Chapter XVIII. Trouble.

Otago Witness, Issue 2274, 30 September 1897, Page 42

Chapter XVIII. Trouble.

A fortnight later Chrissie and Miss Drew were established at the seaside.

Tbe former waa very happy, for Rjnald bad written to her, saying tbat he bad never intended to remain for a whole year abroad. "And when I come back, dearest," he had added, " you will be the first to see me, even before my father and mother."

" And so Chrissie's step was elastic, and the bloom on her fair cheek deepened. Youth, love, and hope alike beguiled, her.

A tender meeting — forever sacred " in Chassis's memory — took place almost immediately afterwards under the moonbeams on the silent shore. The youDg girl had wandered out and was dreaming of Ronald, when he suddenly appeared and clasped her in bis arms.

11 By the bye," she shyly said whilst her hands were still imprisoned in his, " how did you find me hare, Ronald 7 I thought you were at sea."

" I was en route for Retf ord," he answered, •"• when, hearing of Miss Drew's removal to the sea, I followed. Is there anything wonderful in that, my little love 7 "

It was at this time that the youthful pair suddenly realised the presence of a man of awkward gait and slovenly dress.

" A nice night, yourig sir and young lady I " remarked he, with a laugh. " Haven't you no eyes to remember me, miss 7 nor no recollections of our meeting awhile ago at a widow's cottage in Eetford, where you came to make a bargain about an old dress 7 and bow you managed to get back that confession out o' the dust bin ? I'm a kind-hearted fellow, so I helped Widow Nash pick it out. And being from Retford, and a fellow parishioner, (so to speak, of Miss Drew, Ull make bold to call on her to-morrow as early as 10 o'clock, for I've something to show her. Don't think I want to intrude on yoa at this hour ; and I'll now say good night to ye, young lady and gentleman." •,

"What did the fellow mean?" asked Bonald, as Chrissie burst into convulsive tears.

" He meant mischief, RoDald," sobbed Bhe, "to poor Mhs Drew and Mrs Bingham. He has got hold of a family secret of theirs, though what it actually is I do not know."

Ronald started. " There is a secret," he said — "a confession, written by that man Baine y«ars ago. ■ Is it of that he has got possession 7 Like you, lam ignorant of what it iB ; and it was hidden for years behind a wall in the old schoolroom at Beech Mount Cottage, where poor Dora Drew thrust it in her madness so long ago. You remember that she came, she and Mrs Bingham, late one evening to Beech Mount 7 "

" Oh, yes, ye?," cried Ohriseie ; " and it is that paper at which this man hinted. Poor Miss Drew sewed it up into an old dress, and by a strange fatality her sister gave away the dress to Widow Nasb. She mast have found it and have shown it to this man. It will kill Miss Drsw to live in daily terror leat he should disclose the awful secret it contains."

"How do you know that it is an awful secret 1 " retnrned Ronald

"It must be," said Ohrissie, " for poor Dora would never permit her Bister to hear it, lest she should be haunted by it as she herself had been. I think that it must have killed poor Mrs Baine, and have been the cause of Dora's insanity. And now it will be blazoned forth to the world if they cannot silence this man."

She was still in acute distress as they were about to part. "Why, Bonald I " cried she, " there is a fly at the door, and there is Mrs Bingham. Why is she here 2 Something must be the matter."

A moment later Mrs Bingham, looking vary ill and worn, was advancing to greet them.

" Tell me ! " cried Eleanor in much agitation—"has that fellow Samuel Pickles seen poor Dora 7 It will kill her if he has." "No, no," replied Ohrissie, "but he threatens to do so to-morrow. And what does he demand 2 *?

" Three thousand pounds down 1 " said Eleanor blankly.

" Why should he not tell 'the world what he likesabout Mrßaino 7 " interposed Ronald, "The confession concarns him alone, Mrs Biogham. Your sister Milicent bore his name for a few hours only, and left him on her wedding day the moment she became cognisant of his misdeeds. So much can be' plainly inferred. Neither she nor any of your family had part or lot in bis ill-doing. Let this man who threatens yon say what he will. Djfyhim."

"But — the secret is bo awful I " murmured Eleanor, shivering with nervous dvead.

"Still it had nothing to" do with any of you," urged Ronald.

" I may have no choice in the matter," cried Eleanor, with a white, scired face, and she sighed heavily. "We have not £3000 at our command," added she hopelessly, " for Dora has just sunk all her available rands in purchasing and furnishing this cottage, and I and my husband have but just paid .over several thousand pounds to the trustees of the Court, as our share in its purchase. Oh ! what can we do 7 "

"Doas I Bay, Mrs Bingham.- Defy this miscreant. Let me see him in the morning. You surely will not permit bis villainy to be successful 7 " exclaimed Ronald with indignation. .

"Ah I you cannot guess what is involved in this matter 7 " faltered she. - •• Bat do see the man for me — and try to gain time, and find out if he would accept a small sum down, and let tha remainder stand over."

Again Bonald argued in vain — and they parted at a late hour.

Morning smiled over sea and land as Ohrissie with an anxious heart came down to breakfast-.

" Why I you eat nothing, my dear I " remarked Dora, as the meal proceeded. " The sea has given me quite- an appetite. - But who is that man at our gate? He looks like a Ritford man I knew there. Look, Chrissie I And who is the young fellow he is speaking to 7 My dear, what is the matter 7 You are so pale, and your bands tremble.

"The matter!" Carlssie could, have answered. " I tremble because I fear your reason is at stake!" But aloud she only said, "Am I pale 7 Oh 1 that is nothing."

Then tbe two figures at the gate disappeared, and Dora chatted on about trifles, in excellent spirits. , "After all there is nothing like a home of one's own," said she. "Eleanor was kindness itself, but her husband is now master at tbe Court; and to me a shadow always seems to brood over tbe place. Here I shall begin life again (for I am but nine-and-twenty) and forget, I trust, the horror of the past."

" I hope so." rejoined Ohrissie tremulously.

Then poor Dara epoke again : "Chrissie, I have kept »ilence-r-and perhaps that has been wrong. However, a dead man cannot be made to atone for his crimes ; otherwise, at any cost to myself, I must have spoken. Ah ! my dear 1 be thankful that you have no haunting memory of another's crime. That, at kast, I will spare my dear bister and those who belong to her. Porchance, if I had not had to contend with my reason having become clouded, I Bhould have acted differently; but now, at the end of to many years, can the pas'; ba undone 7 Why should I harrow myself and others by any mention of it 7 "

" Wby, iadeed ? " agreed Chribtabel. " Try to banish the remembrance of another's crime — if, indeed, atonement cannot be made by the guilty."

" No, never ! never ! " replied Dora, shivering.

"Then — let it rest," answered Cbrissie gently.

(To be continued.)