"SIR MORECAMBE'S MARRIAGE"

Taranaki Herald, Volume LIV, Issue 13727, 17 August 1908, Page 6

"SIR MORECAMBE'S MARRIAGE"

(Published by Special Arrangement.)

FLORENCE WARDEN, Author of " The House on the Marsh,"

etc, etc.

ioopTßiam.l

CHAPTER XXII.

The change Jrom misery, mortification and despair to the sun; knowledge that Pamela loved him as dearly as ever was so great that for a few moments. bir Morecamlw found it overwhelming. He held the girl he loved in his arms, he looked into her face, he kissed her passionately again and again, all wit limit uttering more than a lew incoherent words which, hut for her deep love, would have borne no meaning to her "Oh Morecambe, I thought I should never see you again ! The thought has been killing me ! Why didn't you let me knoAV where you were, something, anything, j« st to keep hope alive? He laughed bitterly. "Hope! What hope was there? What hope is there now? I'm in a worse scrape than ever!" • „,•*. . "I know you are. They all begin to think— oh,' I can't tell you." , "But 1 can guess, I think. I've read i reams of rubbish about myself in the .halfpenny papers, and I suppose people believe it all now." "They believe more than they ought. But not all, of course. 1 suppose that Raggett was trying to blackmail you. and* his wife, what was she doing?" "She wanted to confess, because she s got tired of his treatment, which is hmtal. And I'm afraid he's murdered her. At any rate, I think they've not succeeded in finding her yet." "Well, that doesn't sound so bad to me Since they've looked upon her as murdered, they must have been looking for the body, and if they've not found it. it looks as if she had, perhaps, got away. Don't you think so?" "But would he in that case have said 1 killed her? There would have been no sense in bringing such a charge against me if he thought she had only gone away!" Pamela's face grew distressed again. "I nfever thought of that," she said. "But listen, Morecambe ; H don't despair. This Raggett seems to be such a thoroughpaced rascal that he must go a little too far before long, and be found out. Don't you think so?" Sir JMoYecambe thought this but a slender thread of hope, for his own circumstances were so desperate that -he felt he had not a great margin of time left for making lucky discoveries. "Your people— and mme — what do they think?" asked he after a pause. Pamela hesitated, and he shrugged his shoulders. "I see. They suspect me too?" "What they think is that you have been maddened by all this, and that you hav^ done something rash." "Do you mean murder?" She sighed. "Oh, I don't know. What does it matter what they think? The thing that matters, the only thing, is to get you off, to let people know the truth about this awful affair. And in the meantime we must decide what you are to do." "Give myself up," said Sir Morecambe with decision. "I only 'wanted to see you first, to hear what you had to tell me, to look into your eyes once more — a free man. And then — well, I must make amends for the first wrong step, and meet the charge, or charges, without any more of this futile and dangerous hiding." But she clung to him with a low cry. "No* no, you mustn't give yourself — yet. Wait a little. Let me see the solicitors first, and ask their advice. Oh, Morecambe, you've been good to me, you've indulged me, you've listened to me, clone what I wished up to now. Don't . break my heart now by doia^ this - unwise, mad thing! Oh, >-m wouldn't if you knew what they :»11 think and say!" ' .^ir Moreeambe shivered. "That!" said he hoarsely. "Do thrall think me guilty then?" Patpela uttered a little desj airing UUKill. "No, not all." she whispered. "But more than I thought would!" He shrugged his shoulders again with a gesture of reckless, abandonment. * "Well, it makes no difference. : won't, I can't go into hiding agf-iii. And of what use would it be? i v>i'l juSt get back v to the Hall, l:u.s my mother and sisters, see poor Corns-. >ii", and then V She seized him by the arm, clenching her teeth in passionate anguish. "No, no, no," she said. "You sha'n't go. I won't let you. Why shouldn't you hidef yourself again? You've boen successful up to now, why shouldn't you be so again?" "Surcessful! Yes, in a way. But in another I was very unsuccessful. The people I've been with, the family to whom I was chauffeur, knew that I was not what I pretended to be. And they were very good to me. The daughter is trying to disprove the charge against me now." Pamela's face clouded. "What daughter? What is her name?" she asked shortly. "Is sh»< young? Pletty?" Even at that moment Sir Morecambe could not hWp sailing at the ♦eminiiy jealousy which peeped out in Pamela's, tune. "Yes," he answered, "Miss Minnie i 3 young and very pretty." "And she was. in love, with \ou, ol course? 1 ' "How could she bo in love with her father's ehauJTo.uf?" "Ob," said Pamela, reddening, "that is easy enough. This fellow, Morton, who was so insulting in his manner to you just now, has dared to presume upon having helped you to escape, an-1 t upon having found out lor me where j you were." I "What? You knew, then?" "I knew — quite soon — that you woro with these Americans, the Potts-I'al-niers, in Hampshire." "And this Morton presumed to make love to you?" said Sir Morecambe, hotly. "No, no. But he has hoped and believed that lv* would bo able to .do t,<> w)im> day, and oi' course 1 couldn't allow him to be sent away, for two reasons. One was that I wanted to have him under our eye, as ho knew something about you, and might have betrayed you. The other was that people niijjit have talked — about me — if he had been sent away." ; "Talked nljout you?" said Sir Morocambe, indignantly. There was -nothing for it but full explanation. "Don't you remember that you kissed mo that night in the car, when you were wearing Morton's livery?" "Yes, of course I do." "Well, wo wore seen, and it wus

course

thought that it was he who was wit li mo. And of eour&e I could not tell who it was, for tear of betraying you. Sir Morccainbe's face expressed the most intense horror. "And you have been exposed to such scandal as that— and you have borne it all— fur my sake:-" he said hoarsely. I'amela twined her arm into iv&. •'It didn't count," she whispered. •'Nothing could count, Morccamhe, that 1 did tor you !" But he was bilent, unable to speak tor ihe emotion he lelt. Me threw Ins aim round her, and pressed her to him. his heart throbbing with a despairing gratitude which was too deep to, find expression in words. ■'Ami now,'' she said, m a lower whisper than ever, with a frightened glance towards the house, "to devise a plan tor hiding you!" Hut he shook his head. "No, darling, no," he said gently, linding his voice, though it wasneitlur very clear nor very steady. "I II have no 'more hiding. ' I'll, appear in my own character when next 1 show my tace. If nothing else had induced me to take this determination, the knowledge of what you have had to sutler through being silent in this matter would be enough to show me that there's nothing for it now but to come forward." Pamela was at once in a lever of distress.. "Oh. what does that matter 'i Now that they've gossiped so long, why shouldn't they go on P" Sir Moreeambe stamped fris. foot violently. ''No, ,not for one moment longer," said he. "Not if they were to hang me to-morroAV. To think that you've had to put lip with the A-ile insinuations ot a lot of old scandal-mongers, and with tho veiled insolence of this rascally chauffeur, just for. my sake, just to help me to keep out of the way!" "Oh, Morecambe, for my sako, won't you keep in hiding a little longer — just for my sake?" she pleaded. / Ho held her hands in his, and looked tenderly down into her beautiful lace./ "Not for another day, my darling," he said gently. "Come, Pamela,* it you believe in me as you .say you do. can't you trust to the truth coming out!' If ydu don't very quickly learn to look at this with my eyes, I shall begin to think that you doubt me alter all!" She clung to him, with the tears running down, her face. "Say what you like of" me," she whispered. "You know it isn't true." At that moment there was a slight sound behind them, and they turned to look at tho window of the drawingroom, which was slowly opening. The shuttei-s had been opened so quietly that they had heard nothing, and now tin* sash was suddenly thrown up, and Mr. Harrick's yoicv spoke in loud, harsh tynes — "Who's that talking to you, Pamela?" "It's I, Morecambe Crake," answered the baronet at once, while Pamela tried hard to coax him into silence. Mr. Herrick beckoned him to the window. "1 taught so. Come here," he said, harshly. » (To be continued. ) '■