IN HER OWN RIGHT.

Otago Witness, Issue 3031, 17 April 1912, Page 70

IN HER OWN RIGHT.

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Special Ariungemknt.J

By LADY TROUBRIDGE. Author of "The Soul of Honour," "The Cheat," "Love the Locksmith," '"The Girl With the Blue Eyes," Etc., Etc.

[CoFYniaHT.] >*y~. CHAPTER VIII. ABRETT bent over the bed, s fi n S crs held by tho. c 'o xlll'ipw 3 °ther 6 ro P ini g fingers, that ■«gfe3i|M3 seemed to cling to the strong tfv*§fin£r. young hand as to some tanI tfc?& support far the Jailing This silent appeal was touching and disarming; many men would have found it terrible to see the strong proud man so utterly cast clown; they would have felt it too acutely to have even a thought of self. Yet, at this very moment, Garrett was thinking how be could twist this primitive emotion which ho found in the earl so that in the game of life ho was playing he might at last hold some of the winning cards. In the midst of this atmosphere of gloom and deat/h, sad and tragic as it was, he was perfectly well able to see that something very wonderful had happened. In a short quarter of an hour Ivy's position had entirely changed from being that of an unwanted girl, ostracised by. her father, and forgotten by the society to which she was born, hers had become the position of one of the richest heiresses in England. Nothing lay between her and a vast fortune, but one frail life, old in years and threatened by the tragedy now engulfing it. Greatest and most wonderful point of all, she was at this moment, in ail probability, totally unaware of the change itself, or, anyhow, of what it meant for her. Here was a position for the brain of a strategist, such as he loved to' fancy himself, to take advantage of. He must—he must have a speech with Ivy before others could tell her that if she had scorned the young secretary before, she would scorn him doubly now. Swiftly ht 3 thoughts went back to the moonlit walks last summer, to the girl'flh confidences she had made him, to the sympathy he had shown her, to a hundred and one little things which showed plainly enough that the girlish barriers of reserve were breaking down. If be had known then what he knew now he could have won her; it was incontestable, undeniable, and it drove him mad to think of it. Garret knew well that she had never loved him, but he also knew that the first man who knocks at a girl's empty heart has an undeniable advantage. Had he persisted, the door would have been opened to him, and now his whole mind was engrossed with the problem whether it was still too late. His common-sense flung the answer back to him, and told him that the girl had heard, even though dimly, the myriad voices of the world ; other men had looked on that exquisite face—men braver, perhaps, than he, willing to face poverty, eager to rescue a damsel in distress. Lady Rollesden, standing on the other side of the bed, noticed the sudden pallor of the young secretary's face, and the way his lips twitched as ho bent over the earl. "No words can tell you," he murmured, "hew I feel for you and for Lady Rollesden in this terrible blow which has fallen upon you. If I could only dare tell you to hope, only dare hope myself, that the news was exaggerated I should be the happiest man alive." The lie passed his lips glibly, without his even knowing that it waa a lie, so long he had iearnt to deceive himself. "Hope," said Rollesden, feebly; "thore is no hope in the grave, my boy. I shall go to them, and I trust soon, but tliey will not return to me." Suddenly Lady Rollesden burst out cry ing. They were the first tears she had shed for years, and she struggled against them, pressing her handkerchief to ber moyth, and trying to stifle the gasping sobs. Yet, in' spate of her efforts, words broke forth passionately, as her streaming eyes sought her husband's, and they both forgot for a moment the auditor they had. "Don't speak of dying," she said. "You mustn't go too. I couldn't bear it!" He looked at her with lack-lustre eyes, in which there slowly grew a great resolution. "No, I can't go yet," he answered. "I must see her —Ivy, my child, our child. Felicia, she's the "only thingwe have left. I am sure you feel that as I do; you will forgive her, take her back to your heart." "I have never blaJned the child," said Lady Rollesden; "and if she can bring one moment's gleam of comfort to you,

my dear one, I will go dnwn upon my knees to hex in thankfulness." "And when she oomi&s, if it be God's will, you must let roe go," muttered Rollesden. "Xo, no," said his wife, and Garrett was astonished as ho heard the feeling vibrating in her quiet voice. You must live—live to atone to her, live perhaps some day to see her children round your knees.'' Her eyes were fixed upon her husband, and no one knew that the words tore her heart in the speaking. What was this girl to her compared to the bright, brave boys she had lost? Nothinig but the hope with which to lure the failing spirit back again to life. "Yes," said Rollesden dreamily. "If that could be, then we could go or stay as God wishes. She must marry later on." Garrett opened his lips to speak, to say something mad, foolish, impossible, but a whisper from Lady Rollesden stopped him. "Let him talk as he wishes," she murmured. "It eases him, and so I let him go on; but it's dreadful when one thinks—when one thinks."

Her vtvee broke, and a spasm passed over her face, for she knew it was death, not life, that should be in their thoughts this moment; but a look of peace was growing on the white face she watched incessantly, and although she felt that his mind must I>9 wandering, yet she could hardly bear to bring him back to the present.

"Ivy must marry soon," went on Rvllesderi still more dreamily. "It will not be difficult to find her a husband, suitable to her position. That fellow Stievelsea was very much taken with her; lie must know nothing of our anger with her : they mast meet when she returns as though nothing had happened. Yx>u will arrange that, Felicia, will you not?" "Yes, dear, yes: but first, dearest, we must think of our dear ones, and you mxi6t g ; ve Mr Garrett some instructions when you are better able to understand." The passing gleam of hope on the white face died away, as he was brought back again to the fearful present. "If you will give me some power," began Garrett gently, "I will act for you as much as possible, and save you in all ways so far as I can."

A helpless movement answered him. "A telegram has been received from the authorities at Villcfranche," he went on. "All that you hold so dear has been recovered from the sea, and lies in the mortuary awaiting the instructions which are immediately necessary." Rollesden shuddered from head to foot, and Lady Rollesden fell on her knees, bowing her head as if the dread Angel of Death had spread his wings in that quiet room in sight of them all. Neither spoke; neither could speak. There was but one brain at work—the brain of the young secretary, —and he was facing a difficulty that 'must be got out of the way before he could fulfil the mission for which his soul yearned. "Some responsible person must start for Villefranche at once/' he said firmly, "with powers to act immediately, and to lepressnt you, and do all that you would do in the matter." "You must go, Mr Garrett," said Lady Rollesden, and bring them back to me, so that they may rest in peace amongst us." "I'm entirely at your disposal," answered Garrett, watching Rollesden's face intently. "But it does occur to me that a substitute might be found in the shape of his lordship's solicitors. It seems to me," he added in a lower voice, "that what is tormenting him is the thought of Lady Ivy; and there is certainly this point to be considered—if Lady Ivy sees or hears this terrible news unexpectedly she may do something desperate —something rash — something that can never be undone. It therefore occurs to me that the news of this fearful catastrophe should only reach her simultaneously with the news of her father's forgiveness." "Right!" said a feeble voice from the bed. "Quite right, Garrett," and, glancing at him, they saw that a look of peace, almost the "semblance of a smile, had stolen over his wan features, and his wife saw that Keith Garrett had interpreted her husband's wishes aright. Only Lady Rollesden looked restless, and her face was full of a mother's haggard misery. "Someone must go—at once—at once !" ! she said. "I cannot bear a moment's delay. Every horn- they rest among strangers seems like some terrible sacrilege. I cannot leave him, or I'd go myself."

"Not to be thought of," said Garrett, with a glance at the pale face. A dozen thoughts were flashing helterskelter through his brain, but his face and attitude were calm and unmoved. "Give me the power to arrange matters at once," he added, "and some idea of your wishes, and I will take every detail off your hands." Encouraged by the firmness with which he spoke, Lady Rollesden gathered her powers of mind "together, and pondered for a moment, after which she faltered out a name. "My brother, Lord Steddington—would he go?" The moment she had made her suggestion it was felt by all present that it absolutely solved the problem, and fitted the case." Lord Steddington was a seriousminded, middle-aged peer, with a high character and a strict sense of duty; it was hardly conceivable, whatever his feelings might be that he would dream of flinching from the melancholy task if his sister assigned it to him. "The very man," said Keith, drawing a long' breath of relief and watching Rollesden, who nodded fhs ftead slowly. "Not a moment should be lost in getting at Lord Steddington. Have I your permission to wait upon him at once to make all clear?" "Yes," said Lord Rollesden slowly; "yes; Steddington will go; ho is a good fellow, and can represent me." Lady Rollesden bent her head in acquiescence. She, too, felt thankful to

think that one of her own blood and kin would look upon the dear dead faces she had loved in life, while she could devote herself to the shattered life that seemed dearer than ever now. Then she, too, caught the piteous look fixed on Garrett's thin-featured face, and drew him aside. "His thoughts are still on Ivy>" sne whispered. "It seems to be just the one hope that keep 3 him from sinking utterly. You will find her, Mr Garrett, you will bring her baok to him; and, believe me, we never shall, we never can, forget it."' "I will bring her ba-ck," returned Garrett, between his teeth. All through this terrible, this trying scene, one thought obsessed him—the thought of Ivy alone in London, unconscious of the march of Fate, friendless or seeking friendship from others. The burning desire to find her that possessed him was as acute in its way as that of her parents. Lord Rollesden's silent appeal, and Jbady juollesden's whispered entreaties, fell on a mind made up, a will of steel, a heart little trammelled by finer feelings. Find her, indeed, he would, but gratitude was not all he intended to have. There was a bigger prize ahead of him now. Stepping to the bed, he looked down at the sick man with an almost fierce earnestness.

"I will find your daughter. I promise it to you; I swear it to you on the word of a gentleman. Within as short a time as I can compass it she shall be in your arms!"

CHAPTER IX*. The night seemed absolutely endless to Ivy. Hurried, miserable thoughts chased each other through her brain; everything seemed exaggerated and grotesque, as things and people do at such a time. Viva appeared, not only malicious, but powerful —an evil fairy working her spells, and able to ruin the helpless victim incarcerated and at her mrarcy. Strevelsea came, too, into these fevered imaginings; brokenhearted, hollow-eyed, and pale, waiting for a letter that never came—a letter that should have brought hope and joy, and now must never be written. And Garrett figured too—Garrett with his soft, smooth speech, his hard eyes, his clear, discerning brain, Garrett reproaching her with want of truth, with hardness and cruelty; Garrett who, after all, had loved her. As she tossed from side to side, partly covered by a rug, still in the wrapper she had worn as she talked to Viva, her heart beat quickly at the real and fancied terror of her life that the night presented to her in such horrible guise. Her hands were numb, her body was held by a strange lassitude, while her brain seemed clogged, unable to plan, act, or even to think.

Then towards morning had come an hour or two of blessed relief, a sinking into the cold, still darkness, where forgetfulness lay in the lap of sleep; and this lasted until the noise of the maid opening the shutters and bringing hot water, made her spring up with a shudder of fear, then sink back with a oold feeling of despair. Breakfast was brought to her in her bed, and then she dressed mechanically, feeling the relief of the plunge into hot water, the doing up of her tossed, tangled locks. Her own pretty clothes, as she put them on, seemed to bring back the sense of her identity, and when at last she looked at the clock she saw that she had just time to keep her appointment at the Splendide. At first she recoiled from the thought. What did it matter now —what did anything matter? The future seemed all a great blur, dominated by one thought—she would have to go out into the world acain. By her own act she had lost the shelter of her father's house, and now, through a woman's jealousy, she had Ipst the shelter of this one. Ivy had spoken of freedom, of independence, of the joy of being one's own mistress, of the joy of work. It had been part of her girlish creed, yet it was not until this moment that she had understood. But still she would keep her appointment; it would be something to do, something to take her into the fresh air of the morning; and with another glance at the clock she stepped into the passage. Her arrival seemed to have been watched for, for hardly had the latch of the door clicked when Viva came on to the landing, and there was a new expression on her face, one gentler and softer, a look almost pleading, awkward, and as if in some way she were ashamed of herself. She was fully dressed, in a mousecoloured gown, made pinafore fashion, and showing a wisp of yellow lace that called itself a blouse, but revealed the white neck of the wearer. In her hand she held a newspaper, and she beckoned to Ivy to come nearer, putting out a hand to "keep her as the girl would have passed her with a haughty inclination of the head. , „ , ~ .... "Don't go like that, Ivy, she said, still sneaking in the same odd, shame-faced kind of way. "I want to speak to you." "I'm afraid I shall be late for my appointment." "No, no, of course you will not be. There was not a trace of the vixenish manner of last night; the tone was smooth and conciliating, but poor Ivy's heart was too numbed, her pride was too crushed for her to realise what the change meant. Yet she walked after Viva into the little drawing room, that now, bereft of the charm her fancy had woven round it the night before, se'emed garish and tawdry. All at once Viva's arms went round her, and her fate was pressed to Ivy's cheek. "You dear thing," she murmured. "Can you forgive me for last night?" "Oh, yes, certainly." "No, no, don't speak in that bard, frozen kind of way. Do be nice to mo again; promise that you will not take any notice of what I said." Viva's hands were shaking—the hands that still grasped the newspaper tightly, and her eyes looked anxious, almost scared.

"I think I must have been half crazy last night," she went r>n. "I can hardly remember what I said or did." "You did nothing," retorted Ivy, "but

you said lota of things, and I must tell you at once, Viva, that I can't forget them. I'm going to look for lodgings, and I shall leave you as soon as I have found them." Viva thrust the newspaper behind her, and took one of Ivy's cold hands in her own that were warm and clinging. "Nonsense, nonsense!" she said. "Surely you can understand? Don't humiliate me by making me tell you again how fond lam of Guy; nothing else would have made me talk to you as I did, but really the way he went on was too extraordinary." "Oh, please don't allude to it again," said Ivy, shrinking back. The actress was nonplussed. It was evident that for some reason or other she was quite determined to make the quarrel ur>, to efface it, blot it out so that it should leave no remembrance. But she was met with a smooth and quiet determination that made her remember how equally determined Ivy had been when she left her home. What a fool she had been to goad the girl like this! What an utter idiot. "You didn't speak to me like this last night," she said reproachfully. "You were ever so sweet and dear then, promising me all sorts of things I should never have dared to ask; for, of course, when all is said and done, one must take one's luck in the world, and it is for Guy to choose. If he chooses you " Ivy flung ' off her hand almost with violence. "He will never have the chance of choosing me," she said in a low voice, trembling with concentrated feelings. "What I promised you last night I will do, and you shall scon see that I have no designs unon Lord Strevelsea." "Ivy, for goodness sake don't go on like this. Don't you see that you're putting me in a most awkward position? It is no use going on like this," she repeated again almost helplessly. "There I quite agree with you," replied Ivy. "It is much better that we should be frank with each other. When I came to live in your house I never anticipated that you would treat me as you've done. I have not left the coldness and neglect c f my own home to be insulted in yours, and I don't think it's any use our discussing the matter further. If you wiil give me shelter for a few days more, I shall be most thankful and grateful, but after that I choose to be independent." As she spoke she looked with teardinwned eyes at the square of cloudy sky which was all that she could see from the small htticed window; then she turned half blindly toward.* the door. Viva .sprang forward and stood in her way.

"So you want to quarrel with me?" she cried. "You are determined to take a heavy reckoning out of the foolish words I said—determined to make me pay for them; but have you not thought, you foolish, headstrong child, that it will be better to have me as a friend than as an enemy—better even for your career at the Spler.dide?" "Perhaps I shall never have a career there." "Why, child, whv?" asked Viva, half fearfully. "Do you know anything? Have you any reason for talking like this?" "I know nothing but what you yourself have told me. What else is there to know?" She caught her breath with a s'ob as she spoke, for she was brooding with a young girl's bitterness on the talk of last, night, and on the suggestions that had then been made to her. Viva drew a difficult bix?ath of relief. "Well, anyhow," she said more formally, " I hope you will make vse of this house as long as it can be of any use to you." "Thank vou very much. Good-bye." Ivy stood an instant by the door, the morning light falling on her pale face fi ained with iU> golden hair., a face lovely as that of a statue, a face that, even belonging to a penniless girl, would drive all London wild, behind the footlights. .What would her triumphs be when she knew ? Would she not only bave to hold out her hand to win the man of her choice ? So ran Viva's almost agonLsed thoughts. And only yesterday, before the rash words passed her lips, she had had the chance of moulding this young creature completelv to her will ; had had it and lost it. At the door Ivy looked up and down the street. A newsboy was at or;? end shouting out the news of some special edition, his thin, clear voice was dying away, his words were indistinguishable. Near her a, taxi glided past; she hailed it. regardless t>f her slender purse, and jumped Into it, giving the name of the theatre. The new scenes would deaden thought, would help her to live her life. She must be there as soon as possible. Yet when she arrived, and ran the gauntlet of an indifferent, almost surly, box-keeper, wending her way along damp, badly-lit stone passages, on to a stage filled with men and women, whose faces looked pale tinder the garish lights, her heart sank lower than ever. She stood, with several others, in the winys, watching thorn almost enviously as they talked together, and she began to understand what it means in this world to unclass oneself. Her own society would have none of her when they knew that she rtnvsorted with chorus girls; and her new companions did not seem in any hurry to ask her to be one of them. In' such surroundings, and with such careless, indifferent, mocking eyes watching her, it would have l>een difficult enough to speak, to say nothing of singing 01 dancing ; yet later, when Wynne'.s eye? fell upon her. she had to do btoth, had to join \n an idiotic dance with waving hands and swaying movements, had to sing absurd words to a tune in which there seemed no melody. The other girls envied her, for the notice that seemed to her a martyrdom was quite unusual in the case of such a green beginner as herself. " We might write in a few words for vou," he said to Ivy. "Your voice is very good indeed."

This remark caused jealous glances to be flung at her, while spiteful comments were whispered loud enough for her to hear. "If you're really in earnest," added the stage manager, "I think you'll get on, but it's no good playing at this sort of thing, and you don't seem as if you're thinking of what you're about." "I'm so sorry, Mr Wynne, I really am ti-ying, but it's all so strange." "Well, never mind," he fa'd, goodnaturedly. "I'll have a special rehearsal for you 'to-morrow, and put you through your facing 3 well. Nv>w, then, take all the scene over again." So it went on as the hours dragged slowly by; petty squabbles, petty jealousies, grudging praise, and unstinted blame. To Lord Rollesden's daughter the whole thing seemed like a nightmare, but she set her teeth and persevered. This way, and this alone, meant independence, and however difficult the part was she must persevere with it; but she had no heart even to send for food, and although some was offered her she felt as if slv; could not touch it. And when at last they were released—which was not before 3 o'clockIvy felt as if she were sinking through the stage, while Wynne's voice seemed to come from far awayThen finally the freshness of the afternoon air revived her a little as she followed the other girls into the street, and watched them hurry off with linked arms, chattering together. Where should ehe go? Back to tho flat? Her very soul shrank from the ordeal, and yet there was no other place for her in the world, except one.

In her mind's eye she pictured the stately quiet of her home; the pence of the white bedroom, filled with all her little treasures; but when she thought of going back, of owning herself wrong, her heart failed her. The afternoon air was cold and chilly. It must be later than 5 o'clock! Perhaps her watch had stopped. Gathering her courage together, she timidly spoke to a pedestrian, a young man in a light overcoat, at whose face she never looked. "Will you ted me the time, please?" He turned, glanced at her, and gave an exclamation. Then she felt her hand seized, and looking up was face to face with Keith Garrett! (To be continued.)