THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3249, 21 June 1916, Page 61

THE NOVELIST.

THE TEMPTATION OF MARY LISTtR.

(PcnustiKD by Special Arrangement.)

By E. EVEEETT-GEEEN. Author of "Adventurous Anne," "A Queen of Hearts/' "Defiant Diana," "The Lady of the Bungalow," etc., etc.

(Copyright.) CHAPTER XXV.—MARY PLANS HER FUTURE.

N a pleasant, well-furnished chamber in a roomy oldfashioned nouse of unimpeachable respectability Mary Lister sat alone, gazing with unseeing eyes out through a sunny window towards a distant vista of trees, wearing their first verdant summer freshness.

She -was trying to visualise her own future —a future of loneliness—lived, so far as she could see ahead, in a succession of "rooms" like those she was temporarily occupying, or in various Continental hotels if she decided for a while to travel, as at this moment she was disposed to do. A few months ago the prospect of independent travel upon sufficient private means would have seemed to her the very acme of bliss. Why, then, did the prospect of to-day cause her no exhilaration of spirit? Why was her outlook upon life so grey and bleak ? Why was it that she felt at heart that heavy dragging pain, which took all the brightness from the sunshine, and transformed life itself into a burden which she felt it would be hard to carry with courage and vivacity? "Of course, I know what is the matter with me. I love Giles Lorimer. I love him, and I could have won him—for he was almost ready to love me—and Lady Lucy wanted me for her daughter and his wife. But now all that is past and over. I thought it was two nights ago —which seem like two years —when I told them all. I was sure of it on the next morning, when Giles let me go (though he knew I was going, and the hour of my departure) with never a word of farewell, never a hand-clasp or a good wish for my future. I saw surprise even in the servants' eyes, for they knew that the master was up and about; but I would not have him called. Had he wished he could have come."

Mary paused and bit her lip, whilst two great crystal drops rose in her eyes, quivered on her long lashes, and splashed down upon her dress.

"Ho did not want to see me. He had 'slept upon it,' as Lady Lucy called it. And he had come to the conclusion that it was better to part without another meeting. Well, perhaps he was right. Perhaps anything else would have been the worst pain. If I had read contempt and hostility in hi 3 eyes it would have killed me I think."

Passionately she pressed her hands together. The pain was tugging at her heart. If her limbs had not felt so weary she would have been pacing to and fro, as she had paced half the night. "And this morning—no letter! I did think perhaps that dear Lady Lucy might have sent me just a line, seeing I had written/her a note myself, and told her where I should be for a few days; but nothing has come. Even she, when she had time to think things over, has begun to see what a terrible person I was ! To filch her son's heritage from him—how awful! How could I have done it, when once I knew what I was doing ? Ah, but I had begun to love that life—to love the place—and just at the moment I. had not seen the Lorimers ! And when I saw them it seemed too late. I was hopelessly committed, and I had promised Molly ! "Ah, dear me, dear me, how much was my promise to her, and how much the temptation to take all the good tilings of life that I could get and exploit them for my own benefit? How shall I ever know? I never shall; and now it does not matter, only that I am branded. Never, never, never can I go back to that dear place again—see Lady Lucy or The Rookery—or Giles. From that life lam an outcast for ever. I could not bear to meet the looks of the people, who would all of them know the truth of me. Mary Lister, the impostor! Mary Lister, the criminal! Mary Lister, who had tried to cheat a good man out of his own, whilst receiving his hospitality and professing affection for his mother! . . . Oh, what an awful thought! How could I have done it—how could I ? It will always be an awful nightmare thought, hanging round my neck, and making a black veil before my future. How can I ever be happy ? How can I ever bo as other women are ? Oh, Molly, if you only understood what you were asking of me! But I would not lay the blame on her, poor darling. The fault was mine—from end to end ! I knew what I was doing —and I wanted to do it ! I wanted the softness of life and all the good things which would como to me. And this is what I have got!"

She bowed her head upon her hands, and the tears dropped thick and fast. She was thinking of Oiles—all that he meant to her, all that she had lost in losing him. And musing thus she did not hear the soft opening of the door, nor its equally gentle closing. She only lifted her head suddenly when a little soft frou-frou of silken draperies made itself audible, and then, before she could even rise from her scat, she found herself clasped in Lady Lucy's arms.

"Oh, my darling !—my poor sweet Mivry !—Mary-all-alone ! 'And did sbo think she was going' to be left all alone, to cry her pretty eyes ont, with nobody to kiss the tear's away!"

"Oh, Lady Lucy!—dear Lady Lucy!" "I don't know that name, darling. It must be Aunt Lucy still for a little while. I told the good folks of the house that I had come to see my niece. So we must keep up that delightful fiction a little while lunger." "Oh, Aunt Lucy, dear—dear Aunt Lucy, how can you bear even to see me or know me, when you understand what a bad, wicked girl 1 have been !" "But, darling, I think you were so tremendously clever —you did it so well. 1 never had the least idea. And Giles says he would never have thought of it if he had not seen poor Molly once, when she never knew he was there. We understand so well what happened, and we sympathise so much with poor little Molly for wanting to put her task upon you. Do you know, it strikes us as so like what poor, dear Norah would have done in like case. She never could assert herself —never could stand up against her father's tyranny. And her daughter was, I think, very like her. She knew that the George Harts were so firmly established there that she did not feel strongenough to dislodge them alone. Oh, 1 understand so well, and so does Giles. And she made you promise first to help her, and afterwards to be her. Ami you were her heiress, ana you were Mary Lister. Really, darling, 1 don't quite see what else you could have done." Mary's arms were fast round Lady Lucy's neck by this time. For a moment sobs" choked her utterance; but then, with a great effort, she regained control of herself, and. drawing Lady Lucy to a sofa, she settled her against the cushions and knelt before her, holding her hands.

"Dearest Aunt Lucy, you are so sweet and good to me that I do not knowhow to thank you. You take the pain and hardness out of my heart, and I love you for it more than I can say. But I must not let you think too well of me, or make excuse for what was ■ really a great wrong. Whatever might have seemed my duty or my right at the first —seeing Molly had drawn a will in my favour —nothing could excuse my conduct afterwards, when I knew from Mr March that -by Molly's death all the Hart property passed to your son Giles. Then it was that I ought to have told Mr March everything, produced Molly's will, explained to him my position, and let everything go to Giles." "But, darling, how difficult for you, with a cut-and-dried old family lawyer to deal with, who would never have understood."

"Yes. Aunt Lucy, that was how I felt —how impossible to explain ; and I was afraid to.' I did not know if T might not have done something illegal—something I could be had up for, and sent to prison." _ , "Oh, my darling child, how awful [" "Yes, wasn't it? And by that time I had seen Hartshill and loved it. But it was very wicked of me, Aunt Lucy; T don't make any excuse. When T knew that Giles Lorimer succeeded if Molly died without children I ought not to have gone on. He would, of course, turn out the Harts. There was no need for me to carry out Molly's wishes. They would be carried out just as well by somebody else; and, of course, after knowing what I did. I was playing a very wicked part. I cannot think now how I did it. And your goodness to me fdls me with shame." "Ah, but, darling, we all of us make mistakes some time in our life. And a lonely little girl is at such a disadvantage, confronted with such a big problem all at once. Giles and T understand —" "That is sweet and dear of you. And you have come here to tell me and- to forgive. T don't know how to thank you for that. And now T can go away more happily, feeling that——" "Darling, what do you mean about going away? I have come to " "Dear Aunt Lucy, it is the only thing for me to do. My mind is quite clear about that. I am going abroad at once. I have plenty of money in Pari-. I arranged all that when I was there before oil my way to England. There are bonds which can belong to anybody, and they are really mine. They will yield me a nice little income, and I shall travel about and see the world. It is what I always thought would be so delightful. I have not to earn my own living now. Always I shall be grateful to dear Molly for that. In a way 1 am quite a well-to-do woman. I am going to be very happy " A little spasm caught Mary's throat, and she came to a sudden pause. Lady Lucy was leaning back against the cushions watching her face attentively. Her bps were grave, and Mary did not catch the little sparkle in her eyes. "Dearest Mary, are you quite resolved about that? Is your'mind quite made up ? For I had a nice little plan for taking you back home with me. But I saw that Giles did not feel confident of my success. Are you really so bent upon travelling about before you settle again?" Mary swallowed the lump and spoke bravely—all the more bravely because she gathered that Giles had Jiot backed up —perhaps had not even quite approved his mother's plan of bringing Mary back with her. That conviction stiffened Mary's resolve as perhaps nothing else coidd have done. She held Lady Lucy's hands tenderly, but there was no yielding in her face" or in her words. "Yes, dear Lady Lucy, I am quite, quite resolved. I know that I have chosen the wise and right course. You can understand, I think, how quite impossible it would be for me to appear again in a place where my dreadful story must bo known, and where everyone would stare at me and point the finger of scorn. Your hall, dear Lady Lucy, and the welcome all those kind people gave me. Why, that alone would be enough to stop my coming back. What would they think of a woman who could take all that goodness from you, whilst she was perpetrating a fraud to keen your son out of his heritage?" "Mary, darling, you use such strong expression ' '" "Dearest Ann!, Lucy, the world will use stronger ones than that; and think of the

George Harts! Of their venomous tongues, their " "Oli, Giles will soon turn out the George Harts. He wild stand no impertinence from them ! Make yourself quite at ease on that count." "Yes. Giles will knew what to do about them," said Mary: "that is the best of it Molly's wishes will be carried out. Bu someone else will do the work. I shai not- be there to see. It ha* been very sweet of you to come here, Aunt Lucv —if I may call you that just for to-day. ! ' "Yes, darling, just for a little while longer—only a very little while longer now, since " "Since I am going away, and you must try and forget me. You see, I am quite right about that. I could not do anything else after what has happened." "Mary, darling, I think I will just slip away into the next room and take a little rest there. I see you are in a quite resolute frame of mind, so I will just leave you to talk it all over—with Giles!"

CHAPTER XXVL—MARY LISTER—"OR LORIMER, Mary sprang to her feet and faced round. In the same moment Lady Lucy made a swift and graceful retreat through the doors of communication into Mary's bedroom, which she had ascertained before to lio in that juxtaposition. She sank down into an arm chair, pressing her filmy handkerchief to her lip*, her eyes dancing With alee. For she pictured accurately what was passing in the adjoining room, when Mary turned round to set- Giles himself standing framed in the doorway. Not for a moment had Marv expected that Giles would appc;ir here in her ropms, even though his mother had come thither with a welcome message of affection and forgiveness. And when she saw him standing there, watching her with that characteristic expression of his, halftender, half-ironic, and wholly enigmatic to her at this juncture, her heart gave a great bound and then seemed to drop dead. She made no advance toward* him; but *ank down up m the sofa which Lady L.icy had just quitted. closed the door and came across towards her. He sat down on the same sofa at a little distance, turning himself sideways so that he could look at her comfortably whiht he talked. He crossed one knee over the other, and held it with his clasped hands. Mary was conscious of a certain masterful determination in his pose which she could neither define nor interpret.

" Xow, Mary, I have given you four-and-twenty hours to pull yourself together. I knew you would want- about that. And' now we have got to come to grips. Thift affair of ours won't wait —as no douhfc yon realise yourself. It's sot to be ru.-hed a bit—and afterwards we have all the rest of the time to settle down." "I have not the least idea what you are talking about. Giles," said Mary, steadying her voice that it might not tremble. Was he thinking of demanding compensation in some form? Was he going to have a full written confession made? Could he be thinking of any' kind of legal proceedings? The colour * began slowly to leave her face: but she braced her courage to meet whatever ordeal might be in store for her. Had. she not brought it all Upon herself? " Well th 'ii, I think you are just a little bit- dense. Mary. But then you have had a lot to think about just lately. But what I am talking about i> just our marriage. That will have to be hurried on in double quick time, as probably you realise, yourself." " Giles!"

" Why,, of course, Mary. I know we have had to skip certain conventional formalities and stages, which would have been extremely agreeable had there been time to put them through. But circumstance- have rushed us, and we must do our courting after marriage instead of before, that is all. I have got the special licence in my pocket all right. My mother has a little tame parson friend not three miles away, who will marry us in his church any time bv appointment. She is here to see von through—as she saw your mother through her runaway wedding with Norman Lister. Things seem to run in families, you know. And to all intents and purposes you are Xorah Lister's daughter. Nobody is ever going to know anything different from that when yon return as Mary/Lorimcr—■—" Mary sprang to her feet; she went white and red by turns. "' Giles —what are you talking about? What do you mean?" " Do sit down, Mary, and be quiet. I thought T was explaining everything so nicely and clearly. You see you have forced the situation by going off in a hurry. Some reason must be given for that. Now the simplest reason in creation' is fust this—that yon ran away—like your mothc—to be married " "Giles!" "It won't surprise people so mighty much. I've cot the reputation for being a bit of a crank, and rather barring fusa and flummery. You've no relations at Hartshill who would be any good to yore over a- wedding. Tn fact they have all got to clear out before we return from, our wedding trip—and T'll jollv well see that thev do it. My mother always does like what is unexpected and romantic, and has a reputation for being to the fore in emergencies of this kind." Giles suddenlv sat up more erectly, took Mary's hands in both of his and looked with that peculiar steadiness that she very well knew. Info his voice there stole a ring of Ftithority which seemed to show some quality of mastery against which she might struggle in vain. " And just understand this, Mary. T marry Maw Lister—which Mary Lister it is quite immaterial to mo, so long as she is the woman whom T love. Upon marriage we become one. It then is absolute I '.- immaterial who is the legal owner of Hartshill. If it were mine, I sh mid settle it and its revenues upon my wife and her younger children, so that from that day forth it would be hers. »If it be hers in law already—then

ahe can do us she will with it. It is only a question of adjustment between ourselves. Mary, do you understand? You go bark to* The Rookery, when the time conies, as my wife. You will then be Mary Lorimer, and we together are joint owners of both properties. No one can disturb us. It will profit nobody to raise or a-k questions. You and L and my mother know the whole truth of this matter. Nobody else has any cause to know it. It is extremely improbable that any person will ever cross our path who could ask unpleasant or difficult questions. But if such contingency should arise wo have our answer ready. These was-a family agreement about "it. A small farce was enacted. No harm was done, no wrong to any living person. I knew the truth all along. And I approved. Our marriage made all right. It is extremely unlikely that even these few explanatory words will ever have to he spoken. The death duties might be slightly heavier in my case than yours. I can make that right by 'conscience money' when I know the amount. Then nobody can have anykind of grudge against us. Nobody is affected. ' And nobody shall have cause to fling a stone at my wife. Mary, do you understand? We have got to be married without passing through the intermediate state of betrothal. Mary, will you marry me to-day?"' " Giles!"

"Honestly, I don't see any use in waiting. I hate waiting for anything that I want as badly as 1 want you, Mary." A new note 'had crept into his voice. Mary shivered all through her shrinking frame. Bliss and woe struggled together for mastery of her heart. " Giles ! —Giles ! —you must not do it! I must not give you your way. You are only doing this to save me, to help me, to keep me from the consequences of my own folly and cupidity. I can't let you. You shall not be sacrificed. To let you would be worse than what I have done before," and she struggled almost fiercely to release her fingers from the clasp of his strong hands. " Steady, Mary !—steady ! Only on one condition will I let you go." " One condition, Giles ; then tell it me." " Look straight into my eyes —yes, Marv, like that, and tell me the truth from your heart. If the truth so spoken is that you do not love me, then I will let you" go. But if otherwise—l hold you my prisoner for ever and ever." Next' moment she was clasped in his arms. She had spoken no words with her lips, but the sudden flood of light and of love in her eyes had been answer, and he asked for none other. Nor could Mary have given one had he so wished, for his lips were so strongly pressed to hers that speech had become an impossibility. And at this moment, Lady Lucy, peeping through a crack which she had opened for herself in the double doors, saw them thus, and she made a rush towards them, folded them both in her arms together insofar as such a comprehensive embrace was possible. "My darling children!" she cried. "Mary", I could simply cry for joy, only I must not make myself a fright before the wedding. Giles, darling, can it really be to-dav?"

" Why, certainly it can. And I'm going to 'phone up Mr Anderson and settle it. London is a beastly home this time of year, and we won't stop in it a day longer than we can help. Mary, what do you say? When we are married shall we go straight to The Rookery or shall we "

" Oh, darling, Mary has quite decided that she wants to go abroad for a time, and though I should simply Jove to have you come back with me, I do think it v.'ould be more comme-il-faut for you to go away somewhere together—just till Hartshill is cleared of the George Harts. Of course, Giles, as soon as you are Mary's husband, you will write and tell them about if, and that you will expect to find the house vacant upon your return. And I will see Mr March also, and they shan't be allowed to impose. Not that you and darling Mary will live anywhere but at The Rookery, for that I could not bear. Rut Hartshill must be cleared of those rather dreadful people, though we will be kind to poor Margot, who will be simply frightfully upset, 1 know. Rut then, darling, you never could have married her under any circumstances whatever." "No, I certainly could not. and less than ever now that I am certain she stole the disputed heirloom and put it where it was found, so that Mary should get the blame, and then came and told me, and pulled open the drawer herself." " Yes, how shocking! But now there can never be any dispute about that silly necklace any more. For Mary's it is, whether on the Hart or the Lorimer side. Now, Mary, dear, don't begin protesting that you are not Norah's child. Of course. I know in a way that you are not. Rut to me you will always lie my very dear niece, until you are my dearest daughter, which will be almost directly now. And then you need not call me Aunt Lucy any more, for you will just call me—mother." Then Mary's crystal tears rushed to her eye?, and flinging her arms round Lady Lucy's neck, she whispered that sacred name a score times over, adding between smiles and sobs: "Yon will be the nearest and dearest and sweetest mother whom I have ever known !" " And if you and Mary go on in that ridiculous way." said Giles, contemplating them with a whimsical smile, his bands well thrust into his pockets, "I shall become so consumed with jealousy that I shall make my home and Mary's at Hartshill, and keep her away from The Rookery except at .specified times and under due surveillance." Then Lady Lucy swept round upon him and held him fast in her arms. " Oh, my dearest, darling boy, I am the very happiest woman in the world.

And I have got what I always longed to have—a daughter all my own. For she will never want to fly away and leave us—she is mine for life!" S ), after a due interval, Mary Lorimer came back to rlartshill, and the name of Mary Lister was no more heard, and soon was almost forgotten. But the home of the Lorimers was at The Rookery, and Hartshill was let on a long lease—"till some of our sons are grown up," as Giles told Mary, "and may want to have some say in the matter." And though a little speculation and wonder was aroused in the neighbourhood" by the sudden and secretway in which Mary Lister and Giles Lorimer had been married, nobody troubled much about the matter. He had always been a rather eccentric person, and ' Lady Lucy would be certain to approve anv queer notion he might take into his head.

The neighbourhood was saved the cost of wedding gifts and wedding garments, even if it had been done out of the excitement of a pretty wedding. "My darling Miss Mary," Mrs Blossom cried, as she folded young Mrs Lorimer in her arms, "to think now that you should go and do just what your pretty voting mother did, and marry away from home with just Lady Lucy to look after you. But there—there, some things do run in families, as I do always say. And from the fmt I did see that Master Giles —Mr Lorimer, I should say—worshipped the very ground vou stood on. And a good husband he'll make, as I do say. For his father did the same before him—and things do run in families, as I was just telling you. Miss Mary, dear —I mean Mrs Lorimer, ma'am!" And Mary hugged the dear old soul, and looked 'out at the fair prospect with happy eves a little dazzled by unshed tears'. And so her husband found her, and passed his arm round her shoulders, saying : " And now no more of Mary Lister and her troubles and temptations, only ?iary Lorimer now—with the trouble of her husband !"

(The End.)