THE TEMPTATION OF MARY LISTER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3247, 7 June 1916, Page 65

THE TEMPTATION OF MARY LISTER.

THE NOVELIST.

(PCBLISHBD BY SPECIAL AnnANaRMKNT.)

By E. EVERETT-GREEN. Author of “Adventurous Anne,” “A Queen of Hearts,’’ “Defiant Diana,” “The Lady of the Bungalow,’’ etc., etc.

[Copyright.] CHAPTER XXL—AT BAY. HERE was a minute of intense strained silence. Mary’s face was as white as the linen dress she wore. Her eyes wore the strained and hunted expression of a trapped creature brought to bay. For a moment Giles’s purpose wavered. He longed simply to take Mary in his arms, turn Margot from the room, and bid her to tell him all without evasion and without fear. But some impulse of instinct withheld him from this course. It seemed to him that matters could not be left there; that the situation was critical, and must not hastily be forced. A false step might produce dire results. Mary’s expression was that of a woman with whom it might not be safe to trifle, a woman whose acquiescence in n policy of masculine autocracy could not be taken for granted. And there was some mystery also, which must needs be cleared up. For the sake of that future which still he passionately believed in and hoped for, things could not be left where they were at this moment. “Mary,” he said, “I wish you to know that I do not for one moment believe that you have taken the moonstone necklace from my mother’s room. But the fact remains that it has gone, and it seems just possible that my mother may herself have placed it in your possession during a. sleep-walking interlude. Why Margot believes that it is in your bureau I cannot say. Nevertheless, as she has made the suggestion, I ask you to open that drawer and let me satisfy myself. Surely that is not mak'ng a great demand upon you.” “It is a demand which I utterly refuse to grant.” Margot’s eyes flashed with an exultant satisfaction, but she was immensely surprised. It seemed to her perfectly incomprehensible that Mary should refuse, should put on this tragedy-queen air, should place herself before her table and turn upon them like a stag at bay. But how splendidly she was playing into her hands. Giles’s face, always a little inscrutable, wore a very strange expression. Margot looked breathlessly from him to Mary, from Mary to him. It was going to bo a tussle of wills between them — and which would come off victor? “May I ask why you refuse so determinedly?” “You may ask; but I decline to answer.” “Yet I had thought that we were friends, Mary.” Mary’s hand sought her throat, as though there was some constriction there. Her eyes wore dilated, and a hunted fear and misery looked forth for a moment before her lids dropped. “If you call it the act of a friend to con: e lire with accusations at the bidding of yonder woman, your ideas of friendship differ from mine!” “Perhaps,” said Margot with a biting malevolence of tone, “when ‘yonder woman’ tells you that she saw your secret visit to Lady Lucy Lorimer’s room last night, when the ball was at its height, that she hoard the ting of the electric bell which proved that you had opened the safe, that she saw you leave the room (which you had locked during your visit) with something secreted between your hands—perhaps when you hear all this, Mary Lister, you will understand why it is necessary for me to speak, and to assist my cousin in his efforts to trace what has become of missing goods.” As Margot spoke these words in her metallic voice, with a kind of suppressed and remorseless emphasis, it seemed to Giles as though some change came over Mary. The rigid tenseness of her attitude slackened. She moved slightly aside from the po ition she had taken up, and quite slowly subsided into thte chair she had quitted to place hei'self in front of the secret drawer. She laid her arms along the open desk and gazed straight out of the window with unseeing eyes. “Mary!” said Giles gently. But she did not stir. “Mary, have you nothing to say to what Margot affirms?” “Nothing.” “Will you not deny it?” She made no verbal response. Some little trick of gesture seemed to ask — “Who would believe me if I did? Think what you please?” Giles answered as though these words had been spoken. “I shall believe what you tell me, Mary. Only tell mo something.” “i tell you nothing. Do what yon will. Think ■what you will. Believe what you will. After all, what docs it matter?” Her head was suddenly lifted and held high. She was not looking at Giles or at Margot; but straight out through the window before her, across the park, where long level lights were playing. Giles saw in that moment a new look had come into her eyes, although only her profile was turned his way. It was os though he saw some resolution take form in the recesses of her being. Did ho in some sort guess what that resolution might be? “J.a that your last word to me, Mary?”

He felt the kind of thrill and quiver which ran through her; .but she would not look his way although his glances were compelling ones. "It had much better be so, Giles/' she said. The crisis was closer at hand than he had anticipated. Was Mary Lister giving him his dismissal before he had really approached her? Margot looked from one to the other, jealously conscious of some drama of personality from the true meaning of which she was excluded. Her heartoverflowed with hit!ernes.--. She had meant to take the leading part in this scene, and at this moment she knew that both the others had completely forgotten her exister.ee. She clenched her hands; she bit her lips. Then suddenly she made a forward swoop, pulled open the secret drawer to its extreme depth, and disclosed its contents before the eyes of the man who stood by. Her own flashed with triumph as she pointed to the moonstone necklace. 'There, Giles —look for yourself!" His hand was upon her shoulder with a grip from which she winced. Although it was quietly done, she had the feeling of bein;>; hurled backwards. "Margot, you had no right to do that!" "Oh, why this shilly-shally. Giles! I have no patience with you. Do you not recognise yet that this girl is a thief—a common swindler?" Mary Lister suddenly put her hands befo.e her face, and sat quite motionless. Giles with his hand still upon Margot's shoulder led her straight towards Ih? door, which he opened and held for her exit. His strong will dominated her ; but her fury was not to be hidden. "Giles, you are a fool!—a fool! What are you going to do about it? It's an outrage! What will you and vour mother do?" "That is no business of yours, Margot. Kindly leave us." "The girl is a thief. You cannot get over that. What will your mother say? A thief of her jewels—and who knows of what else?" "Margot, will you go?" "Oh, yes, I will go. I have done my part. I have tried to open your eyes. Well, if worse things happen after this, do not say I did not warn you. A girl from nowhere, thinking to queen it over us all. Giles, your mother ought to prosecute!" He looked her full in the eyes. "Prosecute the person who took that necklace from the safe, Margot. Well, perhaps she will." Margot turned and fled. Giles saw- her face turn livid. The idea had come to him inchoate and nebulous already that Margotyhad some hand in the purloining of the disputed necklace. Now he seemed to understand everything. Mary had taken only papers. Margot had possessed herself of the necklace, seeking to throw an ugly suspicion upon Mary, and prove iT upon her for her own purpose. Giles recognised that purpose. She would know that Lady Lucy would never raise a family scandal, never take steps or make such a matter public. But if she could turn him against Mary. The young man's face was set and stern as he turned back into the room. Never had he felt more tenderly towards Mary than he did at this moment. But howwas it possible to let her see this? He had a proud woman to deal with, whose pride had been deeply outraged. Probably also he had to deal with a situation obscure to him still, though becoming constantly clearer and clearer. Here was a Mary Lister who was (perhaps) not the granddaughter of Joshua Hart ! This possibility he had envisaged before. Now he realised that it might be an important factor in their future. He must needs walk very warily. A false move might spell tragedy for both.

Giles knew increasingly with every change in the situation how inextricably his own "life and happiness was linked np with the personality of Mary Lister. He came back slowly into the room. Maw did not turn her head; but she pointed in the direction of the still open drawer. "There arc your mother's things. Take them and give them to her." "Some of them are letters written by your mother, Mary, which she wanted you to read. Shall I leave them for you?" "Thank you. It does not matter now." "Well, you can see them at The Rookery when you come again. That was one of the matters I was to arrange. My mother is quite lost without yon, and is very impatient to have you back. Suppose you let me take you back with me now, just for a few hours. Wo will have a good laugh together about her latest sonmalnbulistic achievement. She will be quite p l eased to know how it really did happen. She so often mislays tilings, and cannot for the life of her remember where they are. I have developed a sleuth-hound sagacity for unearthing them in the most unlikely places. This will only be another proof "of my Sherlock Holmes acumen. Not but what it was really her own idea. And it will give her a splendid coyer for any future idiosyncrasies. Everything she loses now will have been mislaid in her sleep. She will be charmed!" And Giles laughed. But Mary pat looking straight out before, her as one who hears without taking cognisance. "You can say whatever you choose to your mother, Giles. Nothing can make anv difference now. But I would like her to think as kindly of me as she can." "My mother has no unkind thoughts for anyone, Mary—least of all for you. You had better come back with me. I mean it, Mary." "No, I cannot!"

"Why riot?" _ "It is Impossible." "Well, if not to-day, then soon. Will yon promise me that, Mary?" "I can only promise to think about it. Hovr can I say more? T went to your mother's room and took papers from it.

It seems that I took more than papers, though I did not know it." "You did not. Mary. You are right there." She pointed to the drawer. She spoke wearily. ''There they lie,. Giles. Take them away!—take them all back to your mother. Give her my love —my dear love. Tell her I should love to see her again; but just now—you can understand if she does not. And now, Giles, please take those things and go. I am very tired. Do not speak a word more to me. If you are kind you will just go away in silence." She put her face in her hands and sat there motionless. Giles did exactly as she had asked him. lie spoke not another word. He took the packet of papers and tb.3 necklace, slipped both into his pocket, Icoked once long and intently at Mary'a slight, quivering frame and hidden face, and walked quietly from the room.

CHAPTER XXII.—MARY'S RESOLVE. For a long while after Giles had left her Mary sat without moving, with her face hidden in her hands. The sunlight mellowed and began to fade. The long summer's day was coming to an end. Mary heard steps in her bedroom adjoining. It was Mrs Blossom doing the offices of the maid whom Mary had not so far engaged. The girl felt as though a lady's m lid fussing about would irk and worry her: but the tender and comfortable minitrations of her mother's old nurse were always welcome. With a curious stab at heart she realised to-day that she had claimed and won the old woman's love under false pretences. For a moment that thought hurt her more acutely than any other. A curious numbness was creeping upon her. The power of poignant pain seemed dulled. She rose and passed into the inner room, Mrs Blossom pausing in her tasks to look at her with affectionate concern. "But, Miss Mary, my dear, what is the matter? You look fair wore out you do! Fit for bed, and nothing else! You've got a headache, my lamb, after dancing all night, as they do nowadays. Now you let me put you quietly to bed, and bring you up a nice little light dinnei here. And don't vou try to go down no more: but get a long night's sleep, and you'll wake up fresh as paint in the morning. Do now, Miss Mary dear." "I will, dear old nurse. I will,' answered Mary eagerly, though she knew that it was heart rather than head which. ached, and that sleep would probably fly from her pillow, and no refreshment follow upon a night of tossing and turning. Nevertheless a great physical lassitude was upon her, as well as an immense disinclination to face the Harts at present. What Margot would tell them, or whether she would tell them anything at all, she could not divine, and would be far too proud to ask. Indeed she began to feel that nothing mattered so very much now. She stood convicted of some act of culpable deceit and dishonesty in the eyes of Giles Lorimer. He had longed to trust her—but she must by this time have killed his trust. She had lost him. What else mattered? Very soon she must reveal herself as a deceiver of another kind. That conviction was growing in intensity every hour. She had taken upon herself 'a burden heavier than she was able, to bear. Mary Lister, in the peace of ihe other side of the veil—in her sleep . in the green still seas, would (if she P knew anything) understand and absolve her. She had tried hard to be loyal—bit) the burden was, weighing her down. Mary had formulated no plan a-; yet; but she began to know one thing. Sue could not personate much longer the other Mary Li ter. Mrs Blossom tucked her up between ceo 1 , fragrant sheets. Soft airs played iri uj on her laden with garden scents. Ah this dear, dear place, where she had thought to reign in her glory! Had she now to leave it all? And would it be very hard to leave? Mary scarcely knew herself the trend of her own desires, the strength of her own affections for liartshill. But some compelling inner vision warned her that she could no longer remain here as she had once thought to do. Mrs Blossom came in with her tray. Mary bade her sit down and talk whilst she 'tried to eat. She knew she must husband her strength. She woidd want it all for what lay before her. "I am glad for this quiet evening, Blossom, and a nice long resting night. For to-morrow I have to go up to town on business!" •'Bless me, Miss Mary ! That's sudden, isn't it?" , , "Yes. I did not know till I got back this afternoon. What is the first good train up? 1 should like to start early, to avoid the heat." "There's the 8.60, which is a good train, and gets up before noon; but " "That would do capitally. I will have some breakfast in my room whilst I dress, and let the carriage be at the door at * eight. I shall not say anything about it. You can let Mrs Hart know when she comes down." "I will, Miss Mary. Your comings and goings are no concern of hers. And how long will vou be awav for, honey?"

"I'll write about, that when T know how loner the business is going to take me, And. Blossom. I don't much care about big hotels. Do you know of any nice rooms where I could get taken in for a few days? London is full of them, of course; but you want to know wheie to go " "That is so, Miss Mary. And I think I can put you in the way of being comfortable for a little while. My niece by marriJJge and her husband keep a very good house in Chiton avenue, oft' Regent a Park —a. nice healthy open part it is. And sho Avi'ote the other day that one of their permanent, gents was away for a holiday in Norway, and that he let them use his rooms if they got a ehancs and if the party wanting them was all right. So far a few days you couldn't

do better, Miss Mary; and I shall be the happier for knowing yon somewhere safe." Mary made a careful note of the address, finished her light meal, and settled herself with a comfortable air amongst her pillows. Mrs Blossom hovered over her with solicitation. "And. Misa Mary, my dear, if 1 was vou I'd iust go round to Harley street. Where all" of them bio; doctors live, when you're so near, and just get cne of them to look vj.i over ana see that you're all right." " " "Dear Nursey, I am as hard as nails—as right as rain !" "Well, Miss Mary, my dear, your mother thought the'same: and then it was found that her heart was not as it should be; and if it had been discovered earlier it would have ben a de.il letter. And vou know she did not live to make old bones. And so if I were you " "Ah, well, Blossom, I will think about it " "Do, Miss Mary: for now and again Miss Norah would 'look as you did just now, and she would have a pain at her heart. And things do run in families." Mary sought ""to assume an air of drowsiness and comfort. But for long after the faithful old woman had left hexshe lay with open eyes, gazing out through the uncurtained window into the soft beauty of the summer's night. Was this her last n'ght at Hartshill? She realised the possibility of this. For she was beginning to know exactly the step she was about to take. At the Credit Lyonnaise in Paris she had deposited that fortune which was hers by Tight of Mary Lister's will. It was tins which had caused her to remain _in Paris for awhile, as well as the question of her clothing. In the safes of those great buildings lay those bonds to bearer representing a snug little fortune all her own. She had simply to go there and claim it—and vanish into thin air! She would go straight to Marseilles. She would take ship to Gibraltar. She would make her way to Granada, and at the Washington Irving Hotel there would make for herself a temporary home in one of the most wonderful and beautiful places in the world. She had an idea that whatever she had done, she would be safe from pursuit in Spain. Her bonds could be deposited safely somewhere in Gibraltar. She need not settle all the details. The broad lines of her night had always been more or less present with her. It seemed now to her as though from the first she had foreseen this hour. "Molly, darling," she softly breathed, murmuring the words half aloud, "I think that if you are suffered to know anything that goes on here, you will understand that I cannot go on. Giles Lorime.— the man I love—how can I keep him from what is his? And, Molly, you never thought of that possibility! It never entered ycur head that your death would put him'in possession. If it had—if you had known what would happen—l think that you would not have been so eager for m'e to make that promise. What you thought was that, failing yourself, the George Harts would come into Hartshil! — and that thought vou could not bear. And, Ivlollv. I could scarcely bear that myself! Perhaps if that is what would happen, I might try, for your sake and my own, to hold on. "But it is not so. Giles will have all. And Giles will know how to deal with the Hart family. Oh, yes, he will do that more effectually than I am doing! Molly, dear, though'l have to break my promise—though I find the burden too hard to bear—yet your task, your desires, will be accomplished! It was a great temptation you set before me. For I am proud, I a'm ambitious, and I longed after the good things of life, and to see myself the queen of a great domain. But now I want It no longer. I want for the right owner to have his own. And, Molly, if you knew all, you would wish it, too, I am sure. Hartshill has begun to feel like a great millstone about my neck. I must give it up to Giles. T must tell him all the truth when T am far_ away—and leave him to deal with the situation. Molly, dear, you have given me enough to keep me in comfort all my days, and that I will take from you, because we loved one another, and vou wished to provide for me. I shall be an independent and <vell oft' woman, though I shall not be the mistress of Hartshill. And your wishcj will he carried out by another, Molly; but carried out they will be. Dear Molly, try to understand!" And Miry turned over upon her pillows, clori/ig her' eyes, and sleep fell upon her —thpfc sleep which so often surprises the exhausted, after some great decision has been made. As the Orientals say, "In the Inn of Decision there is rest." Tn the morning Mrs Blossom was early In her room, preparing the bath, and putting together things (o serve her for a week in town. Her breakfast was brought, nnd she made herself eat it quietly and without visible emotion. She* kissed the old woman tenderly at parting, thanking her for all her care. In her heart she vas saying. "Giles, will look after the old servants. I know he will. And perhaps—who knows—after a long interval —I may even dare to como bock and see the pilace once more. But that must be after Giles is married to a good woman, whom his mother ran love." And Mary felt the scald of hot tears in her ayes. But she did not flv from Hartshill like an escaping criminal. The carriage conveyed her, and the footman took her ticket and placed her and her dressinghag in the compartment together. The trunk was in the van. Everything was done decently and in order. But as the train pulled' out of the station, Mary leaned bark in the carriage and felt the warm tears forcing their way from between closed lids. She had watched closely and almost furtively before the train came up to see if by chance Giles Lorimer might be on the platform. She had an uncanny sense of his powers to hear her thoughts. She felt as though he had divined her purpose

to quit Hartshill, and asked herself, would he seek to slop her? But the great express was thundering; along now upon its inexorable way, and he was not on the train. Alone in her carriage Mary could seek to visualise a future in which no Giles Lorimer would take anv part; but though she sought to do this/the attempt ended in failure. Suddenly she reali :ed that without Giles Lorimer" life for her would be a waste and a wilderness. And yet by her own ac t,—her own succumbing to temptation, she had raised between, them an impassable barrier. The best she now could hope for was to escape at once out of his life and ken. The long hours passed. Nobody invaded Mary's solitude. The heat of midday made her glad when she found herself near her journey's end. At length, the train drew into the huge terminus. Mary pulled herself together, gathered up her few belongings, and bid the porter at the door look for her trunk. She descended from the carriage—and there was Giles Lorimer standing with his hand outstretched to help her to alight. "Ah. Mary," he said in his even, agreeable tones, "I thought that you would be arriving by this train." (To be continued.)