CHAPTER XXXII— Continued.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 10698, 21 August 1896, Page 4

CHAPTER XXXII— Continued.

" You have no need to ask such a fi question," she said, with keen sign!, i: ticance, transfixing the widow with her \ c.ever eyes. You know too well that a Sir Roger lies at Moonstone Cliffs on j tlie verge of the grave, and, Mrs Ad- j miral Garth, 1 think —nay, I am quite a sure—that yon also knoiv who3e hand it p. wae that struck him. l Tlie widow recoiled a 'step or two, and' <: her vi-ry lips whitened, but in one swifi I instant she rallied. T1 c blood leaped i back hot and red to her cheeks, ber eyes blazed, and eho moved her lithe body in a curious way, suggesting the idea of a tiger-cat about to spring. , She laughed liyhtly, but it sounded like a snail. " Oh, what nonsonce!' she replied, " How in the world should I know?" " You do know,' continued Di, reckless of all consequences in her indignant conviction, '(jnstos well as I know you —and I know yon well, tuadaine; you are not Mrs Admiral Garth. You are Edith Wycoinbcl Deny tho truth it yon can!' Again for a very brief space the widow seemed disconcerted; ahe started and paled slightly, and then she laughed " I do not care to deny the truth," she 9aid, coolly. *' You are right; I am not Mrs Admiral Garth; L am Edith Kent, Clifford Kent s wife!" And with the Avords, she raised her graceful white hand, and removed the red-gold curls that concealed her pnrple black braids. For a momont they stood eye to eye, these two rival wives, of tho poor culprit lying ia the far-ivway Cornish prison; tbe wife who bad planned and plotted to lure lior husband on to ruin and death, that she might claim his inheritance, and the wife who had borne all shame and wrong to screen and save the man aho loved. Di was tlie first to speak. " You are not Clifford Kent's wife," she said, v and you know it—l am his wife, and the mother of his child—and it is to heai of my child that I have come here. What do you know of him?" The baronet's sister eyed her victim for a full minute before she answered, then she said, quite pleasantly: " Very two. You we no more Mis Mott than I am Mrs Garth, which makes us even. We cannot afford to quarrel, my dear; our interests are too close. Come, now, let us talk like a pair of sensible women. We have both been shamefully imposed upon by that rakish Yorkshire clod who lies in a felon's cell. I have no reg&rd for him; the sooner he swings for his crime, the better. I have no love for him, and never had, so you need riot be jealous, my dear. But I want Sir Eoger Penryth's fortune—do you see the point now?' i *' I see that you are a base and heartless woman," reponded Di, indignantly. " Don't be personal I beg; it is so illbred, Be quiet, and hear what I have to propose. 1 want Sir Roger Penryth's fortune,' as 1 said, and you want your child. Now, my dear Mr 3 Mott, exchange is always fair and honoiable. You hand me over that marriage certificate of yours and promise me never to put forth any claims on that miserable felon down in Cornwall, and you shall have your child; you shall have him this night." ! Poor Di started up, and then sat down \ again suddenly, trembliDg in every limb _ from excitement. " This night," she repeated, in a dazed way. " My baby!—oh, for Heaven's sake where i 3 he?" 1 '• Never ipind," smiled the baronet's 1 sister, her cruel eyes full of diabolical determination; •' 1 know where he is, 3 and I will deliver him into your arms the moment you comply with my terms. The world regards you as Clifford Kent's misw I tress only; that ridiculous confession of [8 his is not believed. There is no proof j° of yonr marriage except the certificate. r The minister who performed the ceremony ' went abroad, and died .six months ago. ■ s. Sow give me that certificate. If you had is permitted me to keep it when 1 had it, in you'd have spared yourself 3ome trouble. . Let me have it now, aud say that yon are not Clifford Kent's wife, and you shall have your child." " My marriage certificate is not in my possession!" cried poor Di, almost choking with contending emotions. " You - stole the little trunk that contained it from my room, and 1 have cot seen if fcince. But if I had it," she pckled, with I ineffable scorn in her honest eyes, "here in my hand, I would not give ifc to you; nor would 1 ever say that I was less thau Clifford Kent's lawful wife. It is you who are his mistress, uot I," In spite of all her depravity, Edith ji Wycombe flushed boneath these truthful „ wordß, but her baleful eyes lost none of their malignant purpose. "As you like," she coolly replied, 'but hear me out. You will never see your I child again, never in this world, or," she ?' added, with a horrible laugh, "or in the j ' next. He is in my hands, and I shall train him for perdicion; and you, I fancy are a candidate for heaven. 1 will reav j him up to follow in his father's steps — to drink, and lio, and steal, and murder, and to, end his career upon the scaffold, and his father is iikely to do." " Oh, for the sake of God's mercy!' 1 cried the poor youug mother, patting out her hands in a piteous, impotent way, '• don't! don t! "Yon 11 drive me mad!" Her tormentor laughed exultantly. ' '• No, you are not the sort to go mad," she w^nt on. " Yog will keep your mind, ami your memoiy, and you may always have the- pleasant reflection to fall back upon, that your boy is growing up in degradation, and squalor, and vice." Di hounded to her feet with a cry of a'gouy.' ' - - '' Give me my child! give 'me' my chili!" she wailed. " Give mo the marriage certificate first," responded hor mtrciless enemy. " I have it not. I swear to you that 8 I have never seen it since the little tiank disappeared from my room. But," she <* added, the mother love within her heart surmounting every other consideration. '< I will piouaise never to say that I am a wife; they may call me what they will. I'll never urge my claim." The wicked woman stood puzzled and

irresolute for a moment, and then said . ''"Mo, it won't do; i must have that certificate, or you shall never have your

child." " Bat it is not in my possession," shrieked poor Di, in afcoay. " Then you must find it. I had it once, bat it was taken from my trunk at Moonstone Cliffs; when you find it, bring it to me, and you shall have your child. And now, mark me, if you dare to break your promise — if ever I hear that you say yon are Clifford Kent's wife — that hour your child shall die a slow and lingering death.. Stop, I have not finished. If you ever allude to this meet ing| if yon breathe a syllable of what has passed between us to-night ; if you ever allude to me as Mis Garth — finally, if you speak to me at all, jour child shall pay the penalty. He is in my power, and lam a merciless woman. He shall suffer, and linger, and die; always remember that, when you are tempted to disobey me. Now, go, aud until you can bring that certificate; never dare to come into my sight again." She gathered up her red-gold curls, and swept out of the room, leaving poor Di dumb ond cold with misery. Edith had lead in the London Telegraph a report of the death of Admiral Garth at Matanzas, where he had been prostrated by a protracted illness. For months he lay most of the time unconscious, nursed by Belle, his faithful wife. Edith Wycornbe wa3 aware of theinti-j ti'ficy existing betnoen Sir Roger Penryth and Admiral Grurlh; and, believing that the latter wns really dead, and after satisfying herself that there was little likelihood of bis supposed widow visiting Moonstone Cliffs, she determined, for a diabolical purpose, to seek entrance to Sir Eoger'a home, in an assumed character and await the opportunity to carry out a vile plot. The report of the admiral's death, as as the reader has probably inferred, was premature; but Edith was unaware of i ho fact, even when she audaciously announce d to Di that she had only been masquerading as tho admiral's widow. After the departure of Edith, Di foi a time remained in a stupor of alarm " Oh what acrtisl, heartless woman! ' she pxclaimod. " And what vile trickery is she up to now?" Di tiixed her brain to arrive at a solution of tho perplexing problem, ami took no note of the passage of time. How long she eat there, who came in, or how she was conducted down the dreary flight of stairs, she never knew. When consciousness and memoiy returned, she found herself out in the dark London streets, with the dense fog all around her.