CONSCIENCE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3489, 25 January 1921, Page 53

CONSCIENCE.

BY ELIZABETH YORK MILLER. Author of ’’The Brass Box,” “Carry On,’* “The Sins of the Fathers,” etc., etc. [Copyright.] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, j CHAPTERS I-IV.— Old Lord Droone hum sold Droone Castle to Alexander Flagg, mat* lionaire. The latter has everything in th* castle and its grounds repaired, refurbished* and renovated in every way. He arrives with his secretary in his sumptous car, followed by servants, dogs, etc., in six cars. At Bentlebury Vicarage the Rev. James Reavis’ tv® daughters, Loraine and Janet, see them arrive. Loraine is a blonde beauty, reared in poverty .and clad in shabbiness, neither of which suits her type. Janet, in the same environment, has become acclimatised and content. Dennis Carr, a poor young student, eon of a Don at Oxford, is in love with Loraine, but the vicar forbids the engagement for six months, knowing well the curs® of poverty, and separates the lovers. Alexander Flagg calls at the vicarage, see* Loraine, fulls in love at first sight, and invites the family to dine at the Castle, 'fa make themselves presentable the sisters fail heavily into c. .bt at Madame Trott’s establishment at Pent Cross. CHAPTERS V-IX.—-The Vicarage foil* r dress for dinner and are heartily welcomed by Alexander Flagg, who pays great attention to Loraine. The tie of friendship between Castle and Vicarage becomes stronger at time rolls on. Madame Trott sends in bill to the Vicar. Loraine captures it an® ‘ pays oyer Janet’s birthday gift on uccoimfc. ' Ihe Vicar gets measured for a new dress-- * suit, and Loraine for a new riding habit. She gets further into debt. Janet keep* , Dennis Carr well posted as to Loraine’* doings. , She cannot avoid mentioning th® millionaire, and Dennis’s suspicions arrd jealousy are aroused. Tn spite of her father’* interdict he comes to Bentlebury and interviews Loraine. She allows herself to become secretly engaged to Dennis. As soon as Dennis has turned his back Loraine and! hex father go to the Castle for dinner. That night Flagg asks Loraine to be his wife. CHAPTERS X-Xll.—Loraine has take® stock of all the wealth, luxury, and comfort that would be hers if she became Flagg 7 ’* wife. His fierce wooing frightens her. Ska promises to marry him, but their engagement must be kept secret until after Christmas. She does not tell either her father or Janet, and the former, thinking that a little wholesome jealousy would be good ior Alexander Flagg, decides , to confront him with Dennis Carr. He invites the you.rgj fellow to the Vicarage for part of the Christmas holidays. Loraine fires up in consternation. While she is in this deep sea of perplexity Madame Trott co-mes in person :o aemand payment for goods received. Lorain® declares she cannot pay, and in the midst of this in walks Alexander Flagg. He wipe® off the debt at once, and when the woman has gone presents Loraine with a strino- of miliiy pearls, with a diamond and emerald, clasp. Loraine gives consent for- the engagement to be known. Alexander gives tke Vicar a cheque for £IOOO to cover the wedding expenses. Janet sends a telegram to Dennis Carr, which she feels sure will break liis heart. CHAPTER XIII. ( On a clear, sunny morning early in February, a thin, somewhat shabbily-clad individual, enveloped in a rusty black over- r coat, with a knitted muffler wrapped around his throat, and his bald head ' topped by a silk hat that had seen better : clays, clambered stiffly down with a small black bag, from the baker’s cart, by which he had bargained for a lift from Pent Cross. He was a stranger both to Pent Cross and to Bentlebury, but nevertheless he had shown great interest in the baker’s story of tne grand wedding which was to take place to-morrow, when the vicar’s daughter was to be given m marriage tb 1 the richest man in the world. The stranger dissembled his interest, merely throwing in a casual question her® and there and skilfully baffling all attempts to elicit the nature of his own business in the neighbourhood. When he left the cart, he trudged first of all up the hill in the direction of ' Droone Castle, but did not enter the o-ates. He stood at a point in the road where ' Janet Reavis had stood the night of Flagg’s arrival, and marked the massive grandeur of Droone—even as she had dona —now fluttering with flags and pennant®. , The wedding breakfast was to be at the Castle, where guests, including old Lord ) Droone. who was to give the bride away, I were already assembling. The ceremony j was to he performed by the vicar. The stranger contemplated the bedecked towers and turrets for perhaps as much as ten minutes, then, shifting his black bag, he turned and ambled down the hill again. He was an old man, with the thin, sharp-featured face of a shrewish woman; ’ what remained of his hair was merely a white fringe, and his clothes bespoke either niggardliness or decent poverty. He wore black woollen gloves, and his shoes were thin and cracked in places. At the foot of the hill he paused briefly to blow his thin nose and ask a village ' woman tvho happened to be passing if that was the Rectory. “The Vicarage, sir,” she corrected. “Ah, yes of course. Thank von very much.” The woman stared after him. slightly impressed, but a little dubious. From his appearance ho might have been either an undertaker or a solicitor. It happened, however, he was neither. Possibly he had a cold in his head, for he paused several times on the wav through the garden to the front door to attend to his nose, and each time he considered carefully the surroundings. The grass was freshly green in the sheltered garden, and here and there a venturesome snowdrop had poked up its dainty white face. Somewhere at the back, a woman’s

voice lugubriously chanted a hymn-tune. Through the open window of an upstairs room came the sound of younger voices—also feminine —in sharp argument. The stranger suffered from a species of hesitation that might almost be called nerves. Surely he would not have undertaken this long journey from London if he had not already made up his mind as to what he meant to do; but, plainly, he vacillated. Did it equire courage? Scarcely. Concluding a last and most careful polishing of his pinched nose, he made an effort and rang the door-bell. The hymn-tune at the rear ceased, and in a moment old Betsy clattered along to answer the summons. “Is the Reverend Reavis at home?” inquired the stranger, in the sepulchral voice which had made the village woman suspect him to be connected with undertaking or the law. Betsy glanced at the black bag and hesitated. She took him for an itinerant vendor of patent medicines. “He is, but he’s busy. May I ask what you might he wanting of him —sir?” Betsy’s “sir” had come a trifle reluctantly. The stranger set down his bag and with great deliberation proceeded to unbutton his overcoat. From an inner pocket he produced a worn letter-case, and from the latter a slightly soiled, black-edged visiting card, upon which he blew daintily to remove any flecks of dust before handing it to Betsy. “Please tell the Reverend Reavis that a brother clergyman desires a word with him in private,” he said. “Say that I will detain him but briefly, but my business is most urgent.” Betsy, perforce, accepted the card, but it did not impress her any more favourably with the visitor. He was probably a begging missionary; possibly an impostor. However, she invited him to wait in the hall while she went to inform her master. The Reverend Mr Stagbund—for such was the name on the black-bordered cardremoved his hat, thereby revealing a domed head of the shape and smoothness i of an egg, except for tile white fringe at the back. He also took off his gloves and muffler, carefully folding the latter, and > laying them together with his hat on the hallstand which was already considerably occupied with small parcels and heaps of telegrams and letters. His glance strayed with deep interest Jjx the trunks and packing cases which numbered the hall, and he shook h’3 head thoughtfully, while his thin lips were compressed into an expression of disapproval. Before Betsy returned, Loraine Reavis came down the stairs with her arms full i of dainty finery- for one of the trunks, and the Reverend Mr Stagbund made her a slight reserved bow. “I am waiting to see the Reverend Reavis,” he explained, with an air of patient grievance. “The maid has seen fit to have me wait here. I trust I am not in the way, Miss—ah, Reavis?” “Not at all. I’m sorry. Betsy should j have shown you into the drawing-room.” Loraine was puzzled, as indeed were all who had come into contact with this sombre, funereal-looking man, but hastily 1 dumped her armful into the till of one of > the trunks, and would have opened the 1 drawing-room door, except that the visitor suavely gestured in the negative. “No, no, my dear young lady, pray do net trouble; it is not of the least consequence. The servant will doubtless return shortly. My name is Stagbund—the Reverend Stagbund. Have I the honour of addressing the lady who is to become a bride to-morrow morn ?” Loraine flushed brightly, and smiled with a nervous twitching of the lips. “Yes, I am Loraine Reavis.” Again Mr Stagbund shook his head, and sadly muttered something that gounded like “Tut, tut !” Then he cleared his throat and observed that marriage was ea»ajti&»ly a serious matter. ' Lust you have considered it carefully irom every point of view,” he concludecf. Loraine was spared replying to this o-ra-tuito'aa advice by the of Betsy, who clattered back to say that Mr Roavas would see the visitor. The Reverend Mr Stagbund picked up Ids black hag and nipped after her, his pointed nose preceding the rest of him *“® j' l * s mask of a sharply enquiring fox. “V- mot a rs-y odd n.ar>,” thought Loraine. CHAPTER XIV. Some of the diserded incident to wedding festivities had invaded James Reavis’s •tudy, and lay heaped upon his wide desk He had been very busy all the morning, writing letters, etc., and—with considerable satisfaction—drawing cheques. The thousand pounds which his future son-in-law had presented him was rather depleted bv this time, and some of it had gone for other things than Loraine’s trousseau. Mr Reavis had paid his own tailor’s biil and ordered a case of two dozen bottles of port, and treated himself to a new -watch and chain. He had also settled up arrears of household accounts. The thousand pounds had been a veritable godsend, and it was very comforting to know that there was more where it came from. Early in the day as it was, James Reavis had decanted a bottle of the port, and a half-filled glass stood on his desk, flanked by a plate of biscuits, with which he was keeping up strength for his labours. Since the matter of Loraine’s marriage had been settled so satisfactorily, Janies had lost his lean, worried look. ‘ His appearance was less ascetic; less spiritual, one might say. The port had warmed the pit of his stomach im • t gratefully, and he felt kindly disposed towards all and sundry, including even the shabby bald gentleman whose can! he held, and whom old Betsy had warn d him looked like "one o’ them there fcegein’ missionerpaud doubtless a non-eomformiet at that.” If the Reverend Mr Stagbund required assist mice. James Rea via felt that he might easily be induced to givo it at >ucb

an auspicious and wholly cheerful moment. “Mr Stagbund—l am pleased to meet you, sir. Will you sit down ? Take the armchair by the fire. I think you will find it comfortable. May I offer you a biscuit and a glass of port ?” Mr Stagbund took the chair, but declined the port with the austere comment that being a men dedicated to the service of God, he eschewed all spirituous liquors. James Reavis flushed mildly and coughed. “Ah, yes, yes! Myself . . . doctor’s orders. My heart is not as strong as it used to be. What can I do for you, Mr Stagbund? We’re rather busy here today. My elder daughter is being married to-morrow.” “Quite so,” interrupted the sepulchral caller. “But what I should like to ask you, Reverend Reavis—is she? Is your daughter being married to-morrow ?” James was a little flustered. He reached out a hand for his glass, but withdrew it again. “Certainly she is,” he replied curtly. “No, Reverend Reavis, I think not. 'Not when I tell you what I know about Alexander Flagg. You will never consent to this match, for you are, like myself, a father. You are also, I take it, a man of God, although we differ in the matter of creeds.” James, the glow in his inside threatening to be superseded by chill, leaned back in his chair and stared haughtily at the stranger. “Explain yourself, please. That is, if you have anything definite to say. I am not good at guessing riddles.” “There is no occasion for anger, brother,” Mr Stagbund retorted in melancholy accents. “You should regard me not as an enemy, but in the light of a benefactor. I come, as it happens, but only in the nick of time, to save your daughter from lifelong shame and misery——” “Good heavens, man, you’re not going to tell me that Mr Flagg is already married!’’ James cried. It was, unfortunately, something that he had wondered uneasily himself. J_‘Not that I know of,” the other replied. “Reverend Reavis, I was for many years the non-conformist chaplain attached to Gatesburv Prison, Battle Town, New South W r ales. Alexander Flagg, the man who has bought Drcone Castle and who is—or was —to marry your daughter to-morrow, was a convict at Gatesbury, serving a term of fifteen years for manslaughter. He was released, I learn, about eighteen months ago. He killed the son of his employer, a lad who was his own best friend—struck him over the head with a chair in a fit of temper. I have all the proofs here, Reverend Reavis—here is my hag.” James sat too stunned to move while Mr Stagbund opened his black bag and took from it a bulky assortment of prison files, official records, newspaper clippings, and old photographs. One of the photographs was a group of convicts, with himself centrally disposed, clasping a Bible. He explained that this photograph was of his Sabbath School class and pointed with a skinny forefinger to the man in stripes directly on his left. Undoubtedly the man was Alexander Flagg or his double. “But this is impossible—impossible!” James Rcavis cried. “Mr Flagg is a man of wealth, a self-made man, as he told me himself. If he spent fifteen years in prison, where he must have gone as a mere boy, how could he have accumulated so much money ?” “That is a question I am unable to answer,” Mr Stagbund replied. “But I cannot imagine it has been come by honestly.” “Look here, you’ve made a mistake—a terrible mistake,” James protested, the sweat breaking out on his forehead in cold, clammy beads. This time, with no hesitation, he reached for his glass, drained it, and refilled it from the decanter. “It must be. another man of the same name—very likely a relative,” he went on. The one thing that it was impossible to get over were the prison records which in conjunction with the clippings and damning photograph amply proved that an Alexander Flagg, the double of the man who had recently bought Droone Castle and whose wedding with Loraine was arranged for to-morrow, had, indeed, been convicted for manslaughter and served his term, with no reductions for good conduct. The sad, purring voice of Mr Stagbund went on. He, himself, had but recently resigned his post in Gatesbury Prison, and had come to England for the purpose of lecturing. As his subjects were to be concerned entirely with prisons and their management from the spiritual standpoint, he had brought masses of material with him. That was how he happened to have these proofs. Two weeks ago he had seen an announcement of the marriage that was shortly to take place, accompanied bv photographs of Loraine and Alexander Flagg. He had occasion to remember Flagg, he said, because the fellow had been very trouble some. He was a good student and had improved his time in learning a great many useful things, but his temper was notorious, and he had never responded once to Air Stagbund’s spiritual advances. “Languages were one of the things he studied,” said the ex-chap’ain. “There were night classes at Gatesbury. Quite an advanced prison in many respects, hut in my opinion lacking in sufficient discipline.” James Reavis had still a trump card to plav. He produced it notv. “I will send for ATr Flagg. This out rage otis accusation must not go undefended.” j Afr Stagbund coughed and again j searched for his letter case, from which | he took a letter, handing it to the vicar. “T saw Mr Flagg last week,” he said, i “Tins refers to our interview. Possibly i yon will recognise tbe bandwriting as that | of Afr Flagg. I told him that unless he I concluded his engagement to marry this | innocent voting ladv, T would inform you

personally. Read what ho says, Reverend Reavis. The language is somewhat —ah — strong, but i believe it is characteristic. ’ Indeed James did recognise the handwriting. It was undoubtedly Alexander Flagg s. He stared dully at what was written, comprehending it as a whole, rather than in detail. Beloved Sky Pilot, —Go ahead. Go as far as you like—to blazes, for all of me. I’ve served my term fair and square, and that ought to satisfy anybody but Air Nosey Parker. What you feit you had to come chipping in for. 1 don’t know, and take it from me, 1 don’t care a hoot in Hades. You’ve got a free hand as far as I'm concerned. Print it in the papers. Where I got my pile needn’t give you or Scotland Yard insomnia, but I don’t mind telling you that I earned it. My salary, when we were together at Gatesbury, figured out bigger than yourn. It figured out at about a million a year. Get to it, Frosty Lace; do your worst, and may the devil lose. Yours, with deep affection and the happiest of memories, No. 640. “Oh, my God !” moaned the vicar, burying his face in his hands. CHAPTER. XV. The Rev. Air Stagbund had gone serenely satisfied in the accomplishment of duty done, but he left a very miserable man behind him. James Reavis would have liked to pass over the whole matter as an evil dream ; to imagine perhaps that he had fallen asleep over his port, as sometimes happened, and that Stagbund had merely visited him in slumber. But that would not do at all. The thing was true; James had seen the admission in Alexander Flagg’s own handwriting. He had seen the photographs and the prison records. In Stagbund’s lectures, the vicar’s future son-in-law would be referred to as “the desperate case of convict Xo. 640.” llis had been an interesting case—a mere boy who had committed a brutal murder and apparently been quite unrepentant. They could call it manslaughter if they liked but the evidence which James had read , with his own eyes, proved that only Flagg’s youth had saved him from the gallows. The vicar had once hoard a lecture on , the subject of murderers who, by one means or another, had managed to escape the full penalty of the law. It was given by a celebrated physician who contended that the murderer who escapes is more , likely than not to repeat his form of crime. Quite apart from everything else, was > James Reavis to give his daughter, his golden lily, Loraine, in marriage to such a man ? The luncheon gong sounded, and the vicar, with a gesture of despair, rose un- . steadily and from force of habit proceeded to the dining room. ; Janet was at the sideboard cutting slices i from yesterday’s joint, and Loraine stood , beside her ready to serve the vegetables. , They always waited on themselves unless there were visitors. 1 Loraine, who, during the weeks pre , ceding her marriage, radiated a peculiar, , electric sort of excitement, smiled brightly at him. ’ “Oh, father, who was the funny old man i who called to see you this morning? 1 wish you could have heard him lecturing , me on the seriousness of marriage.” ; She laughed shrilly, and Janet scowled. “I should have thought that it was rather serious,” said Janet. “Particularly L if you’re marrying a man you don’t love , just for his money.” Loraine’s lips tightened, but she said ’ nothing in reply. A fierce dislike of each other had crept between the sisters ever since Loraine had broken faith with , Dennis Carr. They quarrelled incessantly, - but had made a tacit rule never to do so before their father. , James Reavis sank into his chair and i looked without appetite upon the plate of [ cold beef his daughter set before him. i “He said his name was Stagbund-—the i Reverend Stagbund,” Loraine rattled on j cheerfully. “He looked a regular Stiggins. ; What did he want to see you about?” i The vicar shivered as though he had 5 caught a chill. “Oh, nothing very particular. He’s a prison missionary, or something like that.” 1 “I hope you didn’t give him any money,” Janet said anxiously. 1 She knew nothing about the thousand f pounds, but supposed that Lord Droone - had made her father a present. However, she did know they had all been spending carelessly of late. i “He didn’t ask for any,” James replied briefly. After lunch he retired again to the study where lie locked the door and fell upon his > knees. Tn the old days of poverty and f struggle, praver had never failed to help ! him. He had always risen comforted with spiritual assurance that God was by his side pitying and loving him as he pitied 1 and loved his own children, t But to-day there was no heart in his 3 supplications, and perhaps they failed to 1 reach the gates of heaven. “What am I to do—what am I to do, i c.h Lord!” The answer came from elsewhere. ; “Do nothing—say nothing. -> t There was that thousand pounds—all gone now but a. paltry hundred or so. There was bis own material future as well > as Loraine’s. It seemed unlikely that Stagbund would cry out this affair from the house tops. New South Wales was a long way from Bentleburv. But the man was a murderer. Conscience insisted that i at least Loraine should be given a chance i to choose: that Alexander Flagg be taxed with this deep stain upon bis past. But James Reavis suddenly discovered himself to be a coward. Ifo was afraid to l tell Loraine, afraid to open the issue with s Tbe silent counsel again urged, “Do x nothing—sav nothing.”

He staggered to his feet as someone tried the door and then pounded on it. “Father, Alex and the organist are here. They want us to go over to the church and arrange about the music.” It was Loraine’s voice, gay, animated. James tottered to the door. “All right, my dear, I’m coming,” he replied. (To be continued).