Chapter LXXV.

Otago Witness, Issue 1874, 21 October 1887, Page 29

Chapter LXXV.

Hossitur Plays HerTasfc Card. That was not quite the end of all. As the winter grew darker and more dreary, and the bare trees in Stillingfort Woods shivered in the bitter winds, Rossitur took a desperate resolve. Not one word, even of condolence or sympathy, had she heard from Walter Dnncombe since the day she said good-bye to him at the Little Centre Bridge station. He was aware that her deception was discovered; but the fact that she was a detected impostor would make no difference to him, for he had known her as an undetected one for so many months. He knew also that her husband was dead, and that no obstacle now stood between them, and yet he made no sign ; and the truth at last forced itself upon her unwilling mind that with her loss of beauty his love had died. Was he the sort of man to marry beneath him, if the woman to whom he condescended were not possessed of extraordinary personal attractions ? Bella knew that he was not ; but still she longed to meet him face to face, and to make him confess that he had no intention of allying himself with one who was convicted, morally if not legally, of one of the m^st audacious frauds of modern times, and, in addition, disfigured almost beyond recognition by a pistol bullet. Poor Rossitur! Instinct revealed to her the nature of the man who had professed to love her — or, it it may be, she recognised in him traits of character akin to her own ; but there was a spark of chivalrous good feeling in him for which she gave him no credit. It is even possible that the idea of good feeling- in the matter never occurred to her. She more than half despised Sir John for his kindness and forbearance towards her; she had no conception of the noble humane heart that gave it birth. Duncombe had seen her, although she was unaware of the fact. He knew when she left the hospital, but he felt that he must see her before he committed himself to any action concerning her. Rumour told him that the injury to her face was one tbafc could not be obliterated by any amount of; surgical skill, but still it was possible that rumour had exaggerated, and that a slight scar only remained of *hr» woiwd. Accordingly, as soon ;ir he knew where she was, he went to Stillingfort to see her, but the meeting never took place. By one of those curious coincidences that sometimes happen, he saw her accidentally, and the unhappy creature, being totally unaware of his presence, had taken no precaution to conceal the ravages of Pottinger's murderous attack. To do him justice, Duncombe was shocked and saddened by the total destruction of the beauty that had always struck him as so perfect; he turned away quite unable to give a second look, and in that moment his loye

for her died. Such love dies easily, without a struggle, but he felt bound to do something for her; she should not be able to say that he was a niggard as well as a scoundrel, and a handsome provision for herself and son would go far to reconcile her to her fate. He would not remind her, either, that everything that had happened was her own fault. She might have left England with him weeks ago, and trusted to the chapter of accidents to aid her in avoiding her mad husband. But she, who saw no immorality in imposing herself and her son upon Sir John Erskino, refused point blank to accept his, Duncombe's, protection during the lifetime of Pottinger, and this v/as the result. But it was always the case with women such as she ; up to a certain point they had abundance of courage, and then suddenly they lost their nerve and stumbled at a comparatively insignificant obstacle. That was how Duncombe reasoned. It is impossible to describe Rossitur's feelings as for the second time she went on foot from the railway station at Great Centre Bridge to the Hermitage. It was spring time then ; it was nearly mid-winter now ; but the air was not very cold, and the pale sun now and then struggled through the clouds. She felt fairly strong and well ; the terrible shock her system had received was passing away, and she felt more buoyant and hopeful as she became accustomed to her altered appearance. Just at first, no doubt, Walter would be a little shocked. Just at first. Alas ! was not the first sight what she had to dread ? She had a little note in her pocket, which she moant to send in to him when she arrived. It was just possible that her name and her story were known to the serrants ; so she meant, if possible, to avoid giving the former. She may hare imagined it, but it seemed to her that i,he footman, who answered her ring, and showed her into a morning room, in which a cheerful fire was burning, looked at her curiously. Could it be that everyone who saw her poor maimed face knew who she was ? But as soon as she heard that Duncombe was at home, and knew that her note would soon be in his hands, her agitation rose, and quickly grew to such a height that she could not dwell upon what was thought of her appearance by his servants. Five minutes passed rapidly; live more, more slowly ; the quarter was reached, and still she was alone listening for approaching steps. They came at last. The door opened ; she stood up, and turned her face a little aside : bat it was the footman who came in, carrying a tray of refreshments. These he arranged on a table beside her, and with the announcement that Mr Duncombe sent his compliments, and hoped she would excuse him for a few minutes while she took some luncheon, the man withdrew. (To be concluded, iicxt week.)