THE HOUSE OF THE SECRET,

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12298, 18 November 1925, Page 12

THE HOUSE OF THE SECRET,

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT]

BY ,

ELIZABETH YORK MILLER,

Author of "Conscience,” “Carry On,” "Under the Shadow,” “The Brass Box,” Etc., Eta, [COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER XVI. Frank Wharton had always heen more or less a victim of impulse From earliest boyhood he had dashed at things, sometimes scarcely realising the why or wherefore of his rash actions. In such a way had he made a fortune .ind come home to Lenhaven. And—--rue to that reoklesa quality of his nature —in such a way had he fallen uc;hl over heels in love. The Lucky Kid, they had called him n New York, because he had made money and ecemed to know how to keep it, which is much more rare and difficult. Such was his cheerful, friendly disposition that even his rivals in Wall street had not grudged him his success. If anybody deserved the good things of life, it was Lucky Kid Wharton, who gave himself no airs and always fought fair. But to-day this creature of impulse, this favoured child of fortune, felt considerably down on his proverbial luck. He had made haste a little too quickly. Where was all his boasting Hnd bragging to lead? Come to Lienhaven, ! indeed to clear his dead mother’s name! What so far had ho done towards that end? Nothing at nil but stir up a righteous indignation in Sir Rodney Challis. Sir Rodney must guess that those dark hints wore east at the honour of the Challis family. A nice way to makfc oneself popular with the father of the girl one loved. Frank struck a clenched fist against his forehead so hard that it hurt, and Ins head ached violently for several minutes. Mrs Birch came in all of a-quiver. “Oh, Frankie, sir, what nave you heen arfd gone and said to squire?’’ she demanded. Word had gone round mysteriously that Sir Rodney and Lady Challis had departed in an ill—humour, 'taking tlieir beautiful daughter with them. Mrs Birch was still somewhat under the spell of the family who had held pride of place and of race so long in Lenhaven. It was all very well for Frankie Wharton to believe in hi?, mother’s innocence—Mrs Birch alto believed iD it—but quite another for him to make a nuisance of himself Twenty years is a long time; Emily, poor girl, rested quietly in her grave. How could it help the dead if the living raked over the ashes of injustice? Mrs Birch, it may be assumed, was hoping for a wedding, and she would have told you herself that she was always one for letting trouble alone She wanted Frank to be happy, and she wanted to see little Kathleen Challis back here at Lenhaven Hall as the mistress of the home of her famous ancestors. Frang scowled at Mrs. Birch. His head still throhbed from the blow he had dealt it. Why need Mother Birch appear at this moment to worry him? “What did I say to squire?” he repealed, in a manner not far removed from a sneer. “Well, if you must know, I pretty well told him the truth. I told him who my mother was, and why I had come to Lenhaven.” Mrs Birch’s homely face turned very white. The old woman was greatly distressed. “Of course, ho would be angry,” she said. “Angry because L have faith in my mother’s innocence? Angry because I want to prove it? . But you’re right, Mother Birch. He was very angry. He doesn’t want justice done to her memory because it would show up his own injustice. He would rather—oh, ten times rather!—that she remained guilty " “But, Frankie, dear—there’s very little of poor Emily’s world left to care one way or the other,” Mrs Birch protested feebly. Instantly', she realised how wrong it was to have said that. “So you, too, telieve in white-wash-ing this family! Y'ou, too, believe in one law for the rifth and another for the poor!” “No. Frankie, I don’t. And aren’t you getting a hit mixed? It’s’you who are rich, not Sir Rodney.” “He w.i3 rich enough twenty years ago, and my mother was poor. It’s of those days I’m speaking,” Frank said stiffly. “And it’s of Miss Kathleen I’m thinking,” Mrs Birch replied. “That’s who Fm a-thinking of, and how fond she must be of you, all so quick, too.” Frank winced. His love affair, like everything else, was public property. Hut could he blame anyone except himself for that? Or for other , things? I That nasbness of his, urging him always to lean fences in imagination before they were actually in sight one day it would get him into serious trouble. His whole method had been wrong. A cautious, far-sighted man would have kept his family secrets, made himself popular as the master of Lenhaven. won the fegard and friendship of Sir Rodnev and Lady Challis, ap. preached Sir Rodney—in due time—for permission to offer, his heart and hand or Kathleen’s acceptance, married her, assumiii;; that she was willing, and then—if it still suited his purpose —have declared himself in this other matter But, no 1 Frank had nnt acted in this cool and calculated fashion. Above everything else, he had kissed Kathleen without anyhodv’s permission, not even her own; and he had done it in r .cnhaven churchyard as a special treat for the gossiping sexton. No proposal ■f marriage had preceded or followed the act, which had been altogether a wanton performance. He wondered low Kathleen could even bring herself ;o he civil to him afterwards. Vet she 'id heen more than civil; she had !"* n _ really svmpatbetie. “T T nfortunately wliat’s done can’t

be undone,” he said to Mrs Birch. “1 ! have acted unwisely, but that happens to be my nature. A man may spend . his whole life fighting his nature and [ end up badly beaten.” “Oh, sir, L hope not!” Mrs Birch exclaimed aghast. “I should hate to think that. It’s as good as admitting that Satan can always keep the upper hand. I can’t believe that, Mr Frank.” “Well, you believe what you jolly well choose,” Frank said grumpily. He didn’t like the implication that his impulsive nature ran hand in glove with the Evil One. Mrs Birch had 'misunderstood him). She felt herself to he dismissed, and with a hurried curtsy left his unamiable presence. It was a Saturday afternoon and all the workmen who were making 6uch a palace of Lenhaven Hall had ceased from their labours. The day was hot and sunny, and the young master of Lenhaven felt intolerably lonely. He wandered .down to the Lily Pond which was empty, now, and in process of being converted into a monster outdoor swimming pool. The foolish little summer-house where he had first seen Kathleen Challis had heen pulled down and the foundations were already laid for a charming bathing aim tea pavilion. The swimming pool was to be lined with pale green tiles which would make an ffifective background for the sun-kissed water. , , . Frank started gloomily at the beginnings of this enterprise and half-rer gretted the whim which had started it in motion. , - . AYhat if all his plans were fo end in nothing but loneliness? He followed the diverted stream through the woods out into a meadow and came suddenly upon Hariet horsland, the doctor’s daughter, busily engaged in collecting watercress—his watercress from his stream. Miss Forsland looked slightly embarrassed, but not because she was caught trespassing. The villagers «1waysv treate'd the watercress and mushrooms and hlaokherr.es of the Hall fields as their own. Harriet s embarrassment proceeded from quite another cause. She, also had heard sliTo Jn\.r£to. «y"” on the bank of the stream and dura* « a u!3: S with a proprmty mvite faUei inTove sthtfo daughter! Not—he hastened to remind himself —that Miss Forsland would have jumped at an offer of marriage from him. Only his own path would have been a little easier. , She was not at all unpretty, this tall, dark girl, and, like all women who live close to nature, there was something a little mysterious in the expression of her eyes. . , . , .. Frank reminded her that she was his first acquaintance in Lenhaven -tne first person to whom lie spoke when he walked into the village on Appleblossom Sunday. The way be said it sounded a little sentimental. Harriet Forsland’s mouth twitched at the corners. „. “pm afraid you’re a hit of a flirtl she replied, breaking into a broad smile. “I wonder what Kathleen Chains would say if she heard you talking like that?” So Mrs Birch was right. The whole village knew what had happened yesterday. Frank was genuinely alarmed on Kathleen’s account. “No, Miss Forsland, I am not a flirt,” he said, a little more severely than was strictly necessary. “I’m glad to hear that,” she retorted, with some asperity, which was hut natural. One does not care to have one’s well-meant jokes dealt with too seriously. “Well, I must be getting hack. They’ve heen promised this cress for tea Good-bye, and thanks for helping me.” Frank watched her go enviously, wishing that she had asked him to accompany her and share the cress-tea—-his cress, which she had boldly thanked him for helping her to gather. How childish he was with his new airs of landed proprietor! A man like . Sir Rodney Challis wouldn’t have given the matter so much as a stray thought. Frank was angry and hurt to think that he had done so. The oft-repeated phrase, "Blood will tell.” mocked liim* Was his impulsiveness, his vaunted determination that everything between himself and the Challis family should be fair and above-hoard, merely evidences of commonness? ’ He retraced his steps slowly to tlie big empty house. The butler brought him tea, of which he partook in solitary state on the terrace. There were new basket chairs, gaily-coloured cushions, and a swing settee all companionably arranged on the west terrace. He had expected the Cballises to stay for tea. What a fiasco it had been! He sat there brooding, sulky and miserable at first, then—by degrees—growing very angry. Resentment finally boiled over. When he got up he was shaking with rage, and his face was as white as paper. Recalling Paula Challis’s sneers and Sir Rodney’s cold disdain, ho wondered that he* had not done long before what he determined to do now. That Napoleon bureau—if it had any secrets, now was the time for it to give them un. (To he continued.)