CHAPTER VI.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 11825, 23 November 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

CHAPTER VI.

THE NIGHT BEFOIIE THE WEDDING.

For a week after the purloining of her sacrod treasures Gladys did not quit her room. She was, in fact, too ill to do so ; but, if she bad not been, she revolted at the idea of having to imet Lawrence Weyville face to face. Every search hid been made, the servants questioned, the police even put on the scent, regardless o£ the discoveries which their success would have involved. AU iv vain. Not tha siiglteet clue could be obtained as to the identity of the robber ; but oo doubt existed in the minds of either Mrs Heatfecote or daughter as to who it was. Who but Lawrence Weyville, the traitor, the spy, the cruel tyrant, who was wearing such a net of ruin around that devoted household ? As for Lawrence himself, he pros feesed utter ignorance of the nature of the loss which she had sustained. To have explained to him would have been to betray her own secret. And so the eve of the wedding came at last, the nighi before the scene which would be enacted before a crowded congrega ion in Cliffsea Charch. The night was dark an 1 gloomy, as befitted such an occasion. Gladys and her mother had the parlor to themselves that evening, to their great delight, for Lawrence was in Cliffiea, makiog preparations for the niorrosr. Even, then, however, they did not dare to speak above a whisper, for fear of eavesdroppers. Who knew if Lawrence's journey was not a ruse, or how far he might have bribed one of the household to listen and betray ? 'Whatever I do, dear mother/ sai 1 Gladys, nestliug to Mrs Heathcote's ample bosom, 'believe me, I am eager not to run the risk of barmiug you.' The widow kipsed her daughter's hot and feverish cheek. •Ah, my child, my child/ she cried, 'how I wish this sacrifice could be avoided I Now, as the last painful scene is approaching, I would cheerfully give up my marriage with <Sir George it that sacrifice, that revenge, would be enough for Lawrence.' „ ■ Gladys made no- reply for a moment. Then suddenly she said : 'Several times I havo hinted to you that 1 have a scheme to outwit th : s cousin of mine. Promise me to.- be secret. Promise me to be circumspect and act a part, and all will be well/ , 'I will do anything, act aoy part, which will save you from unhappin^BS* my, child/ she cried. 'IVo late I see my folly ; if I had not refused my consent to your marriage with poor Colin Ramsey, your union would ne»er hfeve been hurried on. But it is of no use to look back. Tell me how to help you without having to face that awful disgrace, and I will do so/ . j , 'Listen, then/ said Gladys. 'Do not interrupt me, for I bave much/ to say.' Qaickly and impatiently, with feverish lips, the young girl told her plan. Mrs Heathcote listened with wonder increasing at every moment. - . < ♦My dear girl/ she said, as hot child,, almost breathless with excitement,, stopped at last, 'you may depend upon me in everything.' „ ' . . • • • ■ • t j And what of Lord Featherstone, loving' Gladys as be did, and thinking of the sacrifice which was to take.pi&ca on the morrow ? < • <- ■ He had tried during all that day to drown his thoughts. He had gone out with his gnn and his dogs, accompanied by Notris Emmerson and tbe kee,. er ; he bad taken a ride at rattling puce in the crisp October air. He had ealca and drunk

well at dinner, and had apparently enjoyed himself a 9 well as any one, free from care of all kinds, could do. But ia reality, during all that day, he was a haunted man. In the stable, in the saddle, at the table, he could see a pale, wistful face before him, a little graceful figure in an imploring attit.vie. And so, fiuding it quite impossible to drive Gladys from his thoughts, ho went to his study, and began writing a number of letters. l I cau't stand it !' he cried. 'I can'i enoure the Mea of being in the neighborhood whilo that poor girl is immolated on the altar of some one's selfishness or villainy. I will take the late train to London/ Having written about half a dozen letters, he ra*>g the bell. 'Tell &lr Eaamerson I want him/ he said to the servant who appeared. In a few minutes Norris Emmerson entered the room. 'I dare say you must think me a most uaceitaia and vacillating pvrsoa to deal with, Norris/ he said, with a forced, Etnile, 'but somehow I cannot bring- myself to be her?, in this neighborhood, while that hateful marriage takejs place to-morrow . I must have a change. I must run away from my own thoughts, so 1 am going to Lon don to-night/ ♦To-nigbtj my lord !' cried Norris, in astonishment. 'Yes ; it seems a mad freak, E minerson/ said Lord Feathestone, with lips whose quivering told 'of his* emotion ; 'but you . know my teason. I have looked upon you as m y friend since I have bren here, aod I bave confided to you most of ray thoughts. You know, therefore, bow I love M 133 Heathcoce ; and to think of to-morrows's sacrifice maddens me. I must go away. 1 mnsj seek , excitement in travel ; and, Emmerson, I .shall leave all to you ia my absence. You have five hundred a year now ; 1 raise; it at once to seven hundred. Marry Mhs Hawland and settle down h re. God knows wheu I shall CSOIB baok.' Not ris could scarcely believe his cars. At any rate, his lips seemed incapable of forming words ; it was, indeed, a surprise and woader' to have all his dearest hopes realised in this manner. Lord Featberstoae laughed as ha saw his young steward's discomfiture, and, taking his hand, shook it heartily. 'I don't want to be thanked, Emmerson/ ho said ; 'your face has already thanked me enough. Take these letters ; you can son! them around in the morning. They are excuses to those whom I have asked to coma here for the shooting. Will you accompany me to the station ?' 'Why ask, my lord V ssid Norris. 'I only wish I could go with you altogether, that I might try and dispel your sorrow. It seems selfish to think of my own prospect of joy while your heart is rent with such bitter anguish.' 'Ah, well, it trill die off in time ; and as to your going with me, whom could I trust as I can trust you? When yon are married and settled here, it will be like your own home, for I shall not return for, years — if at all. I shall be ready in an hour — that, will be half.past eleven* Come to me then/ and rouse me up. Have the closed carriage ready, and we can do it readily in a quarter of an hour/ Dazed aud bewildered at the turn of events, Norris .Emmerson, murmured hie acquiescence and quitted the Toom> Lord Featherstone lounged back, in bis easy, chair by the glowing wooi tire, and gave bumself up to thought. How b^t^r, how torturing, how cruel were these thoughts which , none but himself knew 1 But he wa.s mercifully roused from them soon. A strange, deeping noise attracted bia attention, and he Bat up to listen. . The room, which served as his study, opened by French window? upon a lawn whjph slojped down to the gardens. And as he listened he distinctly beard a- faint, tapping at thr widow.. , He sprang, op and approached it. At first, » the darkness of that October nigbt v - he conld see nothing. Then, he discerned what seemed to be a dark shadow, and then a face. Yea, that face (Which had burned itself into his-thoughts all' that evening — the face ofj Gladys. ,; ' ' ' With a hoarse cry and a great, bound of „ bia 'loving, passionate heart, » oe opened-the window, and a little form entered, .wrapped iv sealskin. •Miss Heatbcote— -G]adys -darling l* he cried, aB he led her to the fire ; 'what does this mean ?' > . ■ 'Ob, save me— save me !* she cried, flicgiug herself wiidly into his arms. •Yoa'pfonrieed to befriend me whenever I asked you. I have come to claim thp fulfilment of that vow.' ALdihen,in the safe haven of his strong embrace, ehe fainted.

Lord Featheratone would have been more than human had he not pressed his lip? co those vevlet ones era be tenderly laid her on the couch and Bought for restoratives. (TO BE CONTINtED.) j