister, llc » Son 7 ,1!" *' VPn to mr - Tl|P llo " Re minted to ,h " i v '' ll ' ,r "pring," and she * lw amid the i v.'.' '""' wnirn Devereux , •'l(fie inn i* a *oman ,"" "* ,h " Mfpst P laces "Ollbtfullj. v,„:„ rP into," n „ Mid, lh ° forest iLi •■ "'' la " r<, d, even in ~ The inn ? , '>" "P""!. He Midi,,, . i " ?ightpd ~ a rambling ""ri" th " forft6t itecl " ft! a '«ut ik ri '" re was n,J Bi ß n of ""Shelter r'' 1 ' 1 *" '"" '< Poised food nw!de( l. for'th, ' I!' whi '' ll Marie urgently *«ried t l ** k l,, ™B>' th « trees hi E a,l,t ' althmmv, Ti h "' l ma/1c nr ' ™mr^MnBHJ t m haH no,i " ,<i hi>r * h " ««»ORhtT , W| '' ■ to'" l "'' Pity, and 21 tha ' i i n^;' l; " lg " rs h ( . »d faced. ordw *«-hL P r''''"' n r ' f austere W ,om «* would bo hers no

longer, aroused an admiration of her courage and Ueadfast loyalty such as he had never felt before. Then it occurred to him that, unless the landlord of the venta were less rapacious than an ordinary innkeeper, it would he impossible to get food. The brigands hud taken everything from him, money, watch, and jewellery, and the situation was too unpleasant for even his philosophy to ignore. "I expect the padrone will want to bo paid for what we have, and Lopez hasn't left mo a pesota," he said. "I can get money in Vera Cruz, but that wouldn't satisfy him." "This will pay," and Marie unfastened a small gold cross set with a precious stone, which was beneath her robe; and Devereux recognised it as a present he had given her long ago. She had cherished it with the adoration bestowed on some sacred relic and to part from the jewelled memento of one whom she loved dearer than life was very hard. " It would have been buried with me," she added, turning her face away so that he might not see the tears trembling in her eye?.

They reached the inn a few minutes Later, and Devereux peered through an open doorway into the dim interior. No one was to be seen, and the place seemed to have been left to ruin, from the disorder it was in. Then an old man came shambling out of the gloom of the further end of the room into which Devereux had been looking, and the sight of a stranger caused the landlord to utter a shrill exclamation. Travellers rarely passed the low browed venta, and few'er stopped at it. for the inn bore an ill-favoured reputation. Unaware of this, Devereux told Marie to follow him into the house, and as the old man recognised her his eyes sent out a look of surprise. " It is the good Sister Marie, then," he : exclaimed, rubbing his skinny hands one .over the other. "One remembers you j came alone when the Senor Periouez died I under my roof, leaving nothing to' pay the cost of his food even. And now—" Ho was looking at Devereux in a way that could not be mistaken, and it angered him. Even the robe of her religious order could not shield Marie from the old fellow's suspicions. "This lady is my" wife," he said, interrupting the landlord's garrulous, complaining speech, "and will rest here. Let us have what food you can provide and a room where we shall not be disturbed." Iho old man, muttering under hia breath, conducted them to an inner room, the window of which overlooked a dismal little yard where some half-starved fowls sought amongst the dry stones for food • and in a few minutes one of them had been caught by the landlord, who wrung its neck clumsily. Then the profound silence fell again, and Devereux, who had been watching the proceedings from the open window, turned to Marie. " Do you know how far we are from \ era Cruz, or any other place that is fit for yon to sleep in?" he asked. . " We have five miles to go before reaching Vera Cruz." "And you're wearied to death." And he looked again at her thoughtfully. Vou must rest a long time before going "The night will come soon," she answered It will not be wfe to walk through the darkness." Devereux gave assent to this: for apart from the risk of encountering another company of banditti-and Mexico was at that time infested with them— Maries strength had already been overtaxed.

, I will have a talk wit!, the old feltow, he said. "I mus t makn some ! arrangement for your staying at hi* house tor the night. He wont from the room, and, guided by f™„7n , odo , ur of a freshly-kindled fire found the landlord busy preparing a, meal for his two guest,. The smoke which pervaded the kitchen gave a weird look to the old man as ie came forward, his cunning eyes surveying Devereux's unkempt figure rather doubtfully. "The senora remains at tiie venta for the night, sad the latter, brusquely . ?„ ave y°" an apartment for her to sleep «.^. It , i i of Jf the be * f '" lied the 'ardloxd. Une fit for a Camarista. The senor would wish to see the senera's apartment, naturally. ' ' "So that it is cleaner thf,n this dog's hole of yours, ' replied Devererat, "it will do. I have no wish to see it. Is there a woman about the place?" "I am alone— always. Women I ring mischief, and 1 am but a poor man, unable to pay for help in my business The senor perceives that alrealy wit 5 "- <>t doubt.

So we may a* well settle about p.iyji ~ at once. I have no money. Some friendof yours— know them, I'll warrant, and are on friendly terms •.-... & he scoundrel.*—they took my purse and everything else of value from me." _ The landlord became sympathetic and interested. Yes, one understood :.he reson for fhe senoi's misfortunes. Tt was often so with.travellers; but the ladrones were no friends of his. declared the old fellow.

You can make what charge you think nght, went on Devereux : " but until I reach Vera Cruz I shall not be able to pay you. Is that understood?" "Perfectly. But if the senor died meantime, how then?" " You will be able to sell this and pav yourself. It shall be left with vou as a security. ' And Devereux showed him the jewelled cross which Marie had treasured so long, and the old man gave a. cry of admiration as he looked at it. "The senor is rich even without money! he exclaimed. "You will sell the cross, then? I will give for it two ounces that I have saved." " I will leave it as a security when I go. It is not for sale," replied Devereux ; and he put the cross away, whereat the landlord uttered a groan "of disappointment. ' c

Devereux returned to the room, and Mane heard the arrangement he had made for her comfort without remarking on it. here was a passive acceptance of anything he might suggest, and during the meal, which waa served in a short time, their conversation was upon indifferent nibjects, until Devereux explained his plan* for her future.

I shall see to it, that vou are not left , destitute again It will be a never-end-ing regret to me that it ever happened, it ought not to have trusted Loreto." I The shadows lengthened across the room, and for tome time there was silence m it. Marie lay back in the old-fashioned chair, with the last rays of the setting sun illumining her clear features, and from the shadowy corner where Devereux wa3 sitting lie watcl'od her, trying to unravel the tangled skein of their life. He was asking himself what the end of the present reunion should be. Did it mean his renouncing all the future he had planned, and spending his life abroad? Not a word either from his wife or himself had been uttered that two grangers might not have spoken. There had been no subtle hint given by the quiet, self-possessed woman that would have betrayed her unswerving love and confidence in the man to whom she was hound by marriage; and on Devereaux's part there had been a retrospection of their brief wedded life, comparing it with the life he had planned. He was thinking against his will of Cynthia, until at length the silence became irksome and forced hjin to speak. " Is there anything you wish me to do for you, Marie— wo get to Vera Cruz, I mean?" he asked. "What, could I ask you to do for me? There is nothing I desire except to be where you are," she answered.

"You know I hate living in Mexico. I'vu altered mv ideas of life since I returned to Knglund," lie went on, rather inconsequent!}-. " Have you ever thought of what my life has been?" she replied, speaking slowly, as though an unguarded word might anger him. "Perhaps you did not think, and it is too late for' me to tell you of it now. Rut the lonelinessyea, I could not light against that. I had no |>ower except to prav for death, which refused mo its peace." De"vereux listened with bowed head. He would see to it that she never suffered again, telling himself this with a selfreproach that stung him like the stab of a stiletto.

" You will believe I complain," went on Marie's level voice, as though uttering her thoughts alone. " But I never did that. You were always kind and gentle to me, even when I did wrong so often Then mv dream has come to —ought I not to be very happy?"

He had come to an end of his doubts Marie should never be left alone again, though that meant the renunciation of everything he held dear. What course he would pursue after reaching Vera Cruz need not be decided that night, but some plan must be devised for his wife's future. _ Ho roused himself at last and began pacing to and fro, conscious of Marie's gaze as he talked to her. The lassitude occasioned by the long walk through the forest had gone, and some of her former vivacity broke out. She was the gay, light-hearted girl that he remembered, and he cast a glance on her animated face, glowing with love and happiness. "We'll talk of the future," he said, in his matter-of-fact way, that brought a joy to her as she listened. " I shall never forgive myself for leaving you in the hands of that scoundrel Loreto. But Til try and make up for it. You and I will travel before we settle down, for good. I'll take you to Paris." Marie had sprung from the chair, flinging her arms round his neck as she had done so often ere those dark shadows marred Devereux's short married life at the Casa.

"You are so good to me," she whis pered, as she clung to him. "I've to make up for what you have suffered," he answered, unloosening her arms gently. "I begin to see that I made terrible mistakes, but it's not too late to remedy them." He was thinking of the one great error he. had committed in giving credence to the story of his wife's death. He ought to have made inquiries regarding it before allowing his love for Cynthia to bring disaster on them both, but he thrust back the thought of that resolutely. "To-morrow," he went on, "you and I will start our new life, Marie. The old one wasn't very happy for either of us. We'll get away to another country." "To England?" J " No, I've r.o wish to go them. It shall be somewhere in France or Italy that we'll settlo down. England and I have said good-bye for over." France—ltalythey were no more than names to her, but the mention of them awoke such bright anticipations that she seemed transfigured into the beautiful creature he remembered as his rirl-wife. She had raised her face to his, waiting for the caress she would have returned ardently. But Devereux refrained from bestowing it. His last kisses had been on Cynthia's lips —perhaps the memory of that restrained him.

" And now I'll say good-night." he con tinued. "Sleep well. " And you?" She asked the qoestioj impulsively. "I remain here," he answered, point' to an ancient, couch supporting itsel against the wall. She made no reply. There had bean ; backward glance as she quitted the room and Devereux fell so pacing to and fro with a thousand thoughts haunting hi mind as he crossed and re-crossed tin beam of light cast ' v the lrmp the land lord had brought when darkness came ine old Mlow was seated in his owi room, talk.ng with a listener who hac arrived at the venta. an hour ago—a lean bodied Apache Indian, who listened atten tively as the landlord whispered to him. "A cross of gold an.l jewels," the max was explaining. "Worth much, Lorenzc mio, and I am weak and helpless; therefore, I explain o you." [The senor sleeps in yonder room?" "Yes. Alone. He is weary with walic ing, and sleeps soundly without ;, doubt. But I fear his anger when he awaken*--how could I protect myrelf? We will divide the price of the cress to-morrow." They were whispering again, and presently the Apache was crouching outside the door of the room wherein Devereux lay sleeping. Silence. Silsnce so deep that a creak oi a floor-board beneath the landlord's cautious step was heard; and Marie, roused by the sound, kid come t-> the top of the stairs leading to her bedroom and was gazing downward at the two men. seen by the flickering %\it of the landlord's lamp. They had opened the door of h*r husband's room, and a, err had been fieard With tho lamplight full in his eye*, Devereux saw the sinuous Apache star-d----ing at the aide of the couch and the la idlord crouching a, little way ol*. TWe n;id been a brief struggle, and the vision o' someone who had come between him and the upraised dagger in his assailant's .land. Someone who had fallen backward upon ihe conch amid the wild struggle ti.at ensued. The landlord was long stunned by a terrific blow, and T Jevereux and the Apache were face to face in an embrace that meant death to one of them. T«ei\ he had released himself, avd, gasping out his last breath, the would-be assassin lay Develeux had crashed the life o.it of him; but of that he had no recollce ticu. Ho was trying to staunch the quickly-throbbing blood that hr.d crimr.oned Marie's white dress, knowing, with fn un timetable horror and agony, that sl-e was lying.

'Marie!" and his grief-wrought eyes wore resting t'i'.ir gate on her?. " Morie! wife!''

•She lay supported on his arm and he had done all that via in his powe,- to sure her. The crimson flood had owned, 'out Mark Durang.-. was past ell rj.nav aid. She had given her life to save hi- and ,;, smile hovered an her white lira as she uttered her last words.

"Kiss me," she muramrfi, faintly. "You wild have loved me some day. Kiss me before w> part, my husband." And then silence reign? i again, for jJevereux was alone.

CHAPTER XL Six months had passed since the night when, in the lonely venta amid the forest of Caraway, Mexico, Devereux had paid an eternal farewell to Marie Durango, and in her cosy little drawing-room, overlooking Hill Street, Mrs. Burton-Bloie sat chattering with three or four women, dowagers and blighted spinsters, who had foregathered there. "I heard it from the very best authority," Mrs. Burton-Blore was saying. "And Walsall ought to be satisfied at last. I don't know that he deserves such good fortune, and he hasn't improved since he came into the title; but it's a great catch for Cynthia Severne." "I've always been surprised that she didn't marry him out of hand," remarked a narrow. woman, in an acid tone. "Her father is atrociously poor, as we all know; and Walsall has been compelled to make enormous settlements on her, I hear. Severne saw to that. And after what happened—you all remember how extremely disappointed we were that day when Mr. Devereux behaved so abominally to Cynthia—well, as I say, it is a very surprising thing to me that Cynthia has not been married pome months ago. Now I ask myself the question why the girl has hung fire, so to speak." | "And there's another question I should like someone to answer," • croaked Mrs. Fiiebrass, who was at daggers drawn with her son's wife. "What was the mystery of thai affair: I've been told that Launcelot Devereux fled the country, having ruined several people. It's as we'll one shouldn't mention names, but every body believes it was something of that sort." "Well, perhaps it was," warbled Mrs. Burton-Blore, complacently. "And it isn't of the slightest consequence. Cvnthia has consented to be married at last," and Walsall, who makes a sort of confidante of me, is in the seventh heaven of delight." "It's about time Cynthia Severne did know her own mind !' r exclaimed another of the listeners. "For to keep a man in a state of uncertainty as to whether one is going to marry him or not is something I myself would scorn to do." "I don't believe you would, mv dear Ermyntrudc," replied Mis. Burton-Blore rather viciously. "You're too considerate for other people's feelings. It is a pity you have never had the opportunity of proving it." ' It was a cruel stab. hut, to use a familiar phrase, Mrs. Burton-Blore "owed her one." Miss Ermyntrude Delaport had been reported to have said a nasty thine " r two » bo »t the cheery widow, and Mrs Burton-Blore always paid debts of that kind.

"For my part, I cannot possibly imagine how any woman could marry Walsall," observed another of the ladies. "He hasn't the brain-power of a parrot." "He's gut thirty thousand a vear, my dear; and you'd marry him yourself if he wanted you. I don't mind saying I was disappointed myself when I heard Severne s daughter was the lucky one." And she laughed merrily. "You and he have known each other a good many years. Is it thirty or forty,

dear?" inquired Ermyntrude Delaport, artlessly. But Mrs. Btirton-Blore was not to be drawn, and bestowed an amiable smile on her time-worn friend. "Call it years and years, my dear, since I used to offer Monty charity, and you won't be far wrong. He hadn't enough money in those days to keep up his club subscription, so I paid it for him, and was so near falling in love with the poor fellow that BurtonBlore was furious, and carried me off to his place in Wiltshire. So you see I'm interested in Monty, but he's been abominably ungrateful." And Mrs. BurtonBlore poured on in this strain for several minutes.

(To be continued Saturday next.)