LOVE SHALL PREVAIL.

Otago Witness, Issue 2985, 31 May 1911, Page 70

LOVE SHALL PREVAIL.

By ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT, Author of “The Case of Lady Broadstone,” “The .Gable House,” “By Right of Sword,” “A Heritage of Peril,” “In the Grip of Hate,” etc., etc

THE MGY^iLIST.

[Published by Special Arrangement.]

[Copyright.] CHAPTER XXIII.—A PRISONER.

RACKING headache, distressing nausea, and a consuming thirst were Olive’s first sensations on recovering consciousness. She was lying on a bed, fully dressed, in absolute darkness, and in silence as profound as that of the tomb.

She lay far a time making a vain effort to piece her scattered thoughts together. Presently, impelled by the craving to slake her thirst, she tried to rise, but the attempt caused such agony that she fell back and swooned. When she awoke next time, the distressing symptoms had abated; her nead still throbbed violently, but the pain was easier ; her thoughts were less disconnected, and memory began to awake. There was now a faint light in the room, which came through a small window between the rafters of the sloping roof. The place was utterly strange; and she peered about her with nervous dread and curiosity. It was uncarpeted and bare of furniture, except for the truckle bed on which she lay,, one chair, and a common deal washstand.

The sight of the water-bottle attracted her instantly; and with an effort she dragged her aching limbs to the washstand and drank a ghiss of water. This refreshed her, and she felt better and stronger, but was glad to creep back to the bed and lie down again to think. Little by little she remembered what had occurred, and then began to wonder vaguely where she was. She knew that she had been drugged ; and as the effects of the drug had net wholly worn off, she fell asleep. The house was still silent when she awoke. She lay listening intently for a time, and then got off the bed and went to the door. It was locked, and she returned to the bed to think. She had been made a prisoner ; but why and by whom and for what purpose ?

She remembered her visit to The Beeches and that Galtborpe was there and had been struck down when she herself had been attacked. What could it all mean? She knew The Beeches thoroughly, and that there was no such room in the house as that in which she was now imprisoned. Where was she and how had she come there ?

Sbe got up and placed the chair underneath the window to endeavour to look out; but the window was too high. With a sigh of disappointment, she was returning to the bed, when a paroxysm of mingled terror and rage came upon her, and she rushed to. the door and beat upon

it with her fists, uttering loud, shrill cries for help. But no one came in response, and inere was not a sound in the house. Either there was no one to hear, or it was so isolated that her screams were certain to pass unheeded. . A feeling of intense desolation followed the vain effort, and she threw herself back on the bed once more, a prey to cruel and almost paralysing helplessness. But it was not her nature to indulge in useless lamentation ; and with a pfxeat effort she thrust aside the feeling of despondency. Neither feara nor passion would help her in this predicament. She must conserve every atom of strength and courage. She had to think of Don as well as of herself, and his safety might depend upon her bravery. The thought of the boy now shut cut all others, and she lay waiting calmly and resolutely for what was to follow. After a long time she heard a stumbling stop on the stairway outside the room ; the door was unlocked, and Galthorpe entered. His arm was in a sling, round his head was a blood-stained bandage, his face was bloodless, and he moved slowly and with evident pain. As soon as he was inside the room he leant heavily against the wall.

"I am sc—so grieved, Mrs Armytage," he said, speaking slowly in a low, unsteady voice and with many pauses. "I did my—best, but it was not much use, you see." "You are badly injured, Mr Galthorpe?" "It is—nothing," he murmured with a faint smile. "I tried to—to save you. We were both lured to that house for this." "Where is Don, then?" He shook his head. "That—that madman's. That's all I know. We are prisoners. "

"What madman?" she asked, rising and approaching him. "Bulstrode. I've heard that much. At least, if it is madness to have planned all this."

"Do you mean that this is Mr Bulsircde's doing?"

He nodded. "And your boy, too. For a price," he added.

"Is my darling safe, then!'" cried Olive excitedly. He nodded again. "I—l think so, from what I have overheard."

"Then I care for nothing eke in the world," cried Olive with a rush of relief. "Thank heaven. Thank heaven! But tell me everything. Is he here in this house now ? Oh, my darling boy!''

"I found out that he had taken him. I have done nothing but search for him from the moment I left you. But he got to know what I had discovered. I faced him with it; and then —then he was one too many for me. My life was to have been taken last night; but—well, I am only crippled. I don't care now that you are safe. But he is—he's mad, quite mad," he muttered almost incoherently. "Where is Don, then?" "He will be brought here if—if the price is paid. But he is mcd, I say, mad." "Who is mad ? I don't understand. You don't 'mean my darling Don?" "No, no, Bulstrode ! He must be," he replied feebly. "The price, you know. ' "What is the price, Mr GaJthorpe. Do you suppose there is any price I will not pay for my boy's safety? Tell me. Tell me. I am on fire." He stared at her blankly, and then his head drooped with a weary groan. With an effort he rallied and gestured as if too weak to speak for a time. "A hundred thousand pounds and " he paused, and his head drooped atrain. "I will pay it at onee; the instant Don is once more in my arms," cried Olive. "Tell him ro or let him come to me if he is here." After an interval of laboured breathing G-althorpe raised his head land stared again at her. "There is something—more," he murmured. "He is mad, I sav; and vet " He lifted his hands wearily, and let them fall. "I am in his power," he added in a whisper. "But I don't understand. Tell me everything. This suspense is maddening; intolerable. Tell me, please, at once.'' His strength was not enough to admit of his replying for a time. "I am ashamed to tell you. I have done that which means imprisonment." he faltered with a heavy sisrh. "A lons term of imprisonment: and he lias found it out I'have forged some bills, and—and he has them." "But what has this to do with me? I will pav the amenimt. in return for what you have done for me. Tell him that. Tf that is part of the price, I will r.ay it in.stnnl.ly. Anything, to recover ' niv child." He mused, looking at her shamefaced! v, and then shook his head sadly. "He thinks we shall—denounce him'for this; and that he will only be safe by making that impc,*sihlo." "But I will not. I promise that unconditionally. Only give me back my boy."

"I said so. but " and be gestured dismally. "Ha answered that be would not trust to that; and that he must seal your lips another way." "But I have never broken mv w<rd in my life. T will do anything, and sio-n anything be asks, and 'pav anvthing he demands." she vebcmeutlv."

But be only shook bis bead drparito

"He will not. He will not. I fold in'm." he said, speaking with greater effort than ever.

"Then what does he want? I will do anvthing." "I don't like to tell you. He says that you would never do anything against him if—it you knew that the consequences would be the- " lie paused, and the words came with the utmost reluctance—"that the consequences were to be the—the imprisonment of—the man you—you m n-rri ed.'' Olive started, and flashed a look of dis-

may at him; but he did not see it, for his strength had nearly given out, and his head had fallen forward upon his chest.

"Do you mean he makes it a condition that I-should marry you?" she asked, her voice low and tense.

He nodded feebly, and then almost collapsed, recovering himself and clutching at the door for support. "I am—faint," he murmured; and he staggered to the door and, holding by the frame, stumbled out. As he left, a tray with some breakfast was thrust through the door, which was instantly locked. Olive carried the tray to the bed. She had no appetite; but, recognising the need to keep up her strength, she ate sparingly, her thoughts engrossed by the strange interview with Galthorpe. Of all the developments which she couid have conceived, the last would have been that of which she had just heard. That Mr Bulstrode should have taken Don away had already been suggested by the discovery of the boy's clothes at The Beeches ; but she would have scouted the thought, had it not been for her own previous fear that he was the victim of delusions. But that he should now urge her marriage with Galthorpe was amazing. His delusions —or what she had believed delusions,—had all been concerned with Galthorpe ; that the latter had first tried to compass the death of Don and then had attacked Mr Bulstrode himself. To at : tempt to force her to marry eiuch a man as he believed Galthorpe to be was thus to act in defiance of those very delusions. The result was to raise grave doubts in her mind as to her former opinion. From the first moment of their meeting he had been devoted to her interest and solicitous for her welfare ; and his prejudice against Galthorpe had been inspired by no ether feeling than concern on her account. But what if his story about Galthorpe was not the outcome of a delusion? If it were true? The contradiction was not one jot less startling. The attack upon them both had been made at The Beeches, and Galthorpe had been all but fatally injured in the attempt to defend her. By whom could such an attack have been made, if not at Mr Bulstrode's instigation? Thß longer she plagued herself with the puzzie the more bewildering it became. As the hours passed, however, the more repugnant became the prospect of marrying Galthorpe. Care for Don had much to do with this. By his own admission, Galthorpe was a criminal, a forger, and perhaps worse; far, far worse, indeed, if Mr Bulstrode's suspicions had any foundation. To allow such a man to have any authority over her darling boy was impossible. And in the end she made her decision. She would only consent, after seeing Mr Bulstrode himself. Some hours later, Galthorpe came again to her room. He had been very ill, he explained; but he was now sent for her reply. He was so weak that he could scarcely find strength to stand upright. She told him what she had decided, and he praised her. "It is only right; but " and he shook his head dolefully, as if he thought it hopeless. Staggering out, he lurched heavily and nearly fell, and Olive was rushing to his assistance when the door was pulled violently, and, as she leant against it, she heard his heavy tumblingsteps down the stairs. Then her heart began to beat quickly, and a great new hope sprang to life. She had not heard the key turned in the lock. She waited, breathless with excitement until the footsteps ceased, and then with the utmost caution she tried the door

She was right. It had been left unlocked. On the instant she resolved to attempt to escar>e.

She closed it and stood thinking rapidly. Should she go at once or wait for the darkness? She must make the effort at once, .she decided lest the omission should be discovered, or someone come up with food for her. She took off her boots, and, fastening them about her waist, opened the door noiselessly and crept on to the landing and down the flight of stairs to the floor beneath.

On that landing there were three doors, and her first thought was to try to get out through one of the rooms. Better to take that risk than to run the chance of descending to the ground floor. But the doors were all locked, and the keys taken awav.

There was nothing for it but to take the greater risk. Her Irish blood was roused now, and her courage more than equal to the danger. She crept down to a turn in the stairway, and peered down to the passage below to get some notion of the plan of the house, and to ascertain, if possible, how many people were in it,

A short passage led straight from the bottom of the stairs to the front door. A couple of seconds would suffice for her to reach it; and she was running down the remaining stairs swiftly when a woman came out from the back premises. It was too late to retreat, so she quickened her speed and rushed along the passage to the door.

The woman tittered a scream as she canight sight of Olive, and then crying loudly, "Help ! Help ! Quick. She's' got out!" darted forward to seize her.

Olive had the doer already open when she felt her dress seized. She turned and, to her amassment, found herself face to fa:e with Mabel Loveday. Her blood fired by the new knowledge which came with this recognition, Olive tore her dress from the woman's hands and, seizing her arms, thrust her back with such force that she staggered and fell-

But the struggle, short as it was, proved fatal to Olive's hopes. Galthorpe, no longer weak and tottering, rushed from the back of the house and caught Olive by the arm and dragged her back into the

passage. Nerved to desperation by the hope of freedom, she wrestled fiercely with him;

but hi® strength was far greater than hers, and when the woman came to his assistance Olive abandoned the useless struggle with a sigh of despair. Breathing heavily from her desperate efforts, she leant back against the wall staring fixedly at the man whose double treachery was now made plain. CHAPTER XXIV. —G ALTHORPE’S TERMS. The woman was the first to break the silence. “You’d better go back to your room, Mrs Armytage. We mean you no harm.” This appeared to give Galthorpe a cue. “I have .saved you from heaven alone knows what danger by preventing you leaving the house,’’ he said. “Why continue this miserable pretence. Do you suppose I do not now know you for the scoundrel you are?” “Hard words will neither help yory nor hurt us,” said the woman sharply. “You ought to be thankful to us for having saved you.”

"What are your orders?" asked Olive, of Galthorpe, 'ignoring the woman. "I am in your power. I understand that, of course., now."

"I think yoiui had better return to your room," he said after a pause. "You are right in one thing. We will have no more pretence. I will come to you presently. It's just as well you should recognise that you are in my power." Without replying Olive went upstairs, followed by r the woman, who watched her cross the room to the bed. She hesitated as if about to say something, but changed her intention and went away, after carefully locking the door this time, and trying it to make sure that it was securely fastened. Olive threw herself dejectedly on the bed. Everything was clear to her now. It was Galthorpe who had lured her to The Beeches, having carefully prepared the trap into which she had so thoughtlessly stepped. The attack on him had been the merest sham, and the woman, Loveday, his accomplice in all the rest of his schemes, had thrown the cloth over her head and held her until he could complete the work of drugging her. He had then played the part to the end, pretending to have been Avounded in her defence with the object of rousing her compassion, and the whole story he had told about Mr Bulstrode was false from beginning to end. He had stolen Don away from her, using this woman as his accomplice, and there could be no shadow of doubt as to his object all through. He meant to force her to become his wife in order to secure her fortune. Probably her boy's life and possibly her own would be the price of her refusal. And she was utterly helpless, and, as she had said, absolutely in his power. It would be worse than folly to blink the fact or to attempt to minimise the danger in which she stood. What should she do? Again it was thought for Don which must decide her. To live with such a villain was out of the question, but she could marry him without having to do that. When once she was free and her boy was again in her arms she would find the means to make that freedom a realitv.

No power could force her to be anything but wife in name only to Galthorpe, and no power shonld compel her to allow hi.m to interfere with Don. It would be better for them both to be dead than to endure the degradation of companionship with him.

Having made her decision, she was anxious for Galthorpe to come and state Jr's terms. She would first try to buy her freedom and Don's. Any sacrifice would be better than marriage with him. and she was not without hope that he was contemptible enough and sordid enough to be bribed. He came at last, and as she heard his footsteps on the stairs, no longer staggering and stumbling as before, she braced herself for the interview, whispering a fervent prayer for strength. "I am very sorry for what has happened, Mrs Armytacre. I have not the slightest wish tc " "What are your terms?" she broke in. "Snare me anything but the plainest statement of them." "You know what I asked you once. You know that for years I have thought of vour happiness, ' and have tried my hardest to serve you : not for what I received, but because I " She interrupted him a<zain."Your terms. I am in your power, I know. What price do you demand for mv child's freedom and mv own?" "I love you," he said, fixing his glowing eves on hers. ""I mean yosuir price in money." she reolied coldly. "I do not seek your money, but you vourself."

"Ifc was agreed that we should make an end of all pretence. Stats your price, and I will pay it." The contempt in her look and tone reused his anger. "Yon will he my wife:" It was halfcommand, half-question. "No : I will par your blackmail in money," she replied firmlv. "You will be my wife!" he repeated dorrgedly. She paused, meeting his eyes firmly. "Whv do you insist upon this form of torkiire? You know that if I were free I should loathe myself if I even harboured a thought of marrying so base and unclean a thing as you ! Yon can have what money you * want. Let that content

you!" . * "You will be my wife! he said again, more insistently. "How would such a marriage profit you? Ido not understand. Show me, and whatever gain you look for from_ it I will freely give to' escape the pollution of vour presence!" "You shall be mv wife !" he exclaimed fiercely now. "You are only wasting breath in these insults!"

"And the rest of your price?" she cried scornfullv. "Half "your fortune;" and he took out a paper. "You will sign this."

She took the paper. "I will read it. Meanwhile, bring me my child." "Read it now and sign it. Don shall come to you afterwards." "How do I know that? What assurance have I?"

"I tell you so; I pledge my word.'' "I do not trust you. I must see him and know that be is safe." "It is for me to make the terms, not for you. If you care for your child's safety you will do what I say. You can have one hour to decide. You will marry me here this evening, or you shall never see your child again. That is my last word!" he said furiously, and went out of the room.

She read the paper he had left with her, and found it- was a deed of marriage settlement giving him a quarter of a million, and setting out the securities in detail. She knew very little about her property, and had much difficulty in understanding the document. She tossed it aside as of compiarative unimportance in view of the last condition he had imposed—that she was not to see her boy until she had complied with all his demands. To put the slightest trust in a word he uttered was out of the question. He was quite capable of forcing her to marry him, and then making further conditions before restoring her bo} r to her; and her first impulse was to hold firm to her decision and set him at defiance until Don was brought to her. But, on the other hand, she would gain nothing by that. The only result would be to prolong her imprisonment, and, by angering him, to place the child in danger. So long as she was a prisoner she was incapable of doing anything to find Don; while the instant she was free there were a hundred things she could do, and many ways by which she could force Galthorpe to keep that part of the compact. She canvassed these possible steps eagerly. The fact that he was forcing her to marry him might even enable her to get the marriage set aside; while in any case she could still prosecute him and his accomplice, the woman Loveday, for what they had done. She knew that he was at. heart a coward; and the threat of such a prosecution would reverse their positions, placing him in her power instead of her in his. In view of that, he would not dare to play her false. If she could not trust to hiis honour, she could certainly rely upon his fears for his own skin ; and this reflection tended to induce her to comply with liis terms.

_ Thus, when he came back for her decision, saying that a clergyman was waiting to marry them, she affected a stubborn mood; insisting that her boy must be brought to her before anything more was done. She played her "part well, and turned a deaf ear at first to his threats.

"Bring my boy to me and I will marry you. but not otherwise," she declared over and oyer again; and only seemed to weaken in her. purpose as his threats of violence to the child increased in vehemence. And when at length she yielded, it was with a storm of fury which ended in a paroxysm of grief and despair. He left the room as soon as he had wrung the consent out of her, and as she waited for his return with the others, a, gleam of hope that she might still escape broke upon her. An appeal to the clergyman who was to marry them might prove successful even at the last moment, and she scanned him as closelv ns the dim light admitted when he followed the woman and Galthorpe into the room. He was an old and feeble man with white hair and beard and dressed in a black gown.

"The Rev. Mr Davidson. Olive," said Galthorpe. "I have explained to him the reasons for our marriage under these conditions," he .added significantly. The clergyman bowed, mumbling romething to the effect that he understood. Olive started at the sound of his voice, which was obviously assumed. She noticed, also, that he kept at a distance from her, remaining close to the door. "What have you explained ?" "Everything. * There is no need to "o over it again. The first thing to be done is to sign the paper I left with you " "Wait,-if you please. You are a clergyman of the Church of England?" she asked, turning to Mr Davidson. "Of course he is. Do you suppose I don't know what to do?" interposed Galthorpe angrily.

"Do you know that this marriage is being forced upon me against my vtill and under threats?"

'ion are only wasting tamo, Olive bv attempting to make a scene. You have consented to make me the happiest man in England to-day. If you wish to reeaT that consent, yon can do so; but " His meaning look completed the sentence. _ "I appeal to you for help, sir," shis continued. "T have been trapped here by Mt Galthorpe in order that he may force ii'.e to become his wife and——"

_ "I don't know whv you keep up this silly pretence. Tt will do no good. Are you willing to marry me or not? If you are. say so : if you are not, there is an end of the matter—for the present." "I have appealed to you, sir," said Olive to the clergyman.

The only reply was a feeble lifting of the hands.

"I am not forcing you," declared Galthorpe .angrily. "How can you say anythin g of the sort? You had better go. Mr Davidson. I am sorry to have troubled you needlessly. You persist in keeping up this farce. Olive?" "No ; I will marry you," she said, seeing the useles-sness of her appeal. "Sign this deed, then," he said. She did so, and the woman and Mr Davidson witnessed it.

The formality occupied some little time, as the paper had to be laid on the one chair in the room in default of a table, and Olive noticed that when the woman

had written her name Galthoqje carried the chair, with the document upon it, across to the clergyman, who had not moved from hie position by the door. "Now, we're ready for you, sir,'' said Galthorpe. The clergyman fumbled in the pocket of hi:, black gown and brought out a prayer book, and bad some difficulty in finding the right place. His hands were shaking so violently that he could not hold the book still, and his whole manner evidenced extreme nervousness.

■Olive watched him closely. Her first thought was that he was intoxicated: and the way in which he mumbled the words, indistinctly and almost unintelligibly, served to confirm that opinion. But it proved to be alarm, not drunkenness. Galthorpe was scarcely less ill at eas>"; than the clergyman, and was feverishly impatient for the scene to end. Suddenly Olive saw him start and change colour and turn quickly to the woman, who went deathly white. At that moment there came the sound of a heavy footstep in the house below. All three Ave re intensely agitated, and the clergyman, in his consternation, let the prayer book fall, and stood trembling in a paroxysm of terror. Galthorpe was the first to recover himself. He stepped forward, picked up the book, muttering to Mr Davidson as he returned it to him.

Then a loud cry rang through the house, in a strong stentorian voice. "Olive! Olive!''—passionate, appealing, and imperious. Olive cried out in amazement. In her overwrought condition she believed she could recognise her husband's voice. To her it was like a voice from the grave forbidding the marriage, and she listened, awestruck and spellbound, for some repetition of the mysterious warning. But none came. The house was as silent as the tomb itself. (To be concluded.)