FICTION

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1748, 6 September 1905, Page 3

FICTION

THE CRIME OF GLORIA DARE.

By ESTHER MILLER, Author of “Wliat Was Her Sin?’ “The Sting of the Wasp,” “A Prophet of the Real,” “Quicksands of Life,” etc., etc. (All Rjghts Reserved.) i SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS IV. and V.—J oyce is horror-stricken at the disclosure of the name of her sister’s lover. She questions Gloria, and has her worst suspicions confirmed—her own lover of to-day is Gloria’s of tan years ago. Joyce decides not to pain her step-sister by letting her share the awful secret, and further determines to break off her engagement to Holdemess. Meantime, Justin, while out walking, suddenly makes up his mind to call for Joyce, and take her for a holiday. He is shown up to her flat in her absence, and with indescribable emotions encounters Gloria Dare! CHAPTER Vl.—Gloria upbraids Hoidernesa for his indifference to her sufferings, endured for his sake. Amazed, he demands explanation. He protests his innocence of the murder of John Middlebrook, and is horrified to find that she has endured c ten years of miserythrough an unhappy misunderstanding. Justin reproaches her gently for her lack of trust in him. Gloria b,egs for forgiveness, for eho had loved him. With keen regret Heldernesg feels that she loves him still with a love which he cannot return. He feels that it is hi® sacred duty to repay her for her awful sacrifice by a life-long devotion. But he remembers . J oyce, and love ■■ and gratitude struggle for the mastery. Meeting Mis 3 Amber on leaving he narrates the circumstances iof the murder, and insists on his own innocence. Joyce is silent. : - CHAPTER Vn. ' | LOVE VERSUS DUTY. “Well, what have you to say to mo?” asked Holdornees. “I loro you, Justin.” “The nightmare is over?” “For ever.” “Oh, my dear,” he murmured. . “Did you tell Gloria that you were engaged to me ?” “No.” “Neither <hd I. I—” she shuddered —“1 could not. I had been speaking of my lover, -though not by name. I had been telling her how good and honourable ha was, and how great was my gratitude for his love, and when I made the awful disocvery that we were talking of the same man, pride would not let me admit it all at once. Oh, I was miserable-enough to die, Justin, if one ever died of grief.” “My poor love.” “Now I-wish that I had. told her. No, I don’t! Oh, Justin,” she cried, wildly, “what are we to do? What are we to do?” “God knows.” “She loves you still!” ■‘Yes,” he admitted, hollowly. “And you?” The question of the girl’s eyes was even more agonising than the question of her roio®. , “My 'boyhood was hers, my manhood is yours; need you ask? Her day was done long, long ago.” “It will not oome again?” “No, I am yours now—'for ever.” She expelled a long quivering breath. “I felt it was so,” she said, “and yet Bhe has dona so much; it might make a difference.” Her fingers closed on his arm, and her young face grew careworn in a moment. “She would think I was cruel and selfish, Justin, if she knew how anxious I am to keep all your love myself. But I can’t help it, can I? It’s natural, isn’t it?” -‘•Quite natural, and I would not have it otherwise,” answered the man, deeply moved. “But what is to become of Gloria, who loves you too? You can only belong to one of us! And she will expect—of course she will expect——” “I am afraid she does.” “"Did she say anything?” “She—she wondered why I did not kiss her,” he replied, huskily. “We were interrupted, thank God, by the arrival of some woman to see you. I said I would oome again to-morrow.” “And what will you do when you coone to-morr aw.” “I must tell her the truth, I suppose. What else can I do?” “It will he such a shock to her, and she has suffered so much already. Oh, Justin! Oh, Justin S”* “Can it hie helped?” “If I were in her place. « . Think of what she has done.” “I think and think till my brain reels and my heart breaks,” said the man hetweem-his teeth, “but that does not mend matters.” “If she had not- done it, you would have married her ten years ago, and 1 Should never have had you. I should have grown up regarding you as a sort of elder brother, and perhaps I should have met and married somebody else.” He followed, more or less distantly, the train of ideas in her mind.

“I should have had to do without you then,” she continued. “I shouldn’t have even wanted you, and you wouldn’t have wanted me, and life would have been worth living just the same, incredible as it seems.” “Yes, incredible as it seems,” he repeated, musingly. “You are really hers, not mine! She was first.” “One cannot put hack the hands of time.” “But how can we tell her that her sublime self-sacrifice cost her your love! How can I marry you under her very eyes? -it would drive her mad; and I should feel like a. murderess! You see it, Justin!” “I have seen nothing else since I left her.” “Then what ” The cab stopped, as Justin had ordered, at one of the gates of Regent’s Park, and they got out. At this hour there were few people about except a sprinkling of nursemaids a,nd children, and they soon found a secluded path where they coukl resume their talk unnoticed. “Do you think you ought to marry her after all?” asked Joyce. “I do not know. I have asked myself the same question and —and I do not know!” he answered. “There is no doubt about the truth being a shock to her, but why should I sacrifice you and myself to anyone ? It is very hard. The mistake was hers.” . “But she has paid so much for it; is it fair that .she should pay again ? Surely it is our turn, Justin!” “I cannot give you up,” he said between his teeth. “It is more than a man was meant to bear.” He was white to the lips, but the girl, with that same strain m her blood which had made a martyr of Gloria, flushed up and her eyes shone and her voice thrilled. “Is it more than she has endured for you?” she cried. “It is our turn now. She bought you with h’er name, her youth, ten years of agony! You are hers.” “Oh, love, must I?” he asked. “You must!” But she ruined the cause she pleaded. - Her heroism fired his blood- and made her even more adorable to him than' before. He had been prepared to admit the priority of Gloria’s claim upon him until this moment; now he revolted at the unnatural sacrifice. “I will not,” he said, and he grasped the girl’s hand, and held it fast. “We are not to blame for her unhappiness, and I love you, I want you. If you really cared for me, you could not suggest such a thing.” “Justin!” She cried with quivering reproach. “Ah, because I am in pain I must turn and rend you like a beast! Forgive me!” Then a tear rolled down, her cheek, and he stooped and kissed her, indifferent to observers, and for a moment they walked on in silence, thinking, suffering. “You couldn’t bear it!” he added presently. “What is the use o-f pretending that you could! Have a little pity for me, if you have none for yourself. Try to realise how I should feel when I knew what pain it caused you to see me with Gloria. You. are asking me to torture you; it is nothing else.”

“I am trying to put myself in her place,” said Joyce. “I am trying to remember, as she must remember, the times you told her that you loved her, the kisses you gave her, the great passion on her part which. must have made the whole world nothing beside you. And then I remember the unspeakable agony of mind she must have felt when she thought you guilty, her eagerness, in spite of it, to protect you at any cost, the mental ordeal she endured willingly, the degradation, the physical hardship, the loss of all her friends. It was not for a month or a year, but for ten years that she paid your debt for you. Does it make any moral difference that this debt existed in her imagination alone? Should your gratitude be less on that account? I don’t think so, Justin; neither do you. In your heart of hearts you know you owe her just as much, innocent as guilty.” “You are a gooc» girl, Joyce,” he said.

“No, I’m bad!” she replied. “Because although I ought to leave off thinking about you, I can’t. I can’t forget about myself; I can’t give up the 'beautiful future we’ve talked about! I feel desperate, torn as I am this way and that—almost wild enough to ask you to take me away somewhere, Justin, now, this moment, just as I am, and never bring me back!” He gave her a burning look, and the clasp of his hand tightened. “We could write to her, couldn’t we, Justin? And —and send her some money. And she could have my rooms, and. everything they contain. And we could go abroad, without leaving any address, so that we should never know what she thought. We should, have each other, and be everything to each other, as we meant, and by-and-by we should forget all about her, and foe happy again. Why don’t you speak! 'Don’t you want me? Won’t you take me?”

“My poor child, I am yours until you send me away,” he said. “Rest assured that we can be separated only by your

own desire. I must see Gloria; I promised, and it would be cowardly _ and cruel to run away! But th,e painful duty or telling her the truth is mine, not yours. You shall not go home again if you cannot bear it. I will find a refuge for you until we can be married* And then we will go right away and speak no more of this misery.” “You will not go now ? I want to go now, Justin!” she said feverishly. “Something tells me that if we don’t, we shall never go at all. You’ll talk to Gloria, and - you’ll feel sorry.; •or I shall turn weak again. Oouldri’t we drive to the nearest railway station and escape?-’

“Oh, my dear,” he cried, “do you want me to play the. cur ! Think—think! I’ll take you down to Brighton, or wherever else you like, and leave you there. But I must return.” “If I lost sight of you, it would be the end! You would never come back to me! No, I don’t mean that you wouldn’t want to come back! But God and- justice and our better selves would come between us. We should have time to think —and to think is to be lost. ’ Our only chance is to run, and net stop until too late.” “You tear my heart out by the roots,” he said, hoarsely, “but I must not give into you. What a very woman you are! It must be more than all or less than nothing; you can see no course between. At one moment you would rise to martyrdom, and at the next you would make a base coward of the man you love)! Oh, my poor dear, don’t you see that I must —must break it to her myself ? Do you think I say so because I wish to do it? I would give ten years of my. life to be excused! You are upset now, and scarcely know whaL- you are saying; but if I gave in to you, would you like me the better for it afterwards ? You would despise me. Joyce.” The girl sobbed suddenly. “Of course you are right; and now it is you who will despise me, and I shall hate myself.” * “Don’t,” he implored, “for God’s sake! Joyce, Joyce, don’t cry!” “I built "a fairy castle,” she said, “and A is lying in ruins at my feet. Oh, I long for it, but nothing can put it back again. They are gone —our dreams; our love, which seemed good and right, has become something dreadful to be crushed. If I don’t weep I shall die* Justin.” “Sit here,” he said. And he drew her to a couple of chairs under a tree, and seemed to see the story of his ine go by. 'He saw his childhood and his youth, the Gloria he loved and the Gloria of to-day; and through all the scenes of past and present, of love and hate, of happiness and sorrow, the cold March sun was shining, and the bare branches rustling, and distant water gleaming, and a girl crying at his side. “How can I comfort you?” he said. “You can’t. It is hopeless.” She raised her head at last, and her cheeks were pale, and her eyes were colourless and dead. “Whatever we do we shall be miserable,” she said, “because if we act selfishly and study ourselves alone, we shall know we have done wrong, and with a conscience ill at ease there can be no happiness.” “But we must decide something. What am. I to tell Gloria to-morrow ?” “You choose,” she said, piteously. “You are the man. I am not strong enough, Justin.” “It is because I am the man that I am bound to obey you in a matter like this. How can I give you up without your leave —or marry you without your leave ?” i

“I cannot choose,” she murmured, and stared at Destiny. “May I think. J ustin ?” “Yes, if you will let me hear from you by the morning.” “Very well.” She shivered suddenly. “Are you cold ?” he asked with quick solicitude. “It is chilly sitting here. Why do I not take more care of you!” “I was only wondering. . . . Let us move on. Why did you come this morning, Justin? I didn’t expect you.” “I wanted to take you down to

Brighton for the day. It seemed so like Spring.” “You were thinking of pleasure,” she said. "Of pleasure! Oh, my poor Justin, shall we ever know what it means again ?” Sadly they made their way out of the Park. ‘You need not go home yet, at any rate,” he said. “Come to lunch with, me.”' “In a restaurant, where there are people laughing?” She shrank. “I couldn’t. No t dear, Til go home.” “To Gloria ?” he asked, in a low tone. “Yes, to Gloria.” “You have given up the idea of running away?” ■ “If I went it would be choosing now, wouldn’t it ? No. you shall hear from me in the morning. Do not oome any further with me. I’ll take a cab.” He held her hand for a long moment before they parted, and as he looked at the girl’s white face a wave of passion overcame him onoe more. . “Oh, be kind to me, my love!” “You shall hear from me,” she repeated, “in the morning.” She drove home in a dream, almost too wretched to think. “What a long time you have been gone,” said Gloria, as she entered. “The man I went to see was out,” replied Joyce. “It —it delayed me.” “There have been visitors for you—one of them a most unexpected visitor!” “Yes ?” Joyce’s voice was faint; she turned away, drawing off her gloves. “I am sorry you were disturbed, Gloria.” “An extraordinary thing has happened,” continued the elder sister. “I have been waiting for you to come back, anid waiting, until impatience nearly distracted me! - Justin Holderness has beep. here. He came to . see you and found me!” “That must have 'been a great surprise for you both ?” “Ho is innocent!” cried Gloria, in a voice half strangled by emotion. “He is innocent! He is innocent! Oh, Joyce, think of it! To hear after all these years that he is innocent!” For the first time J oyce looked at her sister. “Are you.sorry or glad?” “Glad! What a question!” ’ . “But doesn’t it seem dreadful to yo© to find that you suffered so much needlessly ?” “If I though of it I should go out of my mind,” replied Gloria; “for he loved me then, and now ” “What now ?” asked the girl. “I do not know,” said Gloria slowly. “Perhaps I am only fancying.” She passed her hand across her brow. “No, no, it cannot be possible that he shoulai no longer love me! He couldn’t have forgotten what I remember so well. We were only boy and girl, but it is all as fresh in my memory as though it had happened yesterday. If you knew what it was, Joyce, to see him again, guiltless! There were days When I prayed for death, but now I thank God for sparing me.” “Was he with you long?” “We were interrupted unfortunately by someone to see you—a Miss Sutton; She left a note. He is coming again tomorrow. Oh., Joyce, if only I felt Sure he loved me still!” “You will know to-morrow,” replied Joyce, in a half-stifled tone. She went to the bedroom to take off her things, more dead than alive. Every word Gloria uttered caused her a pang of pity, and a sense of shame like guilt. Gloria had come first; surely he was hers? “How can I hesitate?” the miserable girl asked herself. “How could I bear to marry him knowing what she would feel ? He must be true to her; the sacrifice must be made.” And all that day the struggle went on in her soul between love and conscience and compassion. She knew he would obey her, and the responsibility was almost more than she could bear. The fate of three people rested on her shoulders, and she was only twentyone. CHAPTER, Yin. SUSPENSE. Justin’s suspense was as hard to endure as Joyce’s indecision. What a

Change had come over his life in a few boors ! This morning lie had been, as happy as a man could bej everything ft reasonable person could ask for was his. this afternoon he found himself confounded by circumstances of almost incredible painfulness. No misfortune could have happened, except perhaps the death of Joyce, equal to this one. JTn might have exerted his imagination for a month without being able to conceive a situation as unexpected and extraordinary as the one which had overwhelmed him on the veiy threshold of marriage. And if Gloria nad come out of prison a month later-, or he had met Joyce a month earlier, it would have been too late to choose; he would have had the girl safe, and neither Gloria nor his own conscience would have been able to reproach him. Even a week, a day, on the right side would have saved them this misery. It was as though God had spoken at last for the woman who had suffered a martyrdom for love. Not since Gloria’s arrest had he passed such a day. He could not eat, he could not read, he could not even rest. All the afternoon he walked about the streets till he was too tired to stand any longer, and then he returned to his. hotel and tried to sleep, in vain. He could only think of what his life would foe if he married Gloria, and what it would be if he married Joyce. The woman was as a stranger to him, to-day. While she had been thinking of him and of nothing but him for ten years, in the seclusion of a prison, he had been mixing with the world and forgetting her. It seemed to him he knew no more about her, and was as unfamiliar with her ways of thought as if he had never met her before, while he understood Joyce,- and she understood' him, and they had a thousand tastes and ideas * in common which drew them together With bonds stronger than steel. Would he ever recover the least sympathy with Gloria? Would he ever find her companionable again? If it bad to be, could he 'be passably content with her? His whole soul and body shrank in dread of the experiment he might be called upon to make. And there was the girl. Was it not equally hard on her? Was it fair that she Should be asked to suffer for her sister’s sake?

A sleeping draught brought Shim blessed forgetfulness until the morning, /when he awoke with the oppression, of a nightmare on his chest, to find that it was nine o’clock. If Joyce had written, the letter must be awaiting him already. He dressed hastily, and went downstairs. She had kept her promise, and at the sight of her writing a fit of cowardice overcame him. He was afraid to open the letter, and for twenty seconds, which seemed like half-an-hour, he etared at the envelope, his heart beating in his throat. Then be sat down on one of the settees which lined the hall, among globe-trotting Americans, and Cape Jews, and visitors from the country, and read’ his fate in a cross light of electricity and sunshine. “You must marry Gloria. I think it would kill her to lose you, and we should never forgive ourselves all our lives. It is very hard, hut there is no help for it. Perhaps by-and-by, we Shall ibe comforted by feeling that we have done right.” A guttural German conversation was in progress beside him, the baggage lift in the outer hall was descending with a pile of Saratoga trunks, doors swung and people passed to and fro, and the shrill voice of a small hoy in 'buttons made itself heard above the general din: “Number 332, please. Number 33t2.” , Justin heard nothing, saw nothing, absorbed by the letter in his hands. “You must marry Gloria.” If he had not felt she was right he would have defied her decision; hut it was because his conscience had already spoken in unmistakable terms that he had left the verdict to the girl. That loophole he had given himself and her: more he dared not do.

His youth seemed fading for ever as he gazed at the years before him —the grey hopeless years of distasteful duty rendered even more bitter by longing and regret. And as he mused the little “buttons” came back with his shrill cry‘‘Number 332, please. Number 332.” Justin realised suddenly that Number 332 was himself. “Here,” he said, rising. “A telegram for you, sir.” He tpok the orange envelope off the salver and opened it without interest, his mind preoccupied by this calamity which had overwhelmed his life, and taken ill. Will you come? — Joyce.” (To be Continued.).