Taken Unawares

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 871, 24 November 1916, Page 3

Taken Unawares

[All Rights Reserved]

CHAPTEK V. "He is a nuisance. I wish he was at the bottom of the sea! " "Miss Terry! " "Well, then, I wish he was in the heavens above !" "Miss Tery —my dear! Don't say such dreadful things." Terry tossed a telegram down upon the table with a gesture of rage and defiance. "I shall if I like. Aud you are such a prude, Sarah, my dear, that it's positively wonderful that you have had the charge of me for 20 years and lived through it. But I never felt so hateful as Ido now. I'd like to curse Mr Hindon up and down, like a witch. I'd like to stuff that telegram down his throat! Hateful old stick! But I don't care whether he is coming or not. I'm going to Mrs Stevenish's to-night. It's the last chance I shall get. They are going to-morrow to London, aud, besides- '' She rose and turned away her face from the curious gaze of the old woman who sat sewing at a table in the centre of the room. "And besides, I think I shall let Ferdinand propose to me. Then Mr Hindon can't interfere any more. I shall be independent of hint. Bother him." Sarah Mayling looked up gravely. She was old and grey. She had grown grey in the service'of Sir Anthony Tredwick, serving him as few do, working sigle-handed in the house that was as gaunt and old as herself, and falling into ruin for want of the money which Sir Anthony had not got or could not ppare to spend upon it. Mayling —and Terry had •lived there for nearly 20 years—a lonely life for both of them, if it had not been for Terry's high spirits and wild escapades. Terry, for ever getting into scrapes, for ever on the verge of some desperate and reckless adventure, had kept Sarah pretty well alert. Terry was difficult to manage; and many a time the sense of her responsibility and the difficulty of training her in the way she should go had kept Sarah awake into the small hours of the morning. She had had no one to advise her. It was useless to write to Sir Anthony. The most he had ever done was to come down by one train and go back by the next, after making profuse promises, which, of course, he never carried out. A dozen times in as many years he had promised governesses for Terry, and repairs for the house, to say nothing of making up the arrears of wages which Sarah had never had and never mentioned. And to-day Sir Anthony was dead, and the child that he had neglected stood in the shadow of the fate of Sir Anthony had made a belated and useless attempt to avert. "I said bother him," repeated Terry, bobbing her head into Sarah's face as that woman looked at her with uplifted brows. '' Bother—bother—bother him —a nas i y interfering old thing! .What does he want to come to-night for? Why couldn't he have Left it. till to-mor-row? 1 never hated,anybody so much before in all my life." : As Sarah had heard the same remark many times, she/took no notice. All Terry's hatreds and loves were of the same violent, nature. But her old greyeyes looked up a little sadly from over her glasses. Terry had never shown any gratitude to anyone. Perhaps, indeed, if Sarah could have forced herself to own the truth, she wpuld have admitted that Terry was heartless. But from her babyhood up, Terry had been idolised and spoilt, and, perhaps, mismanaged by the old woman, and she made indulgent excuses for all she did. "But, Miss Terry, dear," she said now, "he has been a good friend to you already, thinking of things you'd never expect a man and a bachelor to think of " "Oh, he's an old woman," said Terry contemptuously. "Sending you fruit and flowers and sweets from London. Look at that great box that came from Fuller's only yesterday. And even your clothes —he even thinks of them." "Oh yes, a regular old maid"— Terry laughed —"worrying about damp feet and things. Fancy bothering about damp feet!'' "It was only for you, my dear, when you came in wet that night he was here." "Well, I wish he wouldn't. And what he wants to spend his vacation here for, I don't know. I wish I could go with Mrs Stevenish" to London. I've a good mind to run away. Just think of all these weeks to come with Mr Ilindon here boring us to death!" "Perhaps you won't see so much of him as you think," said Sarah. "He'll be busy with the repairs he is going to have done for you, and, besides, it isn't as if he was staying in the house. The Plough is two miles away, and I can 't think he'll be very comfortable there, Miss Terry. I wonder if we could ask him here?" "No," said Terry emphatically. "Bather not; and, besides, the inn is sure to be all right. People do stay there sometimes." "But not well-to-do people like Mr Hindon.'' "Well, T don't care," said Terry; "let him look after himself. And now I'm going. It's time. He won't, get in until 8; then, of course, he'll go straight to the inn and have supper. He won't be here much before 10. If I'm not here when he comes, say I 'in at the Vicarage, and if he does anything so desperate as to come after me send him to St. Clement's. That's two miles off, and they'll think I'm at Norton and send him there. They'll send him to St. Mary's, and then he'll come in here to sec if I'm back before he goes on to St. Thomas's, and by that time it will be 11 or more, and I shall be home all right. Be sure you send him on to St. Clement's, Sarah. You will, won't you now?'' She bent, putting into her face a look which she knew well enough turned Sarah Mayling's will to water. "Well, Miss Terry, my dear, but do bo back early. Don 't let him go off on a wild-goose chase like that, dearie." "I'll see—l'll sec," cried Terry gaily; "and now—hark " A footstep on the gravel outside, a slight tap at the window pane, ami Terry's eyes twinkled, while Sarah's old face paled a little. "Mr Ingram again,'' she said. "Oh, I'm afraid of that man, child." Terry laughed. "Oh, rubbishl" she cried, and then executed hj waltz round the tabic and out of the room. She found her wey out into the old-

By ANNIE O. TIBBITS iaaa Author of jjgiJßj " The Threads of Destiny," " Li'e's Revenge," etc

fashioned wide hall, tiled with square, red bricks, and filled, in an old-fash-ioned way, with antlers, foxes' brushes, great shells, and china dogs. She stopped to put on a wrap, which hung on the stand, and then opened the door. Ferdinand was waiting for her, as she knew he would be; and now a sense of excitement began to work in her. That he propose to her tonight she felt certain, and he exercised a curious fascination over her. She was not in love with him—perhaps, indeed, she would never have the heart to he really in love with anybody; but the playing with fire hail been exciting these last few weeks, and he was the handsomest man and the most polished she had ever known. He fascinated her as a snake a bird, and she shook from head to foot as he tool? her hand and turned at her side to walk with her to Mrs Stevenish 's house. For some minutes she could not speak. The sense of expectation and excitement held her silent, and round and round in her little head went thoughts that burned like fire, and sent a hot flush to her cheeks. Oh yes, site would accept hint when he proposed, and they would be married as quickly as possible; and her engagement ring should be one like Carrie Harrish 's—emeralds and diamonds, but much bigger stones—oh yes, much bigger. To her surprise she roused from her thoughts to find that they were close to Mrs Stevenish's house, and that Ferdinand, although making subtle love to her, did not seem to be leading up to a proposal, and a pang of disappointment and surprise caught her breath as they turned in at the gate. The next moment she recovered her spirits with a laugh. No doubt he would wait until afterwards. Mrs Stevenish's house was gaily lighted as usual, and the group of people gathered there were the usual group* Cards already littered the tables, and Terry's eyes brightened. More bridge or poker, or whatever game they elected to play; more money on the green baize —glittering shillings and bright yellow sovereigns! Terry caught her breath. Three weeks had passed since her first lesson in card playing, three weeks during which the fever had seized and grown upon her. It had wrought such a change in her life. From being a penniless girl, she was now one with not only a few shillings, but a few pounds in her pockets. Mrs. Stevenish had seen to it, perhaps, that she did not lose, or perhaps Ferdinand's words that beginners are lucky were true; anyhow, she had won and won almost steadily, and her occasional losses only roused the fever the more. "Five pounds!" cried Terry triumphantly at last. "I've won five pounds! " She leant back on her seat laughing, while Algy and Ferdinand gathered up the cards and set the markers. . She had never had so much before in all her life—had, indeed, never seen five sovereigns together all at once, and she fingered them delightedly as they lay on the table before her. "Luckv Baby." said Mrs Stevenish. "Now, Ferdi, hadn't we better change; with the other table?" She gave him a meaning look. "Oh, no, no," put in Terry. "Don't do that; I'm so lucky just now, and it may change it. I don 't want to lose.'' "No one does," said Mrs Stevenish, laughing. "Poor old Algy! It's too bad for you; we really must change, for your sake; and see if you can't get some better luck at the other table." Algy Bradford rose with an uneasy laugh. He had lost more than he cared to think; but, after all, he had won something better than money. "The money doesn't matter," he said in a low voice to Mrs Stevenish, '' as long as I don 't lose you.'' Mrs Stevenish laughed, and patted his shoulder with her fan. "Silly boy! Why, is that 10 striking?" she added, suddenly. Ten? It was 11. Terry started up. "Oh," she cried, "I must go. I daren't stop another minute. Mr Hindon will bo at home, and he will be expecting me. Oh, I must go at once—bother him!" She stopped abruptly, for Mrs Stevenish was staring with startled eyes and a white face. "Mr Hindon?" she gasped breathlessly. Terry turned to gather up her sovereigns. "Mr Ilindon —yes —my guardian, and he's such a stick. I shall have to go." "Humphrey Hindoi.?" said Mrs Stevenish again, emphatically. "Yes—yes, the barrister. Oh, do forgive me, Mrs Stevenish, if I go at once.'' But Mrs Stevenish was behaving so oddly. She had dropped back into her seat with a queerly white face. "Humphrey Hindon! Oh, oh, it. can't be—it caift be," she cried. "Why didn't you mention his name before?" Terry started. "I didn't think of it," she said. "Humphrey Ilindon! " A little mechanically Vi wished Terry good night, and for some minutes she stood at the open door after she and Ferdinand had gone, looking out across the still hot night, listening to the sound of their footsteps dying away in the road. Her lips moved stiffly. "it's fate," she said. "] shan't go to London to-morrow after all. It's fate! " A more sinister fate than she knew, perhaps—a shutting of human beings like a pack of curds, manipulated by unseen hands—a fate that had brought them all together there in that small village to work out what end of destiny? To mould the lives of them all to what? Mrs Stevenish, in all her glory of her massed yellow hair and artificial complexion and the fashionable simplicity of her fashionable dress, had an odd feeling as she stared out into the night.—felt the stirring of something that criminals must feel at the beginning of things, before the worst happens, before they have taken the first of the fatal steps that are irretrievable. Humphrey Hindon! Her lipn repeated the name, and across the blackness of the night visions seemed to rise blotting out the-stretch of garden and the gleam of the sinking moon through the firs at the bottom. How many years since they met? How many since she had seen him whiten and shrink before her and since ho had spoken the words that echoed still in her cars? (To be continued.)