CONSCIENCE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3495, 1 March 1921, Page 46

CONSCIENCE.

THE NOVELIST.

[Published et Special Akeahcehsht.J

BY

ELIZABETH YORK MILLER.

Author of ’’The Brass Box,” “Carry On, “The Sins of the Fathers,” etc., etc.

[Copyright.]

CHAPTER XXV. Of the dozen or so people invited to Droone for that week-end, there were only three who assumed any importance in Loraine’s mind. The first, of course, was Dennis Carr, but even he stepped a little into the background when it came to Mr Tenison and the woman whom Percy Blaum had nick-named “The Hungry Widow.” bhe latter was a travelling acquaintance, the h laggs had met her during their honeymoon, first at Capri; then at Florence, and later on at Rome. In London she had turned up at the Ritz just too late to catch them, but she had their, country address and Loraine bad finally bidden her to Droone. Her name was Sacha Rendell, and she appeared to have enough money to travel extensively with a maid, and to dress remarkably well, but Loraine doubted if the double row of pearls she wore were genuine, and her furs, though smartly cut, were by no means of the same quality as those possessed by Alexander Flagg’s wife. Mrs Rendell was a tall, dark woman claiming a Spanish mother: she was older than Loraine, very handsome, and owed the nickname Percy gave her to the languorous, famished expression of her eyes when they followed men about. She seemed to devour each in turn, and in the end, as Percy put it, “was hungrier than ever.” He himself had turned his back on Janet ■and was now assiduously pursuing her cousin, Ethel Reavis, an athletic young woman who by day led him weary marches over Flagg s golf course, and at night danced him half To death. ( Loraine _ had expected to take Dennis Carr s arrival with great and sentimental seriousness. She found herself scarcely re garding him at all. In fact, it was difficult to see any man who stood in the shadow of Wilfred Tenison. Physically he over-shadowed Flagg, who was no weakling. The author-explorer was an entirely new type of man to Loraine. In stature he was immense, being well over six feet, but so well proportioned that there was no sense of his being overgrown : merely that lie was of a superior race. He was roughly bearded and had a heavy shock of brown hair that badly needed" clipping He dressed carelessly.' but not untidily, and he had beautiful lean hands, expressive, and perfectly modelled from " the strong wrist-bones 'to the well-kept filbert nails. His eyes were a brownish grey, slightly humorous in expression. He wore rough tweeds in the dav-tiine with a scarlet neck-tie : and at night appeared in an antiquated evening suit that had creases where they should not have been, and none where they should. Instantly. Loraine perceived that between Tenison and her husband, there existed a peculiar, somewhat secret sympathy. They got away by themselves whenever they decently could, and seemed to regard the other visitors as intrusive. Sacha Rendell, however, was rather persistent, ■particularly where her host was concerned. For some time past it had been Flagg’s habit to ride by himself before breakfast, often as early as five o’clock. Crawley asked him about the horse that first night after dinner, and he said ves, he would like it brought around at six. Mrs Rendell. who was sitting beside him, inquired, and then invited herself to ride with him.’ Tie assented, and they embarked upon a long conversation with regard to horses, i She know unite a lot about many things in which Flagg was interested, and it 1 soothed him to have a beautiful woman so anxious to give him her companionship. | That was the beginning of something i which might easily end in trouble. Dn l uesdav morning the last motor car 1 glided awav with the" last of the guests, i excepting these three. 1 1(1" re* and 1 enison had so recemented \ their old friendship that the explorer was i persuaded to stay on for a month and ; finish up The work he had in hand. Flagg J crave him a whole tower of the Castle for j himself and Dennis, and the use of a car I for Dennis to go hack and forth to town | when some particular research was needed. ! Sacha Rendell remained as much hv her j own invitation as bv Loroine’s, hut the latter was not ill-pleased to have her. They got on very well tr aether. and the presence of the other woman eased the situation between Loraine and her husband. Airs Rendell was good company, she had an even temper, and was always ready to do anything that was suggested. Tf no one else suggested things she did so herself. But between her and Janet Reavis there was from the beginning an antagonism that became at times all but outspoken, ft was not enough that they merely dis liked each other: the feeling went ns deep ns hatred. When Janet was not present Mrs Rendell did not hesitate to criticise her to her sister. “She’s a sly little thing, isn’t she?” the widow would say. with a disarming smile. “Our young Mr Carr is always being lured to the vicarage, but she's careful Tint to come here very often, isn't dm?” Quite soon in her acquaintance with Loraine Mrs Rendell had discovered that Dennis had had some passing interest in the life of Alexander Flagg’s wife. They

sa-ry; and Loraine, at least, displayed a self-consciousness that was quite unnatural in her. She always flushed up at these allusions to Dennis and Janey. She told herself that she was - not really in love with Dennis any more, but a sort of dog-in-the-manger selfishness resented his attaching himself to Janet. Even her colossal egotism could not prevent her from seeing that that was exactly what he was doing. Flagg perceived it also; was jovially cordial to Janet and exceedingly pleasant to Dennis. It seemed to Loraine that he took a spiteful delight in throwing them together, as though to say, “Ha, my pretty, you see—lovers are not always faithful.” The eyes of “the hungry widow” devoured all manner of information. She was aware that the Flaggs occupied j separate apartments in different parts of the Castle. The honeymoon couple had interested her from the very first. Flagg’s devotion to his pink and golden lily, as he called Loraine, was of a nature to rouse the envy of all women, and especially of one who was unattached. Now, . Mrs Rendell saw that at last he had be- ! come affected by his wife’s coldness. The silly little fool had thrown her man awav, cast him adrift. Didn’t Loraine understand what that must mean in the end? Of the other visitor, the giant bookvorm who was seldom seen by Mrs Randell except at mealtimes, and who avoided her society with unwearying skill, the j widow took no account. He did not interest her any more than she interested him. Besides, he was not a rich man. i Mrs Rendell had discovered a delightful ( hour of the day, between four and five, : when she would be pretending to choose a book from the library shelves, and Flagg would come in to sign his letters or attend to anv other details connected with his affairs that the secretary might have left for him. At that time Loraine was paying her daily flying visit to her sick old father. j During that hour Flagg and the widow had many things to discuss, mainly concerning their early morning rides and the history of the countryside, of which he | could tell her everything. i These talks, for the first day or so wholly impersonal, began gradually to have another significance, especially for the woman. But it was difficult for her to know how Flagg felt about them. I She longed to be taken into his confidence, to be told what had occasioned the trouble between him and Loraine, and to offer him good advice. From the very beginning she had fallen desperately in love with him. ! One afternoon something happened, and perhaps it was just as well that it happened as it did, for a revolution began ii. i Lorailie's feelings. j The day was overcast and thunder rolled threateningly in the distance. Loraine had gone to lie down, overcome by one of those distressing headaches which had made her life a misery of late. The only comfortable thing about them was that they usually disappeared as suddenly as they came. To-day, however, it seemed impossible that this one would give her any peace for hours, and she abandoned any idea of going to the Vicarage. But after slie had slept a little while the usual miracle happened, and she was free of pain, but feeling rather weak and tottery. It was nearly tea-time, and there was a peculiar stillness about the Castle, intensified by the distant rumble of the thunder. Mr Tenison would probably not appear for tea at all; Dennis was in London, and as Flagg never indulged in the meal, Loraine supposed that she would find Airs Rendell yawning over a book in the corner of the great hall where the tray was laid. It was thus, at five o'clock every afternoon, that Loraine discovered her guest after returning from the Vicarage. It was not yet five, however, and Mrs Rendell was not in the big hall. Loraine sat down to wait, and gradually there was borne in upon her consciousness that somewhere near, behind a closed door, a woman was weejoing. The door, as it happened, was not quite closed, and Loraine soon located it as that leading to the library, a room sacred to her husband and his secretary, and which she, herself, never entered in these davs. A queer trembling fit seized her. Was that Airs Rendell in there, weeping so distressfully? And, if so, was she alone? No, for there was another voice, the soothing and concerned voice of Flagg. Loraine threw a startled look right and left. There were no servants about, thank goodness, but in fifteen minutes Crawley would appear with the tea things; Loraine went to the library door and put her ear to the crack. The sobbing came in little moans and catches now. broken by the hasty scratch of a pen on paper. “Oh, Air Flagg, I don't know what you can think of me! Please, please, don’t tell your wife. It would kill me to have her know.” “Bless you, my girl, she’s the last person I'd be likely to tell. There, now — it’s all right, eh? You're not going to cry any more, are you ?” “No, no! I—oh, you are good, Air Flagg! I coqjd kiss your hands.” The sobs had given place to sweetly hysterical laughter. Then the woman said more evenly : “1 think I'd better leave you. It's nearly five. Your wife will be back presently.” There was the sound c.f a chair being pushed back and the swish of skirts. Loraine returned to her seat in the inglenook, and chose a magazine that was lying on the table. She glanced up casually as Airs Rendell emerged from the library, very busy tucking a folded slip of pink paper into the bosom of her dress. Loraine lecognised that folded slip of paper; it was one of her husband's cheques. Mrs Rendell, genuinely startled at beholding her, disposed of the cheque with ruthless baste, and came forward with an expression of camouflaged annoyance. Undoubtedly Loraine had heard her weep-

ing, but there was no sign of it on her creamy skin. “Wnat, buck so soon! It isn’t five yet.” Loraine glanced at the clock. No, it isn t. Do you always expect me exactly at five?” Alls Rendell was very nearly mistress of herself by now. Al\ dear, how absurd! I was in the library looking for a book; trying to find something to amuse myself.” r| ;*^ n d A’ ou find it?” Loraine asked. I heir eyes met, and those of the widow were shadowed with uneasiness. ‘ I found your delightful husband,” she replied. ‘ How interested he is in your local history, and he makes it so interesting to others too.” Loraine suppressed a sneer. Suddenly she hated this woman, and only yesterday they had been swearing eternM friendship. Already they were Sacha and “Lorie” to each” other. Arid n°w Loraine hated her, warming as suddenly to a love for little Janey. “I suppose our devoted Dennis wiii break his return journey at the Vicarage, ’ *lis Rendell suici, J>y way of varying the topic of conversation. “You ought to keep him in order, Loric. These youthful admirers are apt to get out of hand if we give them too much liberty.” Loraine regarded her coldlv. “I don’t quite know what you mean, sne said. Vhy shouldn’t Dennis see as much of Janet as he likes? It doesn t seem to strike you at all that I happen to be married.” The shot fell a little short. Ah, but Lorie, dear, you’re not happy, Airs Rendell exclaimed. “Anyone who loves you as dearly as I do can see that. You’re really in ‘love with the foolish boy.” Loraine got up, uncertainly. The giddy headache was upon her again. ‘ lo «’ ve made a great mistake,” she said. “How you happen to have made t I don t know. lam not in love with Dennis.” Curiously enough that last statement was true. She was not in love with Dennis and it seemed, at this moment as though she never had been. CHATER XXVI. A secret fear was upon Loraine. She held it in common with all mankind when chronic ill-health or disease sends out its warning signals. There certainly was something the matter with her. She disguised it as much as possible from herself, and entirely from other people. Any woman is privileged to have a headache now and again, and Loraine kept hers from being famous. They were, at their worst, brief stabs of agony, but other symptoms accompanied them. She did not dream of consulting her husband, for he might think she wanted his sympathy. But life, though intolerably bitter, had this point, that only an unbalanced brain seeks riddance of it. Despite her misery, Loraine Flagg had no wish to die. She desired even less to support life under a perpetual state if invalidism. Though frail-looking, she had always been a healthy girl, and the possibility of chronic illness struck terror to her heart. In some way Airs Rendell’s secret confilence with her husband determined her o postpone facing the truth about herself no longer. She supposed that in the end a specialist must be asked to define her case, but she did not know how to- go about it, or what sort of a specialist to approach, rt was probably her heart that was at fault. In common with her head, it was behaving badly The next morning she dragged herself out of bed before Flagg and Airs Rendell bad returned from their ride, and when :bey came in she was at breakfast with ber hat and coat on, and the car at the loor. Flagg was struck with her excessive oaleness, and said so. “You oughtn’t to get up so early. You mow it doesn’t agree with you,” he said. “I have to go into Pent Cross. There ire some things I want to do,” Loraine reolied. “Can’t vour maid or Powell see to them ’or von?” he questioned crossly. “Afy dear Lorie, vou must take care of •ourself,” Airs Rendell put in as she chose lopiouslv from the laden sideboard. “I do,” Loraine replied, rising and hemming to draw on her gloves. “If you’ll wait half an hour T'll change md go with vou.” Mrs Rendell offered. “Oh, T shall he back very soon. It. ■rally isn’t worth while for you to inther.” Loraine was out of the room in a flash, nit in the hall she paused for an instant o steady herself. That woman—that odious woman ! How he hated her. The little golden sparks danced before ter eves, and she groped blindly towards he door, grateful at last to find herself afelv in the car. Tt was n lovelv spring morning, the sort f day when the whole world seems to o mad with ioyousness. The woods were nisty with blue bells, and the clumps of rimroses in the hedgerows gleamed liko nattered pools of pale sunshine. Yesterav’s storm had cleared the air, and the ky was Washed to a tender blue. Tn the aeadows the little lambs with their aburd tails wagging, leaned and frisked iotonslv, and every herd of cows had its ew calf, sometimes a pair of them. Tt seemed as though the only sick and orrv creature in tile world was the wife f Alexander Flagg. As the big car flashed by her girlhood’s ome she had a qn iek vision of Janet elping old Betsy to bring out the rug 3 or the spring cleaning. Janet had a uster tied around her head, and was eneloped in an old brown over all. How Loraine had detested those houseold upheavals in the old davs, shirking dienever possible her share of the labour hey involved. But now she thought of hem as one remembers past joys, and her ves filled with tears.

She had told the chauffeur to drive her first to the hotel in Pent Cross. She did not wish anybody to know that she was going to Dr Warrender’s. A sense of impending doom closed over her as 'the roofs and spires of the little market town drew near. She tried to tell herself that she was not afraid of the kind old doctor who had brought both her and Janey into the world, and attended them through all the trifling ailments of childhood, but she was afraid. Very likely if it was anything serious, he wouldn’t tell her the truth, but would want to see her husband. She was in a bad sate of nerves by the time the car was dismissed, and- she had climbed the narrow High Street to the Georgian house where Dr Warrender lived. It was years since she had been here, the last occasion being when Janey fell out of a cherry tree and broke her wrist, and Loraine had posted over on the old pony they shared between them at that time. It was just the same; the same cool, waxed linoleum innocent of rugs, the oak hall stand with its bowl of flowers, the faint smell of drugs that drifted in from the surgery. Dr Warrender was a little startled when she w-as shown into his study. He was a shaggy-headed man with great goldrimmed spectacles which in moments of stress he pushed back upon his forehead. “Dear me, Lorie—what’s happened? Your father hasn’t had another stroke, I hope,” he exclaimed. As a matter of fact, it was something that he secretly feared. Loraine dropped limply into a chair and pressed a handkerchief to her trembling lips. “No—it’s not that. Dad’s getting on nicely, Janey tells me. I’ve come to see you about myself.” “Bless my soul! What’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Yes, you look a bit pale. Too many late nights. Oh, we hear all about the gay doings at Droone, young lady. Perhaps you need a tonic.” “I’m terribly afraid doctor,” she gasped out. “I’m sure there’s something fundamentally wrong with me.” “Oh, no, oh, no!” he exclaimed in the kindly reassuring voice that had brought comfort to so many sick-beds. “Tell me all about it, Lorie.” In spite of herself she was heartened by his manner. So far she had not succeeded in scaring him. He questioned her gently, but everything he asked fitted in so well with her symptoms that she began to feel uneasy again. “Doctor, please tell me the truth,” she begged. “Don’t put me off. I want to know.” To her amazement, his eyes began to twinkle. “It wouldn’t do much good to put you off, Lorie, even if I wanted to. You’d have to know' sooner or later. The only thing that ails you, my dear, is that you’re going to be a little mother in about six or seven months. It’s something that happens to quite a lot of young married women.” .He wondered why she stared at him in that frozen fashion, as though the news had stunned her, and he was inclined to be cross. “Come Lorie, you’re not going to tell me you aren’t pleased ?” She oot up, fumbling with her veil. “I scarcely know',” she replied vaguely. “Somehow, I never thought of—of that.” She shuddered as with sudden cold. Her child and Alexander Flagg’s—the child of a man who had killed his friend and served 15 years in prison. (To be Continued.)