FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1747, 30 August 1905, Page 3

FICTION.

THE CRIME OF GLORIA DARE.

V By ESTHER MILLER, /.'V - , ■ ■ ■■■" ' X * 'Author of. “What Was . Her Sin?” “Tht Sting of the Wasp,” “A Prophet of the Real," “Quicksands of Life,” etc., etc; . • - fAc,i. Rights Reserved.) SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. r CHAPTERS I. to lll.—Justin Hoidernass call© upon his sweetheart, Joyce Amber, in her flat. He presses her to name an early date for the r wedding. She postpones her decision, and finding her pre-occupied, he leaves. Half an hour, .later a. white-faced, dark-eyed wmian knocks, is admitted, and introduces her-; self as Gloria. Gloria Dare is Joyce’s 'half-sister. _ Joyoe had. expected her, but as she has just served ten years’ imprisonment for a self-confessed murder, her welcome is not a ourdial one. Now, however, Gloria reveals to her half-sister that she d.d not murder her employer, John Middlebrook, but took the onus of the crime on her own shoulders to shield her lover. Joyce, "now proud of Gloria’s self-sacrifice, takes her in her arms, and they are reconciled. Then Gloria goes on to ©peak of her quondam ! lover—whose name was no other than Justin Holderness! CHAPTER IV. A HIDEOUS REVELATION. Gloria was looking at the fire, not at her sister, as she uttered, her former lover’s name, so she did not see . the awful change which came over the girl’s face. Joyce, struck dumb and motionless by horror, felt as though she were going, to die. Her lover had 'been Gloria’s lover, and Gloria’s lover Was a murderer! The thing was inconceivable. Could lie have such a secret on his conscience ? Could she be so mis- , taken in a man ?

“I should have seen it in his eyes, felt it when ho touched me,” she told .herself. ’ “It is impossible!” .But still, her face remained white, . and her heart so heavy that she. had - soaroely courage to breathe; She had felt ashamed of her. own secret, but c wmit was it compared with this! A man who could commit such a crime for .i money, and allow a woman — a .mere girl, and the girl he professed to love : —to screen him and suffer in bus place! A; sickening faintness swept, over her, and the room, and the figure of Gloria, faded away. r “It is all a dream," was her last coneoious thought. - •. ‘Bub when the mist cleared she was not alone as she had hoped; her sister was still sitting in the ohair. . The length of the. pause evidently struck Gloria at last, for she emerged - from a painful reverie of her own, and glanced at the girl. v . : “Joyce, aire you always so pal^.W’ “I never have, much colour, Gloria." “But you are so pale, .so very pale!" -repeated the elder sister, suspiciously, “You .are pale, too." . - " : “i have reason to be so, you have ; not. I hope, you do /net work too hard?" . “No, I am only upset, dear.” “Of course. I have broken into your peaceful life like a storm,” said Gloria, remorsefully, “Whjr did you let me come?" ■ - '- “I shall always be glad you oame. Think—if I had never heard your story!" • “Does it make all that difference to jou, dear ?*’ “Ah, what a difference!" The girl’s hand sought the woman’s, and clasped it feverishly. “Justin Holderness!" she said. “It isn’t a common name, is it? How old was he ten years ago, Gloria ?" - “Only twenty—a mere bey as it seems to me now." • “Then he is thirty now. What did he look like?" “I thought lie was the handsomest man I had ever seen." “Dark?" ~ “Fair, with blue eyes and hair of so light a brown that in the sunlight it turned to gold. And he was such a fine fellow, Joyoe—tall and strong and splendidly made, and with a manner which made everyone, except John Middlebrook, love him." “Why didn’t his cousin like him?" “On both, sides there was jealousy; ; the elder majv who was boorish and ugU envied the younger for his youth and charm and good looks—and hus success with me; the younger envied the elder for his fortune. Then John had this little girl, of whom he was very fond, but he could not leave the . property to her, because his own interest in it was only a life interest, and A . unless he had a son it was bpund to go to Justin at his death. I think he would have married again if he had lived, only for the sake of having a boy and spiting Justin. Justin ' thought so, too. All the same I have never believed the murder was deliberate. They must have quarrelled. ,

. He was hot-tempered, you know, hot-headed—and so young, Joyce." “He was old enough to kill a man, it seems! Of course you are quite—quite sure, Gloria?" “What a question to ask me to-day!” “Yes, I aim mad. Have you ever seen him since ?" ' , “Never." .“But lie has written to you ?’’ Gloria shook her head. “At the time I was told, by my lawyer, that he was ill, arid could not come to court. His evidence was' read. Of course it was too late when I was sentenced. Any letter he sent me wpuid have been opened." “Then he hasn’t even said Thank you’ !" “What does that matter? I did what I did to please myself." Still Joyce could not believe the stupendous thing she had heard. “Justin Holderness," she murmured once more. “I suppose he did not have a cousin ,or any other relative of. the same name, dud he? There is only one J ustin Holderness ?’ ’ “He was the last of his race? "Why do you ask?” Gloria’s eyes interrogated the girl. “Have you ever met him ?” Joyce hesitated, and a wav© of crimson overspread her face. Now was the time to confess her own miserable story. But she could not. She had been speaking so proudly of him; she had called him the “best and finest lover in the world;” it w.as more than she could bear to tell her sister, all in a moment, that this man, her hero, was Just i'll Holderness. -■ •‘Yes, I hjg,ve met him,” she replied, “that is why I wished to know what he is like. I—l am doing some drawings for a book) of travel he has writton. Evidently it is the same man.” She ohoked. “And lie, a criminal, a murderer, has been free to walk about all these years while you have been suffering for him! He has mixed unbranded with other men and. women, and nobody has guessed. Where was my insbmct!’’ . •is lie married?” “No.” “I wonder if he has changed,” mused Gloria, aloud. “How have the years treated him?”

“I think he looks thirty, but not more.”

“Time has dealt more lightly with him than with lie, no doubt.” “He has been a great traveller."

• ■'Tho world for-him—for me a prison cell i" She Laughed with a curious mocking lightness, as though there were something lacking in her brain. “But it was I who gave him the world," she said. “They would have hanged him if it hadn’t been “for me. And he hated death! - What a splendid gift from a woman to her lover!’’

Joyce s eyes, wandering, came across a photograph which stood always on the table by the window, where she worked. She started slightly, and pushed the hair from her brow. “Yes it was a splendid gift, indeed, Gloria."

' “You couldn’t do more than that for. your lover—although he is good and mine was bad!"

Joyce soaroely heal’d. She rose.^ “I am forgetting tea," she said. “You must need it so much." She turned to the table, and thrust Justin’s portrait rapidly into a drawer, which she locked. “I’ll order it." She did not know as yet; what she was going to do. It was as though an earthquake had broken up the solid ground under her feet, and altered the aspect of a familiar, country. Her brain was still half stunned by the shocic, and she moved mechanically like a walking doll. When the tea. came, she poured irt out, and waited on her sister automatically. There was a pertain relief in finding anything to do which she might have done yesterday—something which tied her, by force of habit, to the world of everyday, the world she knew, the world of her eld happiness, the world of the man she loved.

“You might be just a friend dropped into tea," she said, uttering part of her thought. “Instead of a sister to be a disgrace and a burden to you," added Gloria. “But of course I shall not be a burden to you long. You must help me to get some work: to do." “You must take a long rest first," said Joyoe, coming out of her dream; “There is no hurry. I have been doing very well lately, and Uncle James gave me two hundred pounds which I have not touched. Perhaps we will go to the sea-side for .a months —to some quiet little place in Devonshire, where we could get cheap rooms, and plenty of fresh cream and eggs to do you good." “How practical-and capable you are," said Gloria, with a wistful smile. “And when I saw you j|ist you were a little girl, with big eyes, and hanging hair, ana your frocks ’to your knees." “Yes, I have grown into a woman while you have been buried alive!" Joyce choked. ‘Try this cake, my poor darling, your favourite. I got it especially for you.”

“And such dainty cups and saucers, and such a pretty tray-cloth, and the silver tea-pot—it is the one Aunt Annette left you, I do believe! —and those dear little spoons! The room, too! It is like fairyland to me, Joyce as you may imagine. To sit in an armchair

in a well-furnished room by a blazing fire, and drink tea out of a real china cup, and eat real toast and real cake! Como here, my darling, and let me thank you again for all your sweetness and goodness to me." Joyce ©at on the arm of Gloria’s chair, and seeing the half-sisters thus side by side anyone would have been strhcjj: by the resemblance 'between them. Suffering had robbed the woman’s face prematurely of its youth, created lines whore there should have been no lines, turned curves into hollows; but the eyes, sunken and deeply shadowed as they -were beneath, were the girl’s eyes, the small well-cut features were the same, the lips had the same suggestion of open sensitiveness and latent strength, the broad whit© brow under the dark brown hair was of similar mould. They were like and yet unlike. for Gloria had been ground in the mill of life remorselessly, and was shattered in health and spirit beyond repair, and Joyce had the strength and freshness and bloom of unsullied youth. She would need all her strength and all liar courage. ' Dimly she realised it. as she sat clasping Gloria’s hand. On her would fall the burden of this hideous revelation. It had been a great grief to her to believe that her ■ister was guilty, but oniy now did she perceive the gulf there was between family affection and a woman’s love for a man. He had been so much more to her than Gloria could ever be. It was an unreal evening altogether. Tire sisters sat talking over their childhood\ bhetr common recollections <x. parenits and home, of death following death -of schooldays.and separation, and the final tragedy. “Now,” said Gloria suddenly, “you must toil me more about, your lover. My life is over, but yours has only just begun." ' - - v • ..y, v . “Not to-night, Gloria. _ To-morrow, perhaps, we will talk of him.” . The woman gazed at the gill’s downcast face, and -mis-read it.

“You lucky girl, how I envy you," ahe said, passionately. “To .-have a lover who is a good man and loves you! To be young, and innocent, and sound in body and brain! What more can a woman ask of God!’’

“Oh, Gloria, don’t envy me.” “I do —I do! You have everything in reality which was only mine in fancy. And more, for your lover is rich, you say; you need not wait for each other-. Your, golden to-morrow may become to-day whenever he opens his arms and whispers; ‘Come’!" “Gloria. Gloria, you break my heart!" “Why, child, what ails you?" “Jt —it pains me so to hear you speak of all you have lost yourself," faltered the girl with quivering lips. Later, when she lay awake in the dark, she murmured low: ‘•The golden to-morrow which will never come!" She had believed in him; how she had believed in him! Even now she could not recall one moment of their intercourse When his manner had lacked candour. He had seemed so large of mind, so earnest, so sincere. “I do not say you are the only wowan I have ever cared for," he had told her once, “but you will be the last, rest assured of that always." And she had felt as though she had a rock to cling to, firm and changeless as Eternity. She had returned thanks for him last night with tears, and prayed /that her sister’s shame might not; come between them. Gloria stirred in her sleep. “Justin," she moaned, and then again, in a thrilling whisper: “Justin, there is blood on your sl©Bvel" A shudder ran through Joyce. She sat up, her heart beating, an hysterical lump in her throat. Oould these two men be the same? It, was impossible, and yet —Gloria had loved him too, Gloria had believed in him too till the day . of awakening came. And such a secret and such a past as his was not likely to soften a man. The-brute and hypocrite of twenty would become a still greater brute and more finished hypocrite of thirty. If he had been able to play with Gloria’s heart when he was still a boy, was experience likely to lessen his accomplishments ? Why should she think herself a better iudse

of character than Gloria had been tons years ago? ' ■ She would have to see him, of oourse, and prevent his coming to the house. There was no reason wily Gloria should ever now the truth. It would pain her, and do nobody any gt id. His disappearance could be easily accounted for in some other way. “We can quarrel and separate," thought Joyce, “or he can be called abroad suddenly on business and never return —-my lover who was so splendid, so superior to other men!” ' She rose at her usual time in the morning* but , persuaded Gloria, to breakfast in bed. , ' -

“The, rest will, do : you good," she said, “and I have to go out, so you need not trouble about me."- .

.Holderness was staying at the Metropole, and by seeking him early, she hoped to find him in.. . . . ■That ever such an errand should take me to .him!'’ she thought. • -- If a stranger had. made such an accusation against him she would have laughed; her; perfect confidence in him could not have been shaken by any reports,' however scandalous, however circumstantial.. But how could she doubt Gloria's story? .' Life had become a tragedy; the girl felt as though she would never be able to hold, up her- head- again. .

CHAPTER V. AFTER TEN YEARS. Justin Holderness, taking an early walk, had no suspicion of what was in store for him. He felt - happy tius morning, particularly so. . It was a fine day to begin with—-the first for a week,. and the man accustomed to the perpetual sunshine of the Ea found the damp and gloom of an English winter particularly depressing. There was a real spring feeling in the air, and the birds were singing in the park and the sun sparkling on the Serpentine. He walked from Hyde Park Comer to the Powder Magazine, and thenoe to the Marble Arch, where he paused. Tne spring was in his blood as well as in the air, and Joyce had promised to fix the date of their marriage to-day. He looked longingly in the direction of Bloomsbury. It was only . half-past nine, and it was always understood that he was not to call till the afternoon, but what did that matter ? 1 A strong inclination was coming over him not to allow her to waste this lovely day in work when he had plenty of money for both of them. “Til fetch her, and we’ll go down to Brighton and make a day of it,” he resolved. “fcihe was looking pale yesterday. She doesn t get enough fresh air. Poor, dear lie tie girl."

And at the hack of his mind ,-was the consciousness that she owed him an explanation of her anxiety to get of him yesterday, and that he oouid not wait another hour for it. JELe was a little afraid some old busy-body had been putting it into her head that he ought not to visit her so often as she was living alone. She was not a girl to make herself a slave to convention; she was too wide-minded, and knew too well what was really right and wrong; and if lie could have accounted for the constraint of her manner in any other way he would have dismissed t ~u£> idea as absurd. Perhaps she would be hear old frank self when they were strolling t by the blue sea together. He hailed a hansom and drove to Bloomsbury, his V handsome face alight with the expectation of a pleasant day, and reached the house about half-an-hour after left it.

As it happened he was admitted by the land-lady’s small daughter, aged ten, so nobody told him Joyoe was out and there was a stranger upstairs. He went up gaiiy, two steps at a time, and banged at the sitting-room door. “Mere is an> early visitor for you! may I come in?"

x\obody answered, so after knocking again he opened the door, and looked in. The room was empty, to his disappointment, and he hesitated, uncertain what to do. It might b© that she would return presently: it might be that she had gone out oi business, and he had lost the day’s outing on which his heart was set. He decided

to wait a little while, at any rate, and strolled about, looking at the titles of her books, and .the drawings which were pinned on the walls. J 3 “She is too good for fashion plates, he told himself. “The girl is clever — clever, bless her heart! I'll take her to see the best in Europe, and she shall study if she likes.” He became lost in visions of an ideal honeymoon, the perfect union of a man and woman of similar tastes who loved each other. She had been cramped by lack of means and uncongenial surrounding, obliged to stoop to work beneath her; she had the freshness of a dhild, and the appreciation of an artist. What pleasure it would be to give her pleasure; to show her the 'beautiful things of the earth; to remove all care from her shoulders and leave her free to enjoy every hour of her life! He would re-live his own experiences with hers ; v and they would wander hand in hand like children through the garden of the world! If she would come! The creak of a stair sent his heart throbbing to his throat, but the step passed on, and left 3vim with a sense of disappointment curiously disproportionate to the cause. TTft had never been so much in love, •not even ten years ago. , His hand passing across his brow seemed ..brushing away an ugly recollection, and for a moment there was terror in his eyes—a terror stamped down, but still retaining life enough to rear a hydra head and stare at him -when he was off his guard. “What would she think of me if she knew ? But she will never know: I, who was a boy, am a man; the past is dead. I have scotched the devil in me, "lived it down.” He reared his head, challenging God to deny the justice of his claim. “I can trust myself to-day, and she can trust me. I’ll be good to Yi*~e girl.” _ TTire face cleared, and he sighed with m sort of relief, and smelt the roses. ■ “What has she done with my photograph, I wonder?” He had just noticed that it had gone from its accustomed place, and he searched for it in vain about the., rddm. "• “Removed it to her bedroom, perhaps.” . He glanced at the communicating door, but had too much delicacy to open it. A smile which was almost •sweet played on his lips. “Oh, love, I am waiting for you,” he murmured. “How long, how longP” = There .was nothing left for his impatience to do but to look out of the; window and watch for her. So his back was to the bedroom door when it opened, and a tall, slight woman emerged, He did not see her face instantly, ana thought it was Joyce. “Oh, there you are!” he exclaimed. «‘I was 'beginning to fear you weren’t at home.” Then, at the'sound of 'his voice she started, crying out, and turned „to him Ck wild, white fade and they looked at feaoh other, this man and woman who had been lovers once, with emotions indescribable. “You 1” she gasped. “Oh, my God !”; “Gloria,” he whispered. CHAPTER VI. j THE ODD LOVE OR THE NEW? It was not how . She came there, this woman from the past, Which stunned him, but* the paralysing fact that they should meet at all. He had endeavoured to forget her; he had buried her very memory and stamped it down, and she rose and confronted him like a ghost in the very sanctuary of his newer love. .... He had bleached to a sickly white under the tan, and she was drawing] deep breaths which laboured as though each one would be her last. “Have you come to see me?” she asked. “No.” ' ' The monosyllable dropped .from his .lips short and clipped—like a blow. “My half-sister ?” “Who is jjrour half-sister?” “Joyce Amber. Didn’t you know?” It was another shock, which set his brain reeling. “No; I didn’t know.” “She told me she was doing some work for you, but I had no idea of seeing you.” He realised dimly that she was ignorant of his engagement to Joyce, but he let her evident assumption that he had come on business pass. He was abstracted, trying to collect his thoughts —to see through the tangle what this revelation) meant to him. “When did you—when were you released?” he asked, hoarsely. “Yesterday. I came straight here. She asked me. She is a good sister, is she not?”

- He knew now why Joyce 'had been anxious for him to go, he knew now what she bad meant wiben she said: to bim once: “Before we are married I have something to tell you.” But at the time he had not guessed; not a recollection of having beard her name before had crossed bis mind. She bad been “Pet” as a child, not Joyce, and be bad ; never seen her. “JShe ’thought me guilty, and' she took me in,’'“'continued Gloria. “Sbe gave me the‘ shelter of her roof, she fed me, she- clothed me, although the Shadow of my shame had overcast her

life! She was my sister, you see, and the bond of kindred proved stronger in the test even than a man’s love and gratitude!” ~ - “What do you mean?” he said. “In all these years not a line from yon ! On the day of my release not a line from you!” The woman’s voice rose and thrilled, her eyes blazed in her white face, her slight body trembled with excitement. “I would starve rather than accept your 'help, hut you might have offered it. You might have oared enough to save me from destination after all I did for you.” “I am sorry,” he said, constrainedly. ‘lf I had known when you were'coining out. . . . But, naturedly, I thought •your people, your uncles and aunts who paid for your defence ” “Was it their place to help me, or yours? I brought shame upon an honourable family when. I sacrificed myself for yon. Upon whom have I the greater claim? For ten years I have suffered for you, Justin, suffered physical hardship, and a heart-break-ing, soul-destroying degradation; and it was too much trouble to offer me a five pound note and a word of thanks. “Good heavens,” he cried, in a sudden outburst of horror. “What are you talking about? You have suffered ten years for me?” “You cannot pretend you do not understand that I pleaded guilty to screen you ?” - “Then you thought—you thought it was I who killed John Middleforook ?” “Of course.” “And I thought it was you!” Gloria raised her hand to her brow as though she were dazed. “What dio you mean?” she asked. “How could you think I if as guilty?” “I should not have thought so, I could not have believed such a thing if you had not confessed.” “You did not kill your cousin s ”

“No—no —no!” “Are you trying to deceive me ?” she cried. “Book at me—look into my eyes! If you are lying to me now you are committing a bigger crime . than ■murder—the most monstrous crime a man ever committed since the world began!” He looked into her eyes. “I am telling you the truth. I did not kill John Middlebrook.” “But there was blood on your sleeve,” she said, wildly, “and you came back alone, looking as though you had seen hell.”

“I bad seen it,” he said, “and it had frightened me. I quarrelled with him in the wood, and he struck me, and—and——you know I was passionate in those days, uncontrolled. I was flying from myself when we met. The blood on my sleeve was no more than the result of a scratch gained in scrambling through the wood. - How could you have misunderstood!” “You fled like a fugitive?” “I could not trust myself to meet him again.” “That is all?” “Absolutely all.” ‘You meant just what ;f*: u said—nothing more?” “'Nothing more.” “Then you—then I. AsiA aqy ruined Me ”

“Why did you do it? be demanded, with the fierceness of a pain intolerable. “How dared you do it!” ‘I loved you, Justin.” “Yet you believed I should let you take my place?” . “I knew you could not help yourself. I should have stuck to my statement in the teeth of yours.” “And when I made no sign?” “I was glad,” she said, simply. “Glad that I was a coward as well as a murderer ?” “I could not give you hack your selfrespect, and cleanse your soul,” She said, steadily, “hut I could save your life, or I thought so then.” “You should have let me hang!” he cried. “Hanging would have been too good for the man I seemed to you.” ‘I couldn’t hear it,” she said, with a Shudder. . . “But you could bear to be tried m my place, to suffer the degradation, the misery!” ,“I thought I was sparing you a worse fate, and I loved you.” ■ “Do you know that I was ill while the trial was going on?” “They told me so, but—l did not believe it.” “I had brain fever,” he said. “Your fault!”

“Oh !” She wrung her hands. “You nearly killed us both,” he said. “After all the crime was yours!” “Don’t reproach me, Justin.” ‘You, at twenty years old, to take so much upon yourself.” “I meant it for the best.” “Only to think of it drives me mad.” “Forgive me—‘forgive hie,” she cried. ‘I loved you.” And she loved him still; it was in her eyes in her voice. She loved him still, this woman who had sacrificed the ten best years of her life for his sake. And his passion for her was dead so long ago that its very ashes had mouldered away. Joyce held the place in the man’s heart Which Gloria had held in the boy’s—Joyce, Whose face had first attracted him by its resemblance to that other face—Joyce who had cried to him with every glance, and smile, and movement: “I am all you loved in her, and nothing that you hated. I am Gloria, but young and innocent!”

Out of a dream he came to meet the woman’s hungry gaze, and he quivered, overcome, and dropped on the couch, covering his face. “Oh, the tragedy, the tragedy of it!” “Justin.” She came to him, infinitely tender and pitiful, and her hand touched his brow as though in benediction. “Are you grieving for me? Don’t! It’s over now.”

“It can never be over while there is life and memory,” bb said. “If I can say so, cannot you?” “No, Gloria. There is a millstone round my neck which is—drowning me. I cannot breathe.”

“Yet I can smile,” she said, and she smiled, and her face was wiped dean of suffering—beautified. “This moment is worth it all ! You are innocent i” He groaned. “How shall I tell her P” he asked himself. “What shall I doP”

Oh, the years that were gone, the past that, could never come back!

Standing before ham prematurely aged and broken, she demanded his fidelity by the sacred right of her sacrifice —a right no man not utterly heartless could deny. And there was Joyce. It was as though a ghost had risen to thrust itself in the place of the warm flesh and blood he desired. “You do not see,” be .said, “that you have placed me under an obligation almost insufferable.”

“I made a mistake; you cannot blame yourself for that.” “But the obligation is the same,” he insisted. “I tell you it stifles me!” She sat down beside him, and took his hand, and drew it against her heart.

“But we are together,” die murmured, “and the terrible stain of blood is gone from both of us. When I think I might have died without knowing you were innocent, thankfulness is my chief emotion. And we met by chance! After all. God is very good! Justin, say so.”

He raised a face bleached and. seamed by frightful emotions. “I cannot. The innocent was the soraipegoat-, the guilty went free.” “Ah, the guilty!” She flushed, her form dilated. “I give you a mission—• your part! Find that man for me, Justin : clear my name !”

“Yes —yes!”, he cried. “Whatever it, is in mortal power to do, to establish your innocence, shall be done.” “Poor Gloria Dare, she is an outcast, Justin; nobody would speak to her. | And she used to be pretty—at least you j told her so —and now. . . Look at these white hairs among the brown!” “There are very few of them.” She touched her cheeks. “Look ,at these hollows.” “You are thin; you will soon get well and strong again.” “And my eyes which have been drowned in tears ”

“They are beautiful eyes still.” “We were the same age once; now I am ten years older than you! You are a young man, Justin, and I am a broken woman, worn out, old!” “No, no. Change and rest, fresh air, good food, will make you your old self again.” > ■. “Never,” she said, “and you know it l Perhaps it is possible for a man to g® through what I have gone through, and show no signs of it afterwards, hut it is not so with a woman. There is a taint which will cling and ding for ever, which nothing can wipe out. N® woman innooent or guilty, who has been in prison, can be the same again.” "You fancy so.” “But your face is averted, your eyes cannot meet mine! Why do yon look away if—if you mean what you say ?” “I am so sorry for you, Gloria.” “And still you look away, Justin. She clasped his hand tighter, dosear, and he could feel her heart fluttering beneath it like a wounded bird. “Tell me this; if you were meeting me how for the first time, would; you look at me twice, would you see the least attraction, the least little charm ?” “How can I regard you as a stranger, and say what I should not do?” hsa asked, hoarsely. *You are Gloria. .1 cannot begin again with yon.” “Can you even—go on if her® ire fdfc

©ff ten: years- ago?” -she whispered. ‘“You haven’t said onoe that you love me still ; you haven’t , hissed me !” It. -was- a moment he had foreseen, powerless; to stave it ofL His, backwardness was bound to strike her; already, - he perceived, the chill was creeping to her heart, and she was resisting it with this passion of hers—this deathless passion: almost heroic in its magnitude, calling to him for reassurance. demanding his life of him. - If-it had been merely that be loved her no longer, he would have taken her in: his arms, without hesitation, and kissed her on the lips, and she should newer have known this was not happiness, as great few him as for her. Hut there was Joyee between them. He was: bound to her, too ; she had a claim Upon him. too. And he wanted her; Ice- could not give her up. His love had been a- boy’s love ten years ago ; hot and sweet, but perishable; his love of to-day was the love of his maturity. Ha/had. been able to forget Gloria when the shock was over; he had risen freon his illness free, and gone into the world and found it good. But at thirty a. man has lost the elasticity of « his first youth and, knowing himself, he new that what-he cared for to-day hd would care for always, and that this girl’s passage through his life, would leave behind it a craving, physical and spiritual, which would never be eased. And his own passion rising fought .the woman’s for mastery. They were antagonists; and the victory was for the strong. It was Joyce and himself against this resurrection of the dead; his happiness against his pity ; his love against his gratitude, his body against his soul! A sepulchre beckoned him ; the' ashes of the past strove to smother his manhood and his love. He could not yield. Why, after all, had he no right to study himself? Because this woman had rushed headlong into a. blunder so_ frightful, was he called upon to sacrifice the hapiness o*f his Whole life, and the happiness of the girl who’ loved him? “Is it too hard even to pretend you care a little, Justin ?” She began to pant, and dropped his hand. His prolonged silence was. becoming more than she could bear. “Of course I am changed,” .she said. “I know it. There was not: a note- of conviction in your voice, just now. lam no longer young, and my good looks are gone, and men are all alike!” Every word she uttered stabbed him with reproach sharper than a knife, and still he hesitated, till the flashlight of a sudden thought drew a cry from him ; “How .much have you told your sister ?” “Everything ” “You accused me to her! She thinks T did it!” e Yes.” And obviously she had said nothing about the engagement. Then she also did not want Gloria to know yet r awhile?' He was still pondering it wfhen v the door opened: abruptly, snapping the tension, and a young lady, mannishly attired, looked in. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, and stopped Short on' the threshold!. tc l was looking for Miss Amber. I didn’t know there was anybody else here.” “How do you do, Miss Sutton?” said Justin, rising. “It is Mr Holderness, of course.” The mannish young lady seemed relieved, having feared, perhaps, that ehe had stumbled upon an awkward moment, and shook hands cordially. ►me had business with Joyce, and proposed to wait,, so he was relieved to j remember that the engagement was priv. vate as yet. It gave him time to think things over, breathing space. He seized his opportunity,; and rose v to go.

“I shall see you to-morrow, Gloria/’ fee added in a low tone, as he took his leave of her. - Her eyes flickered, hut she made no

verbal response. What did she think? He knew no more than she knew, as yet, what he meant to do. Anxiety to see Joyce was paramount -in his mind. It was for her to say what was to become of them all. He must talk ever with her this awful predicament in which he found himself. Thank God, he- had no cause for self-reproach, and could be frank with her. If he had been what she must imagine at this moment! He was not as miserable as he might have been. It was poor-consolation, which he did not. appreciate at its proper worth, till on the doorstep she ran into his arms and he saw her face.

“Joyce! I was looking for you,” he said.

“And I have been to your hotel looking for you,” she answei’ed, wearily. He summed up her strained eyes and pathetic mouth at a glance. “My poor child, so miserable! You need not explain; I have seen Gloria.” ‘She told me everything.” “What she knew; she knows more now.”

“Oh, what do you mean ?” He tucked her hand through his arm.

‘Bet us take a cab and drive anywhere. I must talk to you.”

" ‘Yes, but you needn’t hold my arm.” “I need. My love, my poor little love, do you hate me? Am I the biggest villain in the world?” “Don’t talk as though I were a child who could be coaxed, and it was nothing!” gasped the girl painfully,' her throat beginning to swell. “I had a night I Shall remember as long as I live.” “I’m not in fun either. But I can explain. You needn’t shrink.” He hailed a prowling hansom and helped her in, and Joyce leaned back more dead than alive as he took his seat beside her..

“She made a mistake,” he continued;, grimly, “that’s aIL I didn’t kill the man.”

She stared at him with eyes wide, lips apart. “A simple explanation, isn’t it?” * “How v can I believe you ?” - “She does. Hook at me, Joyce.” “I am looking.” /‘Did you think, when she told yqu, that I could commit a murder ?” “No. But she loved you, too—oh! how she must have loved you! And she was there.”

“iShe was only a girl, younger than you are now, and. a certain' string of circumstances conspired to deceive her. My manner first of all, I came to her, as she may have told you,, in a state of agitation, with a bloodstain on my sleeve. I had been having a row with poor old John in the wood—we were supposed to be sporting together; but as a matter of fact we hated each other about that time. He wanted Gloria and I wanted some of his money, and. there were hitter snaps whenever we met. On this particular occasion | , had been asking him for a loan, to enable me to make a bid for fortune, and he had refused with an unnecessary gibe. I retorted in kind; he smacked my face, and •” He paused. “Go on/’ she said, breathlessly. “I have a confession to make. You shall have the . truth—the whole truth, nothing but the truth. c We were resting and it happened that his gun was standing against the gate. And I snatched it up in the fury of the moment, and—put it down again. Yes, that’s all. But for that instant I was a murderer at heart, and I knew it, and I have thought of it. since and sweated the devil out of me, and returned thanks to God. I was a passionate boy, hut that incident cured me. I bolted from that wood blindly tearing, my clothes and my flesh, and she saw me; and I gasped out just enough in my innocence to give the poor girl a wrong, impression, and left by the first train in order not to see John again. And. an hour later he was discovered dead.”.

The hand which had been withdrawn just now crept through his arm. “I might have been suspected, if she had not taken the crime upon herself. I was his heir, you see. Poor John; there was no love lost between us, but I didn’t want him to be kicked out of the world by the back stairs like that. Poor Gloria; poor—all of us !” he ended. There was a silence. He looked at the girl beside him. A single tear like a diamond was trickling slowly down her cheek. (To be Continued.)