LADY PAMELA'S PEARLS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19502, 4 December 1926, Page 16 (Supplement)

LADY PAMELA'S PEARLS.

BY JOHN* IRONSIDE.

CHAPTER JL

A LOST LOVE. " Ah, David, just the man I wanted. Here's a letter from Mr. Varick. He wants someone to take that rope of pearls down'to their place in Hampshire, stay tho night, and bring them back and de , ,sit them in the bank to-morrow. Freeman's away, so I'd like you to go yourself. You see what Varick says." " Mr Sintell; head of the world-famous firm of Sintell and Lake, jewellers and iri'iu experts, handed the letter to David Wentworth, his trusted yonmg secretary and prospective" junior partner. Wentworth took and glaaiced at the brief, business-like epistle, outwardly ealrri, imvardl> as surprised and disturbed as he had ever been in hia life. As Lady Pamela wants to wear them - io-night, you had better go by the 2.40. TYiat will get you down in good time. Sintell continued, as he opened a flat, leatiher-covered case, disclosing, coiled on the pale blue velvet lining, a very long rope x of magnificent pearls. .Lifting the gleaming thing m his thin sensitive fingers he ,handled and examined the gems, positively gloating over them, with the' intense love of a connoisseur. David watched him in silence, thinking nothing G'f the pearls, but much of the woman \yli P was to wear them, the woman whom perhaps he .would see in a few hours foi? the first time since tney parted, "in the wet winter twilight, just nine * 1 '^Glorioug, glorious!" the old man murmured, mon? to himself than to his companion "And Freeman has re-strung them perfectly. I wouldn't entrust them • to anyone but him or you, Wentworth. Strange that a frivilous young creature like Ladv PameV'a Varick should possess them, just to d\ck herself with. She ■ can't really appreciate them. No woman of that type could !" . Wentworth winced under the implied l>n " G What do .you wean, sir?" he asked imperatively. . , , ... Sintell glanced up,. astonished at his 1 °"Well, mv boy, yev* must know what nil the world says of Vier. "I do know. But the world lies. Id stake my soul on it." "You know her? Y<*u never told me SO 7» *' I did know her, all my-' life, till a few years We "were chiVdren together, iter father, Lord Erringhain, a little place quite near my father s vicarage. They were almost as poor as we were, and she —" ' , . , He broke of!- Not even to his employer, who was also his godfather and staunch friend, could he speak of Pamela as he remembered her in those old days, and would remember h&r for ever. The"old man looked at him reflectively. " H'm. Then perhaps you would rather not go on this mission, David ? For the matter of that I could go myself. ' " Oh, no, sir, I'll go," said David hastily. " I haven't seen her since long before her marriage, a,ud I expect she has :[orgottec mj vei,j existence. I've never been in ' the Varick slit,' of course." " I should hope not. Don't get into it tow," said Sintell. He knew, as most people did, that since her marriage to Rupext Varick, financier, and reputed multi-millionaire, the lata Earl of Erringham's daughter had become notorious as leader of the extravagant and apparently vicious coterie known colloquially as " the Varick set." It was not his business to be a censor of the manners and morals of his ■: customers, of whom 1 Varick was an important one. But the idea that David Wentworth might be in any way associated with such a woman as he believed Lady Pamela Varick to be was distinctly disconcerting. "No . fear of that, sir,' 1 said David. f* Hadn't I better be off? There's not much time to spare." He felt like a man in a dream when presently he was seated in the train on his way to Hampshire. Would he see her at all ? Or, as " the yonng man from Sintell and ■ Lake's," for he had decided not to give his name on arrival—would he have to hand over the precious package to Varick or some other authorised person, and be relegated for entertainment to the housekeeper's room ? Very likely. But if he did see her, speak with her, what would they say to each other? Would she give any sign of remembrance of those old days when they were boy and girl together? A motor-car was in waiting at-the station and bore him swiftly to his destination, along the wet; dark country roads. An imposing looking footman admitted him, and said: " Come this way, please. My lady said, ihe would see you at once." David's heart-beats oaickened, perceptibly, painfully, as he followed the functionary across a big hall,' luxuriously lighted and furnished, and up the wide staircase. He was to see her then, but dare not hope that she would be alone. Although the hall was deserted he heard from somowhere near at hand a babel of voices and -and laughter. But the room he entered t in the wake of the servant appeared untenanted. A beautiful room, lighted only by a blazing log fire, and a couple of big shaded lamps near it. " From Messrs. Sintell and Lake, my lady," Pamela Varick, lounging in a great chintz-covered chair beside the fire, sat np, tossed way a half-smoked cigarette, _and greeted the net/comer with a gracious inclination of the head. " Oh, yes. Do come near tho fire, and eit down. You have brought my pearls, Mr.—" She broke off as David advanced into the light, staring at him with startled, incredulous blue eyes. . Then, as the door closed softly behind the retreating servant, she rose to her feet, a slender, graceful figure in a-wonderful tea lirock that gleamed blue and green and gold in . the Boft light. - "It can't be. Yes it is. David Wentworth—Binkie. 0, my dear, where did you spring from ?" Impulsively she caught both his hands, and looked up at him, a tremulous smile on hsr bps, her eyes shining an eager v welcome, as her lips uttered the old .familiar nickname. David, looking down lit her, forgot everything save that here, •was his old playmate, even lovelier as a woman than she had been as a child, •or as the girl, just on the threshold of 'tvomanhocd, from whom he had parted on that night of wind and rain that iseemed so long ago, the'" night when he left for France to take his part in the grim adventure of the great war. She had clung to him then, her. bright hair wet. with rain, her blue eyes wet with' tears, had raised her voung lips innocently to his, for the first kiss tiny had ever exchanged—a kiss he had never forgotten, and that must be the last! For now—now she was the wife of another man, and such a man! , . - V > He was the first to recover composqre. He released her. hands and cirew'back B little, saying with a whimsical smile. " I'm the young man from Sintell's entrusted with your pearls, Lady Pamela. I hardly dared hope you would remember me." * ."Remember you' Oh, Binkie, that's cruel! Though I deserve it of course, in JL way. l"«t it wasn't my fault really, iou know that in your heart, don't you ? That last letter I wrote—you did get it, didn't you ?" He nodded, unable to trust himself to speak. It was a horrid letter I know, so S so « lllous - But—but I couldn't • W!inted to. It was so imthat dWln^ eXp ' a '£~~ 0n P a P er - You feft m Y • n t you. Binkie ?" ■Choice!' s '" he U r 33 not y° ni free She drew hei a " d , gelt!y " *S R h, and. sank doS 5 - gazing, not at him u ? , c , hlir ,aßa!n- - as though she'ciw « ¥ g OWin S L tare there. m somo tragic pic- ; almost it> awwhisper^ er B Jg, KW, x - m u.%

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were, and he was always so extravagant. Ho borrowed money—heaps—and—and was threatened with exposure and ruin. It would have broken my father's heart. The shame, the scandal would have killed him! So what could I do but seize the chance of saving him ? And it was useless after all, in a way, for daddie died while I was on my honeymoon. The rrony of it l " She had not actually mentioned her husband, but David now knew, as he had suspected from tho first, the simple and sordid truth. Varick had deliberately got young Leonard in his power, and Pamela had paid the debt—with herself. " Well, it's all over now. long ago," Pamela resumed. " And oh, it's good to see you again, Binkie. Sit down here and tell me all about everything. Why, you are lame—and your hair is going quite grey, you poor boy!" "Is it? I hadn't noticed it," said David, scarcely knowing what ho did say. "The stiff knee's nothing; only a relic'of ' over there.' I was awfully lucky, really, for I didn't get badly biffed till 'lB, the last big push. It put®me right out of action, though, and by the time I was fit the show was over. Then Mr. Sintell offered me a job as secretary and has been jolly good to me. And that's all there is to tell, except that when he asked me to bring these down to-night I jumped at the chance of getting even a far-off glimpse of you—from tho servants', quarters." "The servants' quarters!" she repeated reproachfully. " Though, to be sure ' the young man from Sintell's' would have been hospitably entertained there, but you won't be, Binkie! Oh, bother the pearls—no, I don't mean that, as they brought you down here." Sho took the case, which he had freed from its wrappings, and let it fall in her lap, " Lot's talk while we have the chance. Then you're not married, Binkie ?" "Married! Good heaveus,'no. And never shall be." " I—l'm sorry," she breathed. " Or —I don't know, I think I'm glad really. But it's a queer, a tragic world, isn't it, Binkie ?" Tho door opened, ana in an instant her manner, h?r voice, her very face changed and hardened. " Yes. it's a queer little world," she continued, gaily, in a high-pitched tone, "but it's simply topping to meet you again under any circumstances. Rupert, come and be introduced to my old friend, David Wentworth. Haven't set eyes on him for ages, and now it seems he's an awfly big man at Sintell's — jewel expert and ail the rest of it—and has actually brought my precious pearls himself." Rupert Varick advanced, a big, plump, more than middle-aged man, with a swarthy, clean-shaved face, and small, restless dark eyes. Dick rose, and they greeted each other with conventional civility. "'Just imagine, he actually brought the darling things in his pocket, so casual and. so dangerous!" exclaimed Pamela, in that new artificial manner that made her seem like an utter stronger. " Quite the safest place, Lady Pamela," Dick assured her. You see, no one could get possession of them without putting me out of action." " Of course. Anyone but a woman would understand that," said Varick Knderously. He slipped the rope over r head and hia own arm round her neck, keeping it there, as, with his coarse, blunt fingers, he toyed with the gems. There was something horribly repulsive in his vulgar, complacent air of proprietorship over the jewels and tho woman who wore them. - " Are they all there and all right, Pam ?" " Haven't counted- 'em, but, of course, they are," she said, indifferently. " .After all, they're not mine." ' " Oh, come now!" remonstrated Varick. " Well, you only let me wear the dear things now and then, and won't let me take them to Nice, though it's the place, above ail others, where wonderful pearls are worn, and these would be the finest there. Isn't it too bad, David ?" " My ,dear child, you know perfectly well it's not worth taking the risk. They'd be stolen, sooner or later. You'd simply be asking for it," Varick protested. " A thie! would have a lot of difficulty in negotiating them—the three centre ones, anyhow,"' remarked David. Varick turned a keen eye on liim. " That so ?" he asked curiously. s " But I thought it was impossible to spot any particular pearl—just Loose by itself, you know? Or oven to tell 'em from ihe best fakes ? Don't you remember that awiul dust-up about the Blankshire pearls— ?" Pamela broke in with a laugh. " Yes, that was funny, Steiia Blank-shire—-the Duchess, you know—had a lot of famous pearls, strung up with ' culture' ones when she wanted heaps and heaps to wear as the Queen of Sheba., She didn't wear much else! And afterwards there was no end oi^-trouble, for the jewellers declared they couldn't tell the real ones from the others without cutting and ruining tltieir) " " I never heaid of that. It must have been before my time,' said David, adding loyally, "but they can't have been sub nutted to Mr. Sintell—he's the greatest living expert and would soon have sorted 'em out. Why, don't you have a replica made in ' culture' pearls to wear on your travels, Lady Pamela ? Nearly everyone does, and it would be almost as beautiful as an ornament and of insignificant value in comparison." " Smart man—lookin' for an order 1" cried Varick, with a coarse laugh. " Not at all. We don't make such things, but many jewellers do. It's really a wise precaution." " Quite so, my boy, and no offence meant. I wanted to have a replica made for Pam, but she wouldn't have it. Only the best's good enough for her—eh. my ladv ?" ' I detest every species of fraud," said Pamela, rising as the thunder of it gong reverberated through the great house. " 1 must go and dress. You'll dine with us, of course, David, and if you haven't brought glad rags, never mind. If I'd known you were comin' I'd have taken you on to the ball." CHAPTER n. VOWED TO SERVICE. David was thoughtful and perplexed as he changed into the evening clothes he had brought down. Which was the real Pamela ? She who had welcomed him, .or the woman who was Rupert Varick's vvife? He knew well enough in his heart, as ho knew the agony " the real Pamela" must endure, as the chattel of that egregious financier! Yet he almost doubted when he entered the drawing-room, and saw and heard her, the centre of a group of loud-voiced, extravagantly-dressed women and men, " the Varick set" in iall its glory, ( vulgar, vicious. She stood like a queen among them, arrayed in a scanty robe of gold tissue, i over which fell the rope of Her blue eyes we.e brilliant as sapphires, her ' lips and lashes palpably "made up." She i was by far the most beautiful woman there,"but she looked like a radiant and i reckless spirit of evil. : Sick at heart, he paused, t'.ilf-minded to i retreat, but she saw and hailed Him. i "Hello, David!" (He was glad she did not address him by tho familiar old nick- <. name before these people.) " Come here, man of mystery, who turns up from no- > where, with his pockets full of jewels. Everybody's wanting to know you—Lena i 'specially. You're to take her down to dinner. Didn't know I had a step j daughter, ■ did you ? Ready-made family and all that?" Miss Varick, a massive young woman | evidently several years older than her sLep-mother, was the image of her father, and therefore almost grotesque, in her' < flame-coloured gown, and enough jewellery to stock a shop. She proved a taciturn ] partner, saying little and eating enormously. Nevertheless, David was uncom- < fortablv conscious of the sidelong scrutiny 1

of her heady, black eyes, in the intervals when she was nofc actually occupied with her food. He was thankful when the ordeal was over, and everyone, except himself, departed for the ball. He got no farther glimpse of the Pamela ho once knew and loved, and told himself miserably that he would scarcely have recognised her, but for those few minutes when he had seen her alone. He heard the noisy gang return iri the i small hours, heard Pamela's clear voice high above the babel, and, at last, silence fell once more on the great hotise. <But there was no sleep for him all that long night. He lay awake, tortured by the thought of the woman he loved, a creature trapped and enslaved, striving so gallantly, so defiantly, to play her part in her garish cage, and' thereby being so utterly and Hously false to herself What would be the end of it all ? He could not, dare not, conjecture. And ho himself was so absolutely helpless. He could only pray for her, and he did that fervently, in those long, terrible, night hours, with the simple faith t;iiat, almost unconsciously inculcated in his hoy hood, had become firm, real ? the dommat ing and guiding force of his life, during the stern and strenuous years of his war service. , They were the prayers of every devout lover since the world began, all for''the beloved, with never a thought of self; and they brought calm and strength to his soul. How and when he might serve, perhaps save her, he did not know, but there and then he vowed before God to do it. The opportunity would come, must come, sooner or later. The revellers evidently slept late, for ho breakfasted alone, and then tried to give his attention to the morning papers, increasingly impatient as the time drew near for the train by which he must travel if he was to deposit those precious pearls at the bank that day. At last a servant came, and conducted 'rim up to Pamela's boudoir, where he found her with her husband and Lena Varick. " 'Mornin', David," she said. "Hope you slept all night? You look frightfully it 1 Wish I did, but I feel too nervy for words." She looked it, too. Her blue eyes ware haggard and restless, and the hand !,he wave him was feverishly hot. The rope of pearls, coiled in its case, lay on a table beside her. "Here, take the dear things," she ■dded, when he had exchanged conventional greetings with the Varicks. "S'pcse you want to pack them up. You'll find paper and string and things or the writ-ing-table." She handed the closed case to him, and he was crossing to the table she indicated, when Varick followed him, saying, wilih his boisterous air of good-fellowship: "Here, I'll pack 'em up, Wentworth. You talk to my wife. Wo shall have to Se off in five minutes." "Yes. I've heaps of things to say, but of course there's not time. You'll have to come and see me when we get bach, David," said Pamela, as he returned to her. "We've off to the Riviera the day ■'frer to-morrow." The voice, high and clear, the restless, reckless manner, were those that had sio ■t tonished and distressed him last night, but her face as he stood before her, shielding her from the view of the others, was that which he knew and loved. Har eyes met his, and conveyed a silent message of sorrow, excuse, and agonised appeal that he would not think of her as the woman she chose to appear. „ "You have only to command me in everything, Lady Pamela," he said formally, and thought she understood tho full meaning underlying the conventional words. "Good-bye. And many thanks for —" He started and turned as Varick shouted a coarse oath. In manipulating the sealing wax he had burned his fingers, and dropped the precious packet. "It's all right, no harm done. Don't be such a silly ass, father," exclaimed Miss Varick, stooping and picking up !;he parcel. r V" : -. "Sorry Wentworth. But it hurt," slid Varick. "Here it is. Come on. The car's ready, and we haven't a moment to lose." • r-.' They had not, indeed, but thanks to ithe furious pace at which the chauffeur took ie car along, he just caught the train, only to find that he might as well have waited for a later one. They ran into a og near London, and eventually crawled ito Waterloo, London, long after the ■losing »hou:r of the bank. Therefore David placed the parcel in Sintell's strong room for the night, and rext day fully deposited it at the bask, sent the receipt to Varick, and received a irief acknowledgement a 'few days later, 'rom Paris. That 'was the last he heard directly from the Varicks for nearly three months. "So the Varicks have returned," Sinl;ell remarked one iranny spring morning;, j as ii'ey went through their correspondence. David looked up. "Have they, sir ? I've heard nothing of them since I was down there." "Mr. Varick has, I don't know abijut Lady Pamela.! -He writes that he waits my advice, and will, call at twelve-thirty to-day. I shall be back by that time T'm just going round to Christie's." David nodded, and, left alone, sat idle for once, thrilled at the prospect of seeing Pamela ag.iin, if only from a distance, The telephone at his elhow tinkled, and mechanically he took down , the receiver. "Messrs Sintelh and Lake? Can I speak to Mr. David Wentworth ?" His heart leaped as he recognised the voice, and, controlling his own with an effort, replied: "Wentworth speaking. Good morning, Lady Pamela." The answer came instantly in hurriud, oleading, agitated tones. "0, Binkie, thank God you're there. I'm in such terrible trouble, and I want your help now—to-day." CHAPTER m. A WAX OF ESCAPE. "I'll come at once. Where'!" David auswexed promptly. " Thank you, tunkie. That's like you! (Jan you rneei me m Kegems Park, close to the entrance of the Botanical Gardens, in an iioui time? About twelve?" " I can and I will, o! course." " I will be there then, or soon after. Come in a tax: and keep it. An—and could you bring some money, Binkie ? Just si pound or two I—l do hate to ask it—- " Everything I have in the world is at your service Don't you know that? " " Yes, I do know, Binkie," she sand tremulously. " And I'll explain as well as I can when we meet. 1 can't do it here. I'm speaking from a call-box at Knightsbridge Station. At twelve then —au 'voir. ' She rang off, and he followed suit, sat for a minute or two in perplexed thought, then* rang up a garage, where he k«pt, his motor-bicycle and occasionally hired a car, and ordered a closed one to be in waiting for him outside Baker Street Station at ten minutes to twelve. Utterly inexperienced though he was in intrigue of any description, soma sure instinct prompted him to take that p:re caution. He left a verbal message for Mr. Sin tell that fie had to go out, but. would return if possible during the afternoon, walked to Piccadilly Circus, went by tube to Baker Street, and found the <;ar there. He was first at the rendezvous. Except For a couple of nurses and their chargas, it some little distance, there was no one in sight, but in a minute or two Pamela appeared, walking toward him. He hurried to meet her, and was shocked at her appearance. She looked as if she had passed through some great and terrible ordeal. " How good of you to come, Bmkie,* she said, giving him her hand, with the very ghost o* a smile, curiously nervoas ind deprecating. " Where shall we g:o. where can we talk ? " " Anywhere you like. I have a car here." "Then may we go north, toward Hertford ? I will tell you why pre- 1 sently." " Of course. It is : for you to command.'' He helped her into the car, gave the :haffeur directions, and got in beside

i " Thank you, Binkie, 1 knew I could i trust you," she said. " In everything, Lady Pamela," he ani swered huskily. It "is difficult for a man to speak when his heart is thumping and his nerves quivering with joy and pam; joy at the prox- : tmity of his beloved,-" pam in the know- ' ledge of her present distress, however 1 caused, and the remembrance that she was, and must be,, as far removed from 1 him in reality as if the whole wide world 1 separated them. 1 "It used to be s Pamela in the old days," she returned wistfully. " And you will always be Binkie to me. You ! are wonderin' what's up, of course. But f now that we at. together, and alone, I—l really don't know how to begin to explain. Even to you!" " Don't try to explain, dear. It isn't necessary. Just tell me what you want me to do." i A little flush crept to her white cheeks, and her lips and eyes softened. " That's just my old Binkie, best and staunchcst of chums But I can't tell the whole truth to anyone—evel you or Nanna, if I get to her, as you can help me to do. It's too sordid—too—horrible! And I've no one else -to turn to. Even Erringham, my brother, is away globetrotting, with the American heiress ho married. Not that they would be any use if they were- here. I would die rather than appeal to either of them! " He could not speak, but involuntarily he took her gloved hand in his, firm,, protective, comforting grasp, more eloquent than words. She did noi attempt to withdraw it, and they sat in silence for a minute or two, as the car sped smoothly northwards. " You saw something of my life' that night when you came so unexpectedly," she resumed. And how i was trying to plaj my part, and fulfil my share of the bargain. I hated it all—hated myself most of all. I was—l am so deadly ashamed! But when I saw you once more, I thought perhaps God hadn't forgotten me, that He had sent you to help me. I've been thinking about it ever since. x lt was---it is—my one hope. I —I can't play my part any longer, Binkie. It's unendurable. lam going to leave—him. It's the only way to keep my reason—to try to recover some shred of self-respect. And that's where you can help me. For you see I haven't any money at all, not a shilling! That's why I had to walk all the way to meet you this morning." Strange confession froin the wife of a millionaire Somehow David was not surprised. " Everything I have in the world is at your service, Pamela," he said earnestly. " I've about ten pounds in my pocket at this moment, but I'll send or bring you a hundred to-morrow." Her eyes darkened with tears, but she flashed an April smile at him: " Oh, Binkie, how like you. I knew in my heart I had only to ask and that you would understand and come to my rescue, like the best of brothers. ; Erringham hat nevei been like a brother to me! I should have run away long ago if I had had any money, but my husband never let me have any, unless I asked him and told him exactly what I . wanted it for, and then he would pay with his own cheque, even my bridge losses—and I always do lose. That is one of his ways Can you imagine anything more humiliating ? " " The scoundrel," David muttered between his teeth. " He would loud me with jewels, he never * grumbled at any amounts—except indeed for charities, and not then if they j were well advertised''" she continued j passionately. " But he would never let me have a coin to handle and spend as I would. And I couldn't stoop to pawn or sell things he had given me, or to borrow-, from my own maid or tradespeople or socalled friends, sis other such > unhappy women do perhaps—though I've often been horribly tempted!" " Don'l cry—i t's over now. Just tell me what I'm to do and I'll do it,' said David. , , Sho dried her eyes and laughed tremulously. " Yes I will, dear, practical old Binkie, And you can't think what a comfort it is to be able to speak to anyone I couldn't have told anyone but you, either! But I shan't want a lot of money, the ten pounds will last a long time. Do you remember my old nurse ? Though, of course, you do?" " Dear old Nanna? Rather!"/ 4 * She's living in a little cottage near Hertford, her own. It was left her by an ancle. I've never been to see her, but she will give me a shelter 1 know And I think—l'm almo3t sure—ho doesn't know anything about her, and will never dream of looking for me there. That's why I said, towards; Hertford You can drop me at a Btation, and T'll go on by train.' " We'll go straight to her now, all the way," said David decisively " Tell me where, and I'll the man the route.*" She gave feim the address, a village some five miles from Hertford adding: " Nanna says the cottage is quite isolated, on a sort of little < ommon, right away from the road. That's why I'm sure I shall be able to " lie doggo" there, in safety." She laughed more naturally Already, in her relief at effecting what she believed to be an escape front her intolerable life, her spirits and courage were reviving. Bnt David shook bis head. " Not for long, I'm afraid It's a great deal too near town, and remember how news spreads ike wildfire in country places. Some one will soon see and recog nize you, and then—" " They won't. I shan't stir outside Nanna's garden She will guard me like a dragon, bless her. And I shall restrest I'm so tired, Binkie I feel as if I never want to seo or speak to any human being again—except you and Nanna." She leaned bjick in her corner and closed her eyes, as if there were nothing more to be said. David tucked the thick rug snugly ' round her She smiled and murmured a word of thanks, and then seemed to drift into a doze He watched her, adoringly, but with immeasurable ansiety and perplexitv. What final outrage had nerved her to this course' He could only conjecture, feeling the while a very human desire to grip Rupert Varick's thick throat and choke the life ont of him' But, for the moment his own course was clear enough He had vowed himself to ; her service, and iie %vou!d keep that vow to the uttermost. And it was sweet to know that she had turned to him for aid. with such full fait;b m his davotion. The chauffeur found his wav to the village, and David got out and enquired at the post office ifor Mrs Briggs' cottage On the direction:; given thev found it, without much difficulty, a picturesque little place nearly a mile from the village To it they had to leave the car in a winding lane, walk down a cart track, and across a field Pamela had been right so far, a safer or more secluded refuse f.ould not he imagined. v Mrs. Briggs—" Nanna" to them bothwelcomed them with joyful surprise, and hugged and wept over her darling to her heart's content. David left them to it, and retreated to the orchard, whence presently Nanna summoned him. /. • Pamela had thrown of? her hat and coat, and looked quite at home in the quaint, spotless, little kitchen. " It's all right, Binkie," she announced, " I'm going to stay here with Nanna where nobodv will ever find me Isn't it a dinky little place ? I'm Nanna's niece, remember—Miss Bnggs, at your service So don't forget when you write to me, as you must, and come down and see me too, won't yon ? Oh, I can scarcely believe 1 have really escaped. That I'm free at last!" She was not freu, her retreat might soon be discovered; bui: he would not damp her joy bv reminding her of that. His brain was. still in a whirl as he returned to town, wondering what the upshot would be. and whether he would be wise to caution Jennings, the chauffeur, to keep silence about the trip He knew the man well, and that he was perfectly trustworthy, but decided that the less said the better, and contented himself with reniark»nP: " Miss Briggs is going to stay with her aunt So we'll gel; some lunch at Hatfield and then back to t4xn. quick as possible."

(To b& continued on Saturday nest.) f