Fiction.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1136, 8 December 1893, Page 8

Fiction.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]

FETTERS OF FIRE.

By COMPTON BEADE,

Author of “ Take Care Whom You Tiust,” “ Under Which King?” Hard" Lines,’ 1 &c.

(all rights reserved.) (Continued.) CHAPTER XIL “ Mood and Tense.” Mr Robinson’s telegram reached the Squire within a few hours at the Hotel des Bergues, Geneva, and was resporided to as follows: — “Don’t, forward letter: Ani returning home: Advise Miss Brocket.”

That yotifig lady 3 s magic had evidently not beeri dispelled by distance. As in the days of old Rome, so now, people’s minds seldom undergo a change with change of scene, and Lilias was omnipresent with John Crucival everywhere, at Lyons, Marseilles, Geneva, quite as much as when at home, and alike in waking thoughts, and in the visions of dreamland. The old old story, and not one humanity need blush for, albeit the consequences sometimes chance to prove of a hue less rosy than anticipation would seem to forecast.

In the meanwhile, as express trains were whirling the Squire from the south to the north of Europe, the object which attracted him so intensely had met with friends in a quarter perhaps hut little expected. Mr Fitzhugh was the first to hear the terrible tidings, and a warm heart prompted that good man to hasten to the lovely girl’s aid.

Stunned, bewildered, agonised by selfreproach, for she realised fully that her hard words had proved the proverbial last feather, she suffered herself to be led from the chamber of death to the Vicarage, and before she could well collect her thoughts, found herself ensconced in that comfortable home, and tended with gentle solicitude. The Vicaress, as we already are aware, cultivated asperity as a clerical accomplishment, but this was nothing more than a thick coat of objectionable veneer, overlaying a small circle of crystallised warmth. On such an occasion she could cast off manner, and be a woman; indeed, poor Lil felt fairly astonished at her proffered sympathy. As for the vicar, he came out in his true colours, a tear in his eye, and a quiver on his lip, and a voice so fatherly and soft that the poor girl could but love the old man.

Then John Crucival returned, grasped the situation, and at once set all his energies to work, in order to avert the stigma of felo de se attaching to Captain Allister’s memory. A man of his influence can easily pull the wires, and judicious Mr Robinson was able to arrange a coroner’s jury, composed of individuals to whom the Squire’s will was law, so there was no difficulty in procuring a verdict of temporary insanity. He did more. He paid every sixpence the dead man had owed, and provided for his interment with Christian rites, Mi*. Fitzhugh’s curate, a gentleman rather hungry after preferment, deeming it quite worth while to oblige a patron of many benefices, such as the Squire. Not until after the force of the blow had somewhat spent itself did Lil meet her benefactor. With a delicacy peculiarly his own, touch as he longed for the sun-rays of her eyes, he would not intrude on her great sorrow. He kept aloof indeed so long that she began to feel almost surprised. At last, however, patience would hold out no longer, and he called at the Vicarage.

Since their last interview, their mutual relations seemed to be changed, and Lil could but greet him with a little warmth of manner. The Vicar had told her all that he had done, and being herself so deeply his debtor she felt bound to evince a spice of gratitude. “ No, no,” he cried, almost pained. “ Don’t thank me, whatever you do. I didn’t mean you to know anything about it. No man worthy the name could have done less under the circumstances.”

He had whispered in Mr Fitzhugh’s ear his wish for a private interview, so they were alone in the Vicarage drawingroom. “ Now,” said he, taking her hand in his, “ we have to think of your future.” A little flush overspread her features, as she replied—“ Mr Crucival, you really embarrass me by such great kindness. Of course, if your interest would procure me a situation as ”

“My interest,” smiled he, “lies in a different direction. That was not my meaning. Mr Fitzhugh most kindly begs that you may remain here for some months as his guest.” “ I am sure,” faltered Lil, a tear starting unhidden to her eye, “ the Vicar is most generous, but, of course, I could not trespass beyond a certain limit.” “ And what, pray, would that limit be ?” “ A month or so at the utmost.” “ Suppose we say three months ?” “ Why do you wish me to stop here ?”

“ Why ?” “Yes, why ?” “ Because Dilford Vicarage happens to be only two miles from Crucival Court.”

ft M t CrUciyalj” said she t dashing the flp#ing tears frdnl hdr eJ?6S; ,f ddift!’ “ What is toy sifi . h Ndttiiiig wdrsd than seff-deceptidn. iiistdii—-when I was fit Dawltoh, jtoars ago, before niothdi 1 died, f /spied whdt appeared to he a lovely star-fish dri the sdrids, but when .1 exatoiried it elpstoy the creature turned dut to be a mere tidllow shell;”

A shade passed over his face. , "We won’t call yoii a star-fish jiist yet/ 3 he cried; with forced gaiety: “ Everything iddks gfeyish .at present to your eyd; aria nd wdnder. What I pfesunie to. advise is that you give yourself time to' think before making any definite plans—am I right ?” “ Yes, if I felt quite sure that I should not outstay my welcome, but, even then, I must eventually do something to earn ” “Nq.”

“ I don’t understand you, Mr Crucival.” “Come, come, Miss Brocket, you must not be too hard on me. I want to be your special providence, and you won’t let me, because you think I shall demand something in return. Suppose I pledge myself to do nothing of the kind ? Suppose I don’t ask you anything but your friendship —nothing ? Will that satisfy you ? After all that has happened, believe me, I would not wish to say more than that your presence adds to life a charm, and one 1 Will never forego, so long aS yOti care tp bestow it:”

He had str rick the right chord: “ Indeed,’ 3 she cried, with some etodtidri, “ you are as kind as you are good; Let ris keep so, and I shall not be anxious to run away. Yes, let us keep so.” “For the present,” he muttered, tentatively. “ For ever,” she replied.

But he shook his head, and then Mrs Fitzhugh sailed in, opining that a tHe-a-tSte between two people whose mutual relations had not yet been determined ought not to last .beyond the limits of propriety, and thereby the dialogue, which, had kept closely to the point, drifted off into empty verbiage not worth the labour of chattering, still less of putting in print. As he took leave of Lil, however, John Crucival contrived to whisper—“ You will not desert the Crucival Woods ?” and she pressed his palm ever so gently. It did not mean much, still he thought the ice was thawing, and, enraptured by that fancy, roamed off to enjoy a long reverie in the solitude of his demesne.

“My dear,” quoth the Vicar that evening—rtea had been accomplished and the Vicaress had departed temporarily, in order to interview an Irishwoman who, bred up in the Roman- persuasion, had notwithstanding represented herself to be of the Anglican cult, with the amiable design of securing sufficient plunder to ensure proximate inebriety—“ it is a very happy circumstance for you that our good Squire takes so warm an interest in your welfare.”

“He is quite a friend to me,” responded Lil; demurely. The old clergyman fidgeted in his chair, as though ■ hesitating whether to utter or not. At last he blurted out:

“ I fancy, hut I may be wrong, that his intentions rather go beyond mere friendship.” “Oh, no,” answered Lil, simply, “Mr Crucival’s position in the world and mine are at opposite ends of the poll.” Mr Fitzhugh smiled. “ When I was young,” he responded, “ we did not reckon up social or money differences. I’m afraid a pretty face influenced us more than a full pocket. But you are right so far.. Times have changed, and the world seems to be much more cold and calculating than of yore. Still, the Squire is old-fashioned.”

Lil gloomed over. She liked the Vicar, but what could induce him to pester her

“ Perhaps you don’t agree with me ?” he added, determined'to draw her. “I think it would be absurd to fancy, because a man of wealth happened to show a little civility and to render some assistance, #hat he had further ideas in his head. Certainly I have none in mine.” “I quite believe it, my dear, and pray don’t misunderstand me. All I meant to convey was, that an impression prevails respecting, I will not say the Squire’s intention*, but his hopes rather.” “ Do people say that because he has been so generous ?” “ Possibly.”

“ Then they wrong a good man. He would never buy an obligation, or desire to place me in a false position.” “My dear little girl,” cried the Vicar. “ No one, I assure you, talks about anything so preposterous. To be perfectly frank, I feel perfectly convinced that the Squire means to make you his wife, if you will have him, that’s to say,”—with a little dry laugh. “ And I,” retorted Lil, “ am equally positive that nothing of the kind is possible. It would be unfair to us both.”

“ Why ? Money is no object to him.” “ And it is a very great object to me. Still, I should despise myself if I were to accept a good man’s devotion as a matter of gain.” The Vicar from under his spectacles scrutinised curiously that lovely yet by no means weak face. He had diplomatically designed—like a stupid old bull in a china shop—to make the running, instead of which he was obviously damaging the Squire’s chances. “ I dare say I’m very dull of comprehension,” he stammered awkwardly enough, “ but I don’t surely understand you to mean that you would refuse such a home, and with such a man ?” “ Unless I felt it right and just —yes, I should.” “Isn’t that—pardon my blunt way of putting it—rather romance ?” “Is it romance to look thinks in the face ?” She had the last word. The Vicar stared rather stolidly, with an air of disappointment. Perhaps he thought that her valuation of Miss Lilias Brocket might be con-

~ •»■■■• value, siderably in excess of thd tear**... BerhapS; also, a humbler girl would now liafe qdarf/llod With totoaiHe. Nevertheless, there is always Sdniethiilg iff shew Unworidiiiie'ss ikl cdtoiriarid fdspect, qualified as it OvPr must tod by thd eyflical refiectidii that irl didst iristaUCdd its tesiiltd are repented id thd ldrig rriri. It sometimes hajijjeris iri tliid World that the direct method m attack; though jtfd* eminently English aUd maseUlirid, breaks down; while ri judicious flarik movement succeeds. Good, plain sailing' Mr Fitzhugh; brimful of simple worldly wisdom, yet ignorant altogether of the subtler farce's that influence huniari nature, went thd right way to stiffen a girl’s deteririiriatiori: His wife was wiser. Her perception; riot. very quick perhaps, yet duteV informed a very little yet faiily adtiito brain, that there must have been ah efficient cause to induce a penniless yoring woman with a cloud surrounding her antecedents to throw cold water on an eligible suitor, whom she really liked. Putting two and two together, her wit indicated this mainspring of mischief, and resolved to toy and snap it. She allowed a fortnight to elapse, and then one morning came and planted herself smilingly on the sofa by Lil’s side, and began to chatter. Now, women talk glibly enough to each other, arid the ydurig lady, after a few minutes gossip, brightened up. The Vicar, by his persistence, had ruffled her, Not that it Was possible to take offence with his fatherly solicitude. He meant Well, only interference happened to be useless and withal banibodzlirig, Mrs Fitzhugh, Ott the other hand, with her small talk; really came as a relief; aliridst - ari a refreshmettt; to a weary soul; tod apt to feed dri itself, But the good lady had rid iriteiitidii of focussing the conversation on mere trivialities. After a pause, she broke in casually with—“We had rather an annoying letter from London this morning. It really quite put the Vicar out of temper, and no wonder. You remember our nephew Charley, my dear ?—oK, of course you do. He was such a nice boy, wasn’t he ?”

“ Yes,” whispered Lil, opening all her eyes with very eager curiosity. This was interesting. “ And now,” —with a profound, sigh—“ to think of his turning out a terrible disap' pointment! Who could have anticipated such a change ?” “ Is he much changed ?”

“My dear, I don’t mean in face, or manner, or anything external, though I own he has developed rather a rakish) wicked kind of look, vex*y different from the sweet simplicity of boyhood, but I suppose that is considered attractive.”

“What has he done?” asked Lil, desirous of approximating the point. “ Say, rather, what has he not done ? However, if I tell you, my dear, it must be on the understanding that it goes no further.”

“ Of course,” —impatiently. “Well, I’m sorry to say, long before his marriage he seems to have drifted into evil courses. But we hoped that a nice wife, and a splendid income “ She is rich, then ?”

“Very. That, of course, was the attraction, for in looks she’s quite a plain sort of person, and as for manners, I can’t donceive where she acquired the particular type she elects to exhibit. Still, she’s what peoplecall jolly, fond of finery, amusement, and by no means slow. So we all thought her very well adapted to Charley, who has no fortune at present, though my dear husband may eventually, if he behaves himself ”

“ Quite so. But what is wrong now?” “ Simply this, His wife has felt bound to write an appeal to Mr Fitzhugh. She is in an interesting condition, and that, to my mind, aggravates Charley’s wickedness, because, surely a newly married man, whose wife is going to present him .with a pledge of affection, ought at to be constant!” ' \ \

Lil flushed up. Why could not this garrulous old woman come to the point ? She felt as though she could shake her. But the said ancient lady knew her game, and was watching cut of a corner of a very decayed grey eye the effect of the slowly delivered words. They were telling. “Poor Charley, you must know,” she continued, in a low tone, “ always had one weakness. He could not resist a , pretty face, and we heard very shortly after he went to London some unpleasant rumours about his goings on. Quite a Don Juan, my dear!” “ Surely not, Mrs Fitzhugh ?” “ Oh, yes. It’s quite true. Quite a Don Juan. But, of course, these tilings are pardoned in a bachelor. I don’t think they ought to be, but people display a certain charity towards the peccadilloes of young unmarried men. No doubt temptations are thrown in their way, and these horrid women, my dear, must be very artful!”

Lil knew nothing about them—scarcely recollected to have heard of their existence, ' except in the Bible. She Regarded them as an unmentionable sex. “Yes?” ■ //•■■/ /:■/;.:/ “ But,” proceeded Mrs Fitzhugh, rising to a lofty altitude of indignant Virtue, “to think of a young man, within a few months of his wedding day, forsaking his bride for the society of a low creature of ari actress, and she, too, a married woman!” “ Is that true of Charley—of Mr Charles, I mean ?”

“ True. His wife, a resolute sort of young person, my dear, suspected something—in fact, entre nous, Charley, it appears; took to absenting himself for nights as well as days, neglecting business, reputation, everything. So she employed a detective, and then the whole affair came out. Most painful, most disgraceful —is it not ?” Lil faltered, “Yes,” land it seemed as though scales fell from her eyes. She was disillusioned. 1 - ; ‘ "■

CHAPTER XIII. iJ. LOTHABIO. That unevenly matched pair, Mr and Mrs Charles Fitzhugh, did not, as the event proved, profit much by the Squire’s largesse, for the serious illness of Mr Belper brought them back to England. The bridegroom, to speak the truth, was not altogether sorry. So long as he could gamble at Monte* Carlo and flirt under his wife’s nose this estimable gentleman enjoyed himself; but a mere tour, involving a succession of sights, journeys, hotels and preposterous bills, bored him almost as much as the/society of his fair partner, who scolded persistently, and whom he in turn, by.way’of revenge, sneered at... ' Fo.r after a certain lecture from hety'eiiding i as it always did end, with a reminder that their pecuniary resources were hers —not his —he took the change out of her pride in this fashion—- “ I wish you wouldn’t perpetually say, ‘Oh, my !”’ “For why?” ‘'“For two reasons. First, because even the Yankee women have relegated it to their negresses ; secondly, because it’s the lingo of the shop-parlour.” “ Lady Jinks says, * Oh, my!’ It’s perfectly harmless, and rather pretty.” “ Lady Jinks is a cad. Who was she before she married that dreadful alderman chap ?” "V “ What’s the'odds. She’s a lady now.” “ Titular—that’s all. But, for goodness sake, Kate, whatever you do, don’t let off such a phrase as ‘ What's the odds ?’ in public; as people will think you came from behind a bar.” ' “Pooh! I don’t care what they think.” “Probably not. But I do. Down in Cheshire we are not by any means grand, but it’s rather a point with us to keep on the lines of the right sort, don’t you know?” v “No; I don’t: , It seems to me that your right sort are a lot of paupers without a pice, and that my sort could buy you all up ’ without missing it.” v “No doubt. But you can’t buy our blood or our breeding. Not that I’m talking about blood. That has been voted a superstition; but I’ll, teli you what it is, Kate, breeding’s much the reverse.”

“I’m sure my pa ” “‘Father,’ if you please; ‘pa’ is the patois of Pimlico.” “ Well, my ‘father,’ then—my awful ‘ dad,’ if you like—paid through the nose for my education.” “ Through what ?” “Don’t be so tiresome. You know what I mean.’’ * j “ Perfectly. But another thing —can’t you cure your tongue of that disgusting Cockney accent ?” “I talk Cockney!” furiously. “ It’s like your cheek, Charley! What do you take me for?” “ What ? Why, a Cockney, to be sure, and one bom with a very bad corkscrew indeed. Look here; a minute ago you made use of a very simple word, usually pronounced ‘ know ’; you called it ‘ now.’ ” “ Ain’t it spelt with a ‘ k ’ and an ‘ n ’ and an ‘of and a ‘w ’ ?” “ I don’t care how it’s spelt. You may spell it in the Welsh fashion, with four or five consecutive ‘ l’s,’ or otherwise, as your ingenuity may suggest. Life is not a spelling bee, blit you really must, for my credit’s sake, pronounce words like the rest of the civilised world.’’

“Soldo, iYou’ve nothing to be afraid about.” /. “ There, you are again, Kate! Except in your aldermanic set, and in the slums of the Metropolis, the English nation pronounces that word ‘ afraid.’ You are pleased to.term it ‘afryd,’ I don’t know why.” $ - ,,J ’’ Whereupon Mrs Kate began to whimper, the lash having been applied just two vigorously, and Mr Charley laughed. In a verbal duel he—when morally in the wrong —came off second best; but, when the question was One of the social decalogue, she was helplessly at fault, and his polished rapier stabbed her right and left. Anri so, on these mutually agreeable terms,, the happy pair reached their haven in the Regent’s Park, to find that Mr Belper had recovered, and that they might have- prolonged their honeymoon indefinitely. It was all for the best. Mrs Kate shone as a moon among lesser stars, and though she knew—for he took good care to inform her —that her husband felt ashamed of his wife's‘blatant vulgarity, was none the less anxious to hurl the Fitzhugh pedigree and connections, both superlative, at her small friends’ heads.

As for the said husband, it is with regret I add that he had_his own pleasures in the Metropolis, pleasures which had been interrupted temporarily by absence on the Continent. Tq these he now returned with the zest of the sow that was washed, all the more so, because of the superadded leverage he had formerly lacked, viz., command of money. If you could have analysed the inmost soul of this average specimen of the fine Young English • Gentleman, all of the modern time, you would have discovered the particular motive which was of sufficient dynamic force to induce him to barter away sweet liberty to a woman who, for him, possessed in the superlative degree the quality of repulsion, rather than of attraction.

A certain Miss Tarbottle, by profession an actress on the boards of a very minor theatre, in the eye of the law, however, the wife of a certain Mr Thomas Juggins, late of the Stock Exchange, but, being declared a defaulter, now of no occupation, had acquired an influence over him of the unaccountable variety. Now this lady’s necessities might fairly have been termed inexhaustible, and entailed a constant expenditure of ready cash. Shall the sorry truth be • told ? Charley Fitzhugh, gentleman born, who had won the priceless affection of‘beautiful and pure Lilias Brocket, was so infatuated as to sell himself in order to provide funds for this.’ harridan^,

paint and Palais-Royal jewellery; for her silks, satins and champagne. Would that he were the single exception in this Modern Babylon of ours ! If his so-called splendid fortune in wedding an heiress be excepted, the foolish fellow represents a type, if not a class, whereof not a few are named in the social bible.

To say that Tiddy Tarbottle had a redeeming virtue would have been to libel the habit of moral choice. The world affirmed that, having spent poor degraded Juggins’ money and brought him to ruin, she exhibited the loftiest spirit of magnanimity in supporting that travestie of manhood. It may safely, however, be affirmed that she would have left him to his fate without a qualm of remorse, had she not lived in terror of the man’s vendetta. Fear, not love, was the tie that bound her to Juggins, and as for her earnings, the less said about the ways and means they were amassed the better. The woman, in short, exhibited all the mercy of a vampire, all the greediness after venesection of the stoat. She had plundered many an invertebrate zany, aye, and had taken the bread out of the mouths of hungry children and disconsolate widows. Of course nature had endowed the woman with a spice of facial beauty, but it had been damaged by bismuth and white lead; while her eye, if large and expressive, gleamed hard as steel. A very bad product of the age was Miss Tiddy Tarbottle, a very injurious parasite, a creature as base as she was brutal.

Charley Fitzhugh, needless to say, viewed her through a pair of rosy spectacles. Having completely obliterated in- his -OWn not very mighty mind the line that separates good from evil, he apologised for her meanness, avarice and extortion, and bestowed recklessly upon her what dregs of affection he possessed. As for money, that he placed freely at her disposal, vainly imagining that it would amply content a horse leech. Nothing of the kind. Animalism as she was, a simious vanity demanded a public sacrifice. She must attend race meetings in company with her friend, Mr Charles Fitzhugh, and also in befitting style. He must be not merely an almoner, but a cavalier and a slave, indeed a very little pressure caused the infatuated young fool to yield weakly to her every whim. Next, she grew jealous of Kate, and insisted on his neglecting that ill-starred young person for her sake. It seemed as though nothing would satisfy her short of a terrible escalandre, and ere long it came.

In response to the appeal of the injured young wife for the interference of the family, the Vicar telegraphed for his brother, the Cheshire Squire, Charley’s father, to meet him in London, and the pair, fortified by Mr Belper, descended in force on the errant Benedick, and contrived by much objurgation to bring him to his senses. He gave a written engagement to hold no communication further with La Tarbottle, and was made to understand that his prospects depended on his keeping it. Moreover, Mrs Kate, resolute and jealous, hinted broadly that for a time he would be under the surveillance of the detective police, so that no alternative offered save to rebel and take the consequences, including a judicial separation from his wife, which would practically consign him to beggary, or to submit. He submitted. In vain the alluring Miss Tiddy addressed remonstrances. He was obdurate. In vain she reminded him of promised backsheish. He remained deaf. With a little effort ho flung her over as coolly as he had flung over Lilias Brocket; only it so happened that the vampire is less easy to shake off than the lily. Miss Tiddy had something to say. And a very ingenious something that was. It amounted in short to nothing less than a summons to appear in the Court of Probate and Divorce as co-respondent in the case of Juggins v. Juggins and Fitzhugh. Mr and Mrs Juggins, so far as £ s.d. was concerned, preserved an unbroken partnership. A percentage of Charley Fitzhugh’s largesse had drifted to the pocket of the said Juggins ; and now that the flow of this Pactolus had suddenly stopped, the husband and wife laid their heads together, and hit upon the expedient of extorting damages from their victim, on the understanding, of course, that they should go halves. It would be difficult to afford a superior sample of the admirable working of that national institution, the Divorce Court. Here was a broken down reprobate living on the proceeds of his wife’s infidelities, aiding and abetting her to plunder numerous dupes, yet able to convert a Court of Justice into a medium for obtaining a solatium for an offence which he approved, so long as the offender consented to keep up his regular payments in cash and in kind. Granted that Charley Fitzhugh had brought this upon his own head, his moral lapse hardly condones the fact of a Court of Justice being employed as a leverage to enforce an immoral bargain. All the wild world of Bohemia laughed in its sleeve, knowing well that as soon as the co-respon-dent’s damages were paid, the soi-disant injured husband and erring wife would resume quasi conjugal relations as though nothing had happened. They would gain a lump sirm to squander, and Mis* Tiddy, no doubt, could find plenty more silly flies to walk into her spider’s web. A very miserable travestie of justice ! What was to be done ? Mr Belper, tottering towards the grave, seemed indifferent as well as fairly broken-hearted by the wretched result of a matrimonial alliance he himself had originally schemed for his daughter. The Cheshire Squire was none too wealthy, and withal indisposed to impoverish himself. The Vicar alone, having been through life frugal, albeit generous enough to the poor of his large parish, had funds at his command, and at last, to save the scandal of a trial, consented to offer the injured Juggins a thousand pounds. It was refused scornfully, but eventually the harpies consented to take fifteen hundred with an allowance for costs. That settled an entanglement w'hich.othefiyis© vonjd have, gibbeted the

young lawyer, but it left him on cat-and* dog terms with his wife, and an object of aversion to his dying father-in-law. From a worldly point of view, it might have been supposed that he had bought wisdom, though in a very dear market. Not so. There are Tax-bottles in profusion to be found all over the metropolis, and having escaped Scylla, he promptly looked about for a yet more fatal Charybdis. The youth had become bad —radically bad. His good looks served as a passport, and no man felt more over conscious of being supremely acceptable to the fair sex. As for his wife, he did not thank her for having spoiled his pitiful game, and it soon got to be his ruling passion to trick and deceive her at every turn. She knew only too well how false he was, and the thought exacerbated a naturally ebullient temper. And so they protracted laboriously a crooked existence, each bound by a chain, and girding thereat. She striving with might and main to drag him after her, he as stoutly determined to take the fullest length of his tether. Had he married Lilias Brocket, her sweet charm would have led him a willing captor by a mere thread, whereas Mrs Kate, for all her hoarded shekels, was powerless to haul him her own way. It was all the difference between love and money, the former omnipotent for good, the latter for evil only. (To be continued.)