(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) HIS LAWFUL WIFE.

Rodney and Otamatea Times, Waitemata and Kaipara Gazette, 21 August 1912, Page 2

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) HIS LAWFUL WIFE.

By JEAN MIDDLEMASS, Author of "The Yellow Badge," "In Storm and Strife," "Hush Money," " The Case of David Lisle," " A Life's Surrender," &c.

CHAPTER Xl.~tCoritinued.)

"O, Isaac," murmured Mrs. Dixon, down whose cheeks the tears were freely trickling. But Isaac was obdurate. "Money is given to us by the Lord," he said. "I will not spend mine in such a cause." Kitty sprang to her feet. She felt that, as far as her father was concerned, the case was lost. "I will go back to Harry and tell him that the vicar is our only hope. I must be back, and pay the pas- . sage-money before 4 to-morrow or it will be too late." She lent over to her mother and kissed her while she was speaking. "If only I could " whispered the poor weeping woman. ''Are you going away too, my child?" "No, dear, no. If I get the coin for-Harry, it will be as much as I can - accomplish. I shall return to Burnside when he has gone, till . But it is impossible to look forward. The future is full of storm." "Good-night, father," she said, as she passed him to go out of the room. "That you will be silent as the grave, I know, and you will never regret it." Peter had risen. "Let me go with you, Kitty. ■ It is not fitting for you to be in the street alone at this hour." "As you will," the said, listlessly, yet somehow she could not help feeling that Peter Wilkins's comradeship was a comfort; and as to trusting him, aye, Kitty knew she could trust Peter Wilkins to the death! CHAPTER XII. A SICK MAN. On a bed in an upper room, situated in a street that could not even boast of the respectable poverty of Ryder-street, a man was lying. His features were most refined, though, perhaps, strictly speaking, j he was not handsome. What must have struck anyone at once who | knew them both was his striking resemblance to the Vicar of Burnside —a resemblance i n which the vicar at one time rejoiced, for,this young fellow, who was the only child of his dead brother, was exceedingly dear to him. Of late, however, he had, perhaps, scarcely appreciated the resemblance. Harry Jackson had been brought up by the vicar, who had expected great things of him; but in this expectation he had scarcely reckoned sufficiently with heredity. The young man's father had been weak and a vaurien, had died, in fact, a victim to his own vices. The son had followed in the father's footK steps; had even outstepped them, for the elder man had never come under supervision of the police, or been accused of felony in the form of a forged cheque, as had been the weak, vacillating husband of pretty Kitty Dixon. He looked very ill as he lay there, the appearance of illness having been considerably increased by the desire to pass as an invalid who was incapable of going out and about, so that he might remain in seclusion without his wish to do so being made, a subject of remark. Nor had any suspicion been aroused in the minds of the people with whom he had found a wretched lodging, especially since his wife came, for Kitty did not attempt to conceal the fact that she was his wife, while they both passed by the name of Wheatley. ' "As soon as I can get him off abroad, I will," she told the frowsy landlady. "He is very ill—consumptive. That is why we are so poor; he can do no work. You will look after him, won't you, if I gG away for a few hours to-morrow to ask his.uncle to help him." This explanation was given after Kitty's first interview with her husband, for she expected that she would be compelled to go to Burnside for money, not in the least anticipating that her father would respond to her appeal. Kitty read ncr father thoroughly. Gifted with the same keen perceptiontion that he himself possessed she had made no mistake in gauging his character. Strong religious tendencies really existed in Isaac Dixon; they were not assumed to make him appear as a saint to the world. The hardness and coldness of the Calvinistic faith in which he believed suited the sternness and hardness of his own nature; while it did not serve to lessen the averice and pride which were his stumblingblocks'to real sanctity. - Kitty would obtain no money from her^ father/that she _knew . but, at of 11 with this misand wormwood the world—the Minister, ' AberD which he dwelt,

Published By Special Arrangement.

should know aught of the troubles his daughter had brought upon herself by her marriage. Thus he would not utter one word in reference to them, not even to Minister Abercromby himself, who was his usual confidant.

And Kitty had judged correctly

"A felon for a son-in-law!" He shuddered at the very thought. "This must be set on one side and forgotten."

Even as the good, kind Vicar of Burnside was suffering severely tn silence and hopelessness over Harry Jackson's sin, so was Isaac Dixon suffering, not the less" severely because the characters of the two men were very dissimilar.

Not expecting any other reception than that she had received, yet Kitty was angry with her fathervery angry—and her feelings were expressed in no measured terms as she walked quickly along Ryderstreet, followed by Peter, who, agile though he was, had much difficulty in keeping up with her. He did not venture to contradict her, for he felt sorry that Isaac Diron had been so hard, yet loyalty forbade him to condemn one who had stood to him in lieu of a parent, for Peter Wilkins was a waif, and had no knowledge of having any relations.

Arrived at the miserable tenement where Harry Jackson had found a temporary resting-place, Kitty held out her hand to Peter. She would not insult him by unnecessarily recommending secrecy; she knew full well how faithful he was.

He grasped her hand with a firm grip, so that she could not at once depart.

"Don't go to Burnside," he said eagerly; "it will be all right in the morning.''

"What will be all right? What do you mean, Peter?"

"You shall have the money—before eleven. I will bring it." "You! O Peter!"

Kitty was, indeed, touched. Though she was fully aware of Peter's devotion, she had had no idea it would reach such a point as this.

"Yes. I have put a little by. I am a partner now, you know.'' "But how can I take your mon«y? You may never get it back." "What matter, so long as it helps you? And it will come back. In God's good time it will be restored to me tenfold. Don't look so piteous, Kitty," for even in the dim light he could see a strange, sad look on her face. "Go in and make all necessary arrangements. I will foe here before eleven—the banks do not open until ten; and I *v\\\ help you in any way I can." What could she do but accept? For to go and make herself known to the vicar,, and ask him to help Harry, was a bitter pill, of which even light-hearted Kitty dreaded the swallowing.

She had always laughed at Peter and thought him an insignificant nincompoop, whom she played with at will. This spontaneous act of kindness surprised her and touched her as she bad never been touched before. Whether the improved state of her feelings towards Peter would last was another matter; the variableness of Kitty's moods being considered, it is doubtful.

"Did Kitty really love this Jackson?" was the question Peter was asking himself as he sauntered home. He was, of course, the man who used to incur Peter's jealousy and Isaac's displeasure by loitering about Ryderstreet, and on whose account Kitty left her father's roof.

Were the questions answered truthfully, Kitty did not love him, had never loved him as a woman loves but once in a lifetime. She had been flattered and pleased by his attentions because she saw that h<e belonged to the "gentle" classes, and Kitty was always desirous of climbing up out of the Ryder-street shop; but probably , Q had she seen more of him, their sweethearting would never have ended in marriage, save for Isaac Dixon's anger and severity. What little love Kitty had left for Harry Jackson, tihen, had long since changed into indifference, if not positive dislike, for he had at times been very cruel to her. Not only was this Jackson unprincipled, as far as money was concerned, but he not infrequently drank; and when a drunken fit was on him, would handle Kitty somewhat roughly. She was resolved,however,to save him now, and get him out of the country, if possible—not so much for his sake as for her own. Kitty felt that she would breathe more freely with the knowledge that Harry Jackson was in South America, and that he dare nofc return.

The difficulty was to persuade him to go without her, for in his sober moments Jackson was very fond of Kitty, and relied thoroughly on her cleverness and efficiency in difficult situations^

She had, however, managed to per-

suade him that this, for several reasoni, wa« both impossible and indiscreet. But she promised if he made a position for himself in the new country to which he was going, aha would join him later on. By dint, then, of her plausible representations, by the time she returned from her father's, she found him ready and willing to do everything she wished. Fear of the police had, perhaps, weighed as heavily in bringing him to this conclusion as Kitty's inducements.

"Have you got the money V he asked, as she entered the room.

She nodded h«r head. Where she had got it from she did not intend to say. Kitty was a wise woman, who knew that on most subjects "silence is golden," and, though she was considered to be a chatterbox, she neiver tojld a-n^thing she did toot want people to know.

"You will come to me, Kitty t You will not leave me all alone out there for ever?" ihe went on wailingly, not troubling to ask how or with what difficulty the sum had been obtained.

"That depends on yourself, Harry —on what you do when you get out there. I shan't come to starve. I must be well assured of comfort before I join you."

"Never fear," was the reply. "I shall make money fast enough); only, Kitty, you must perform your part of the contract, you must use every endeavour in your power to get that forged cheque in your possession, otherwise we shall never be free."

"All right, trust me; only get off safely, and the rest is easy. Now, having got the ways promised, let us fully discuss the means."

The result of this discussion was

that the following morning Kitty went out and bought a variety of small things, which she packed up for her husband's comfort, and was, of course, afterwards at the trystingplace to meet Peter Wilkins, receive the money he had brought, and have a little further conversation with him. During the entire day Harry Jackson, alias Wheatley, stayed in bed, tended by his wife, who did not leave him except, to go to the office and pay the fare to Buenos Ayres, so, that he> might depart by the Martina which was to sail from Southampton in the small hours. It was not until after her return that she informed the landlady that he was going to relations in the Channel Inlands, where she devoutly hoped his health would soon improve. The old woman shook her head, for she did not believe that change of scene or air would ever improve this sick man's health. She did.not, however, say so, but watched them depart with much sad interest.

Peter Wilkins arrived at dusk and helped Kitty to get her husband downstairs, for it seemed as if his legs were too feeble for him to stand on them, much less to walk.

"Much worse than he was when he came, three days ago," muttered the landlady; "he could just crawl upstairs then."

Peter accompanied the couple to the station, where the same farce was gone through, Harry Jackson being got into the train with difficulty.

Then Peter returned to Ryderstreet, resolved not to speak a word of the mission on which he had been engaged unless questions were asked Isaac carefully avoided all allusion to the subject, but he looked worn and almost broken; while Martha's questions were in her eyes, for she was too much afraid of Isaac to dare utter them.

When Peter bade her good-night, he whispered:

"They are gone; Kitty with him to Southampton."

"Thank God!" was the low reply, accompanied by a glance across the supper-table at Isaac to see if he had noticed the confidence.

By the time they reached Southamption, the invalid had sufficiently recovered to be able to walk slowly on board, leaning on Kitty's arm. She took him at once to the bed allotted to him, saw him carefully tucked up, and bade him on no ac-. count to move out of it till the ship was well out of Englishi waters, and chen only to recover his strength gradually in order to get on shore without creating observation. This advice he promised to follow; nor was it necessary to give him instructions, since he himself had planned out the whole scheme of flight, want of means to carry it out being the only reason for summoning bis wife; no, not the only reason, for Harry Jackson was longing to gaze once more on his little Kitty. He loved her far more than she loved him; in fact, save in order to obtain money for Kitty, it is doubtful if he would have got into his present trouble.

To all outward appearance, she was showing extreme devotion to him now; in reality, she was shielding herself. She was thinking far more of her reputation, her status in the world, than of her husband's wretched life if convicted, and sentenced.

"Now I must go ot shore," she whispered at last. "As father would say, 'h? sober and vigilant,' and you will be all right. Send letters to Mildmay's Library, as before—on no account to Burnside. I'll manage to get them. Now, good-bye."

{To be Continued.) L.W.—IT.

Love labour; for if thou dost not want it for food, thou mayst for physic. It is wholesome for thy body and good for thy mind.—Wm. Perm.