A REMORSELESS ACCUSER

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 8683, 17 March 1914, Page 8

A REMORSELESS ACCUSER

[PUBLISHED BT SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.] [All Rights Reserved.]

By EDGAR PICKERING, Author of “Dick Beresford’s Wife,” “Was She Guilty?” etc., etc.

CHAPTER XLVIII VENGEANCE.

■■'How little knowest thou, who hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide; To spend to-day, to be put back tomorrow; To live in hope, to die with pain and sorrow.”

With her _gaze upon the handbill before her, Janet Deeds sat thinking. Looking forward as it were to what must be —what must come, and come quickly. There would he no turning back from her task ; no thought of pity nor concealment, but only tiro eager desire to unburden her soul of its secret seemed to give her any concern. There was no reason now lor hiding him —Esmond Wilinot would pay the penalty of his crime—he should be given up to .justice. There was such hardness in Janet’s heart that it felt neither grief nor regret —only the dull certain intent of destroying him. From the moment when she had learned of this 1 intended marriage her whole nature had changed; every tender fibre had been numbed into insensibility, and it was a different woman who was sitting late into the still night from the Janet Deeds of yesterday, for her eyes wore a stony look, and her cheeks were grey and haggard. Once or twice she had laughed, but there was a horrible mirthlcssnoss in that laugh; a scarcely human sound had com© from her drawn-back lips—it was a laugh such as a demoniac might have uttered in the act of springing upon his victim.

And now and again Janet muttered, raising her voice, which sounded clear and distinct upon the dead silence of the cottage, so that Mary, Iving sleepless, heard the words, and 'hy degrees the meaning of them came, as creeping downstairs to the door of the little sitting room she stood listening. “Married!” and Janet’s voice broke the silence again. “He’s to be married—in d few days—Sybil Montagu is the name of the woman he is going to wed—not Mary, though it ought to bo. But it doesn’t matter now, because thinking once more. “No, it doesn’t matter,” went on the voice, after a pause. “They’ll prevent his marriage”; and here her laugh broke out again, but more strangely than before—a thin, shrill scream almost, and Mary shuddered as she heard it. “Yes, they’ll stop Sir Esmond from doing that wickedness. They shall know everything, for I can tell all that happened. I can feel the rain beating on my face as it did that night; I can see his hand gripping the’ old man’s throat so that there was no cry; and I hear him coming out through the open window. Hal ha! I will tell them all that, and the reason why I have kept it to myself so long. Not that they’ll care-, no, no, who is likely to care ? Maybe they’ll blame mo. but I shan’t mind that—l’ve nothing to think of except to hear that they’ve laid hands on him, and then I’ll wait. There’s bolter to come—better to come.”

With a fear nameless, yet so vivid and appalling that it made her gasp, Mary pushed open the door and went irtto the room, at which Janet looked' up with lack-lustre eyes for a moment, betraying no surprise in her. vacant glance at her mistress. “Why are you sitting up so late, Janet?” asked Mary. “It is past twelve o’clock, and you’ve been talking to yourself. Are you ill? Has anything happened to 'trouble you?’ “Nay, I’m well enough,” retorted Janet. “Why should Tail anything?” “But why do you talk and laugh so strangely?” went on Mary. “You were never like this before. Come upstairs with me—you’re tired and- ”

“Tired!” Janet uttered the monosyllable scornfully, and 'then her voice changed to a low hissing tone, which had a curious plaintiveness in it, notwithstanding. “I’ll tell you something, dearie,” she said, laying her shrivelled hand in Mary’s, “something I’ve heard to-day-. It’s about the murder of Sir George IVilmot. They’ll discover who did it —here’s the bill they printed offering a great reward —money—hundreds of pounds.” Mary drew back, shrinking from the sight of the ominous word that she printed on thei paper, but she uttered no response. “He’s a great man who did the murder. A handsome man, too—strong and rich, strong and rich, but money can’t save him now, thank Heaven. And there’s more—come closer, so that you’ll hear better —more than this to tell you. He’s to be married—married in a few days—Sybil Montagu is the name of the woman not that it matters —no ; no —that, doesn’t matter ; but lie’s going to be married. Ha ! ha!” and the lips were drawn hack again in that mockery of a laugh. “Tell me what you’ve heard. Janet.” exclaimed Mary, trembling, with_ that dreadful fear besetting her. “Who is going to he married —why- do you look at me so?” “Sir Esmond Wilmot,” replied Janet, repeating the old formula.. “In a few days he’s to he married—Sybil Montagu—yes, that was the name I was told.” And then she came crouching towards her mistress, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. “But it will never be—never, never. Come closer still dearie —you mustn’t miss a word. He’s to bo married at Mahlethorpe—be, your husband —’tis his grand house in the country that the guests are gathered in, and where he’s moving amongst them while I’m speaking, perhaps.” Mary’s face flushed and then paled agfiin. “Let me quite understand what vou mean,” she said quietly 7. “How can I speak plainer?” replied Janet, almost angrily. I‘Sir Esmond has broken his promise to you —he is going to marry a woman named Svbil Montagu; but I will prevent it. It was he who murdered his uncle, and come, the morning! light the police shall know the secret I’ve kept so long. And he will bo hanged —hanged like a dog!” Disregarding the exclamation . of horror that Mary uttered, Janet turned awav, and, as though unwilling to sav more, she quitted the room, leaving her mistress gazing after her. He was in danger. That was the only thought in Mary’s mind, clouded hv a horrible fear of something she dare not give form to. There had been that in Janet’s look and words which assured her of some coming disaster. She could not give credence to the belief that Wilmot was a murderer, hut he must be warned. lie must hide himself; be protected from the consequences of Janet’s madness, and even the knowledge of his approaching marriage seemed trivial in face of the necessity of saving him. She had loved him—perhaps she loved him still, for it was the passionate

desire to succour one from harm whom she regarded differently from any other human being which prompted her.

Remaining in the same posture as when Janet had gone from the room, Mary’s resolution formed itself. Though her strength hardy sufficed to support her from room to loom iester day, the weakness of body had gone now. * There was so much to do—and do quickly, the time was so short. Daylight would come soon, and who knew°what danger with it? Then the relief of action came, then with feverish haste she prepared for leaving home. Mahlethorpe could be reached by 11 o’clock if sho travelled oy an early train from London, and as dawn broke she went noiselessly from the cottage, whilst, worn out with fatigue, Janet slept. Her black-robed figure passed through the awakening_ village to the railway station, and although she had neither eaten_ nor drank, die felt no hunger or fatigue as she travelled Lond'onwards on her errand of rescue. (To ho continued.)