The Lion's Mouse

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12040, 19 January 1925, Page 4

The Lion's Mouse

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT,.

By

C.N.E A.M.WILLIAMSON

Author of ‘'This Woman to this Mam" “ The Lightning Conductor," '’ C.COPVRICBT.I,

CHAPTER XXXVI.—“WE DO THINGS QUICKLY OUT HERE.”. " ' . —(Continued.) , “Stephen’s dead!” “Yes. Did you know him?” : “I know: of him. lie , is— —— ” “Don’t tell me. She mightn’t want me to know. I don’t know anything,except, that it and Churn talked about his having died, and said Angel had been cheated.” “By Jove, I begin to see light.” “Now you see why I must go to her? 1 And you’ve forgotten maybe what I: told you about Mr'Heron. If he’s near Newport, I ” ' 1 'Look here, darling, if the doctor says you can, be taken there to-morrow —oh, in time to arrive before the famous ball —let’s say in a comfortable mo-tor-car, travelling slowly, hanked up on cushions, will you go as my wife?” . Clo stared .as if O’Reilly had broken, into some strange language, which he expected her to understand. “Your wife?” “Well- —don’t you expect to marry me? That’s what, happens when a girl and a man love each other,” - “Oh—some day—if you’re sure you peally want an ignorant little girl like me, -brought up in an orphan asyluni, who’s worked in a shop, and hasn’t a penny in the Worldt—except a dollar or two left of Mrs Sands’s money. A long time from now,' when you’ve thought about it “I’ve thought of nothing else since wo met and .parted, and I realised' that you were my life and soul. If you can make uf vour miud -to ‘some day,’ it might just as well be to-morrow. Don’t you want to console me for the loss of the only other thing, besides you, I’ve, ever wanted with all my heart. You do . if you love me. The dear old house that was my father’s! You know, when you sent up your name at the-Diets, as Miss O’Reilly, I believed you- we're my cranky fcotfsin‘Theresa, come to tell me she’d • changed- her mind. Why you owe it to me, if you care, to make up for that. Your Angel’s husband has bribed Theresa to sell to, hmv The place:has passed away from me forever. But if you’ll marry me to-night I shan’t hare. In the joy of -being husband—and nurse —to the bravest and dearest! mouse- in the world, I’ll forget- everything and be the happiest man on God's earth.” “People don’t get married at a few hours’ notice." “Don’t they? How long have you lived in th© United States, my Irma colleen P” . “Months. Over a year. But,l nev'ir discussed marriage.” “I’m jolly - glad - you-didn’t. But you’ll hear nothing else till the knot’s -tied. We do things quickly over hero.” - Then the door opened, and the doctor came in. CHAPTER XXXVII.—THE TELE- - " - : '■ GRAM. RogeV Sands had hardly known hint' self for many days. His wife had read him aright. At times he was purposely. 1 cruel. At times he did wish to see how; much she could bear and , not '•< break., . Yet if she. had broken,:.-he felt that he. could not have helped seizing her in his arms and forgiving' her. While he dressed that night he hoped that she would send for him, or come to him, and confess that the pearls were- . gone, that she had given them toO’Reilly, whom she had once loved, and she loved no- more.' ( . But she neither sent'nor came. She was bluffing it out to the last. He might have known she. would do thft, although ho had taken her to her room to give her one more chance. At halfpast seven he was' ready, but he waited quietly ten minutes. Then he went to - his door, meaning—as he said to himself roughly—to “get the thing over.” Blit he paused with his 'hand ou the knob. He thought that he heard a woman’s voice saying, “May I come in?” . * His muttered comment upon one of. bis and Beverley’s guests, whom he supposed the intruder to be, was far from flattering. Perhaps, however, it would be well not to find his wife alone. He would give Beverley a -few minutes more, to be sure that her dress was on, before he went to interrupt the chorus of mutual admiration; but- no woman’s presence should prevent. him front asking the question he meant to ask—‘‘Where are your pearls?” At exactly eight minutes to eight poger ceased his restless tramp up and down the rqom, and stopped again at the door; Before he could open it, however, therb was a . light tapr—a tap like Bevereley’s -in happier days, j “Can she - mean, after'all, to tell me the truth?” he wondered;- and he heard his voice saying mechanically, “Come in.” Beverley came in; -Roger’s room was 1 foil' of light;, and as his wife entered she faced it. She glittered from head to foot'like an ice-maiden under » blazing sun. She wore a wreath of diamond roses; round her waist was a girdle of diamonds, with long tasselled ends; on her white satin shoes were diamond buckles; and over her bare, white neck, her young gauze-enfolded bosom, hung the rope of the Queen’s pearls. “I'thought you wore coming in to see,me dressed?” she said, calmly.*“Did you forget?” For answer. Roger stared. He stepped back, into the room, and let Beverleyshut the door. She stood before him smiling, though if he Had analysed her smile,, he would have said that it -was sad. “How do you think I look?” she asked, vyhen he did not speak. “I hope you’re not disappointed?” “You have had those pearls copied !” •he flung at her. / - ■Beverley blushed' bright crimson. She understood instantly what he meant and thought, but she had not gone through tortures and been relieved at the last moment to . be beaten j down now. i “What do you mean P” she asked, her eyes steady, her head up. “You thought I didn’t know. But ■I have known from the first. I found out. by-'accident. T. always iior.cd you’d someday tell me the truth. This is a cowardly thing you’ve done.” Beverley was a,gain ivorv pa Jo. “Are you a judge of pearls, Roger?” she ooldlv inquired. v “Yes.” he said. She lifted the rope over her head /and thrust it. against his will, into his bands. “Make any test you wish. and decide whether these are fhe pearls ! yon gave me or an imitation.” 1 Hardly knowing what he did. ha-

walked to a table, on which stood a tall lamp that give a brilliant light. Beverley watched him. .There wae no emotion whatever on her fate. After a moment he spoke. "These are genuine pearls,” he'said, after a heavysilence.. “And I have reason to believe from certain marks, that they are the pearls I bought for you, tho Queen’s pearls. 'lf you,give me your word, that since, 1 put them into your hands you did not part- with them to Justin O’Reilly, at I bate believed, I will beg your forgiveness on the knees' of my sioul. I will confess to you—. as I expectedJvou to confess to me.” “Hush! There’s someone at: the ■door!” Beverley cut him short. ■ It was Lapntine who knocked, and; paused on the threshold. “Will Madame have the kindness to step into the hall,” she asked. As' her mistress' moved towards .her, she retired, and it was, not until they .both stood at some distance from the door that the French woman spoke. ~ \ \ “I bog Madame’s pardon for disturbing her,” she apologised, “but 1 dare not delay. Tho lady, Mees Black-, burne, if that-is her name,'was about to start back to town, but remembered a commission, she had been raven at the apartment; to bring a telegram for. me. , I opened it, to find that for me there is no sense. I know no Stephen ; bufM-’’ “Stephen!” Beverley gasped the name, and snatched from the woman’s band an / pen telegram she hold. She; read it, and then <c!iapsed in a dead, faint. iVith a cry, Ledntine tried to catch the swaying figure: but the best she could do was to break the fall. When Roger reached the door it was to find Beverley in a white heap on the floor, with the maid kneeling by her side. He caught bis wife up, and, carrying her back into his room, laid hcT on the bed. ' “Let everybody bo told that dinner will be delayed half an hour,” he said, and shut the door in Leontine’s face. She snatched up the dropped telegram', and whisked off to obey the master's command. CHAPTER XXXVIII.—WHO IS - ' ' ■ STEPHENP As Roger stood looking dawn at Beverley she opened her eyes. ‘(Stephen is’dead!” she muttered. “Stephen—is dead.” “Who is Stephen?” Roger asked shortly. . . “Oh, Roger!” ,she appealed to him, breaking: into .spbs. “My poor Stephen!. I shall never see him again. All' my sacrifices—in vain!” . , “Who is Stephen?” Roger repeated. She held-up her arms, without answering his questions, “Roger—comfort n;c!” she wept. , ■ .. And for all his life, no matter how many years he may live, Roger Sands will be glad that he did- not hold back from; Beverley then. Without another : word, he clasped her tightly, while she cried against, his cheek. Both had for-' gotten that there were guests, 'that, this , was the “great night” all th* newspapers were talking about; that, already dinner was late, and people wondering; that the “ball”, was to Begin .at ten-thirty, and. that th© Russian dancers who were to open it, as-the great “surprise” would soon • be in the ouse. ■ : When Beverley had sobbed until ex-' haustion came, she spoke, in a tiny voice, like that of a tired little'girl.; “I can tell you everything now. Will: you listen, Roger, to. the end whether; you can forgive me or no?” “Yes,” Roger - answered. ‘‘But just, this before yoU begin! I love you so much, Beverley, that if there’s something to forgive, it’s forgiven now.” , ‘Stephen was my .brother, she said, “the onb person who belonged to me, after father died. Mother I don’t iememher. She came of a high Russian family who went to Siberia as political prisoners. She was only sixteen, and ,-rather saved her my making her his wife. I was named ‘Olga’ after her. But for that journey from Albuquerque I had to have some name that wouldn’t! give me away . when my ticket was bought. Stephen and I were called Sevan, because father used that-.name for his biisiness in Russia, hut his own. name was Beverley. For travelling that, day I was/‘Mj@» B. white. Once I’d told you 1 was Beverley, I had'always to be Beverley for you, “Stephen—or Stephan, his Russian name^—and J, were - horn in Russia, where father superintended an immense tract of oil wells for Mr Heron. When my father was killed in an explosion (I was fourteen and Stephen twelve) Mr Heron felt it'his duty tolook, after our future. He had j,ust married at that’.time. You must know Mrs Heron well enough to understand that she wouldn’t like to have' two half-grown-up children thrust upon her. Why. she used to he jealous evenof hei\ husband’s first wife, an Irish girl, who died years and years ago in Ireland! It seems Mr Heron hadn’t told her about his old love stofy. SHe came across a picture of him tdken with the girl,- and some letters from people Mr Heron had employed to search for his wife whom he had quarrelled with and'left. I was staying at tlieir house when Dolores discovered the photograph and letters. She rushed into the roorf" where I was with Mr‘ Heron. He had if? seize her. hands to keep her from tearing the picture in .pieces;; and he held them while he told her his sad story. He’d, been visiting Ireland, it. seemed, years before, and met a girl, very poor but. very lovely, and married her ' when! they’d known each other a few weeks! It seemed she’d been engaged to some-, one else, and that someone took a cruel revenge on Heron. By a plot which he confessed afterwards when it was too late, he made it appear that the girl bad been .his mistress. Th'e evidence was so strong Heron could hardly help believing so he came back to America and tried to forget. Years after the other man, dying of typhoid, confessed to a priest that h'e had lied and forged letters. The priest wrote.to Heron. But the poor, deserted girl had; died, and. all that Huron could learn when ho dashed back to Ireland •to find her, was that a baby girl had been born a few months after he left his wife. He tried for years to trace the' child, but oould not. And it was only after he’d given up all hone that he married Dolores Moreno.- I think Mr Herqn felt tender over hia children,: because of hia lost little one.' After

leaving us in Russia at school for 'a while, and a year in England, to learn the language better than we knew it, another year in France and another in Italy (in, families he-paid to educate and take care of us) he must have had a longing to see what we were like. He and Dolores, his wife, can; B abroad, and brought us back to America with them, much against Dolores’s will, I know. I was nearly eighteen, and I realised the first minute we met that Dolores was going to hate me. AVe went straight to a house near Albuquerque, which belongs to Mrs Heron. Her brother Louis always lived there. He was an invalid, you know; about a year younger than Dolores; something wrong with his heart, and almost a hunchback —but, oh, what a handsome face! When he took a violent fancy to me, her one thought was to get me out of the way. Louis had money of liis own. He was rich, and I suppose Dolores was afraid I might try to marry him as I hadn’t a penny. It was bad enough for her that Mr Heron should have a tehderness for me, hecause of his lost child; but that Louis should love me was more than she could tolerate. I was sent to-a hoarding school, and when I was twenty/ I began to teach. She didn’t, like Stephen, either. , She grudged every penny her’husband spent for us. (To be continued.)