THE BEAUTIFUL PROXY

Taranaki Herald, Volume LX, Issue 143772, 22 April 1912, Page 5

THE BEAUTIFUL PROXY

Bj R. MURRAY GILCHRIST.

Author of “The Geutle Thespians,” “Lords and Ladies,”' “The Wonderful Adventures!” “Beggar’s Manor,” “The Secret Tontine, etc., etc. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER XVlV.—(Continued.) Bretby lifctod his band as though he would strike her in the lace. She drew back, the colour mounting to her forehead. “Von coward!’! she said. “Stand out of my way—allow dare you Insult me in this way! You have already offended me beyond pardon ; do you wish to make me your implacable enemy?” Ho laughed in a harsh, cackling fashion.

“You'd set your will against mine! By you don’t know the man you’ve to deal with. I’ll bring you to your knees!”

“Never, never,” said Annie quietly. “Pray do not become so excited; nothing is to be gained by this silly blustering. Y'ou arc behaving like a forward, bullying school-boy!” He moved to the door and turned the key. “Sylvia,” he said, “it is best that you should understand things. 'You arc forgetting that you’re ray wile, and that this is my house. If 1 chose I could take you by the throat and crush the life out of you!”

“But you will not choose,” she replied. “You have forgotten that there is such a word as punishment.” Anne went to the window and looked upon the placid night. The lantern of the lighthouse was lit; at brief intervals it shone across the separating sea like some brilliant planet. Bretby approached—his hands outstretched as though he suspected her of some intention to escape. “Look downward,” he said, “there's a. straight drop of a hundred feet, and the rocks below are jagged as a wolf’s teeth. I’d not advise you to lean too far forward, you might overbalance.” “If you imagine that your behaviour will drive me to suicide,” she said, “you are greatly mistaken. If I fearpd you, it might bo different, but I cannot fear a man who behaves as you have done. You are pusillanimous—■ silly!” “And you, my Sylvia, are grerftly daring. You forget that you and I sre alone here, save for the admirable Garnett, who after all is a creature devoted to my interests.”

“A most suitable accomplice,” said Anne. “I congratulate you upon his loyalty.” “That loyalty you’ll find inflexible, my dear. My will is his law as the saying goes. If I were to call him in and bid him throw you from this window, ho would not hesitate for a moment.” .

“I have already told you that I am not afraid,” she said. “Moreover, we are wasting time. If I am to ho your prisoner,' at least permit me the prividear, until you are in possession of a more rational outlook. The time will come when you will beg for kindness from me.”

“Until then,” said Anne, “let us refrain from unprofitable talk. Bo goo'd enough to unlock the door.' 1 “Not yet, my dear, not yet. I have a slight task for you ho perform. I detest forgery, or else I would not trouble you. It is necessary that you should write' a letter to your good, ir somewhat officious Aunt Caroline, assuring her that you are quite happy and contented, and that you do nut wish her to trouble on your account. Poor woman, she’s on a wild-goose chase at present.” Anne turned to him, her face lighted with an artificial smile. “She is looking for me?” she said. “After' I had motored to the mainland this morning,” he replied, “wo met her car.. She was accompanied by the 'knight-errant whom you met in Sherwood Forest. Fortunately they believed that you were with us, and they followed in pursuit. L’Angellicr contrived to get a mile qr so in front, and I alighted and come here in a roundabout way. As for the others, I imagine that they’re rushing madly towards the north of Scotland!’ ’

“What a prince of stratagem you are!” exclaimed Anne ironically. “Well, since you’re bent on it. I’ll write the letter.”

“It will, of course, be posted far away from here,” he said. “I have written a draft, perhaps you will bo good enough to copy it now.” “Tho sooner it is done, the bettor,”, said Anne. “It is certainly only kind to relievo Lady Caroline’s mind.” Brotby took out his pocket-book and handed her a folded paper. She wont to tho table and read in the lamplight what he had written. My dearest aunt,

I write to re-asauro you as to my safety, and to beg you to refrain from any attempts to discover my whereabouts. My husband, without unkindness, has proved to mo that it is unwise to pefmit tho interference of relatives, however devoted. Let it suffice to say that I am no worse for my romantic journey, indeed that already I feel the benefit of the change. I am not at liberty—partly, I confess, by my own wish, to give you any definite address, and therefore I must deprive myself of any expectation of a reply. My husband asks me to offer his compliments, and to say that he hopes ore long to meet you under more satfactorv auspics. I shall, in all likelihood, send for Sorly before long.—l am, dearest aunt, your affectionate niece—Sylvia. Bretby watched her countenance narrowly as she read, but found no sign of disinclination “You’ll write it now?” he said.

“Certainly,” she replied. “There’s no reason why I should not.”

He pointed to a desk on which lay paper and a blotting-pad. She copied the letter, and handed it to him. “You would perfer to sc© that I have done it properly,” she said. “Cela va sans dire,” he replied, scanning the sheet. “Yes, it’s all in order. A thousand thanks.”

“And now you’ll unlock the door,” sho said. “I am tired—l wish to go to my room.” “Wo seem better friends, Sylvia,” ho said in a low voice, “Why not stay a little longer?” She did not reply, but pointed to the door. He moved towards it .unwillingly. She drew her swaying skirt aside, as if his very touch were contamination.

“Good-night, Sylvia; good-night!” ho sn in - Her lips remained sealed. In the nnlighted hall she stood until the door closed again. Then she heard the striking of a and saw Garnett standing beside wall, breasthigh, and at least three feet in circumference. He held in his left hand a roll of newspaper; to this he applied the lighted match, and then gently

dropped tho rough improvised torch. “Would your ladyship like to look?” he said. “’Tia as pretty a thing as one could wish for. Many’s the hour I spend at this game.” Anne moved to his side, and, looking over the rough coping, saw tho flame sinking far below, fluttering from side to side like a wounded bird. The sight had a strange fascination for her; she stared and stared until of a sudden there was nought but impenetrable blackness.

“There, it’s touched the water!” said Garnett. “Sometimes ’iis slower —it all depends on the draught.” “What is it?” said Anne under her breath.

“’This the old well, your ladyship,” he replied as he lighted a candle. “On© of the finest in the country, if books are to be believed. Eh. but those stones have seen some queer doings! I remember once hearing how it* was cleaned out, and they fetched up three cartloads of bones—legs and arms and skulls. How they came there nobody knows. Some of them were women—voung women—young as your ladyship herself.”

Anne looked again upon the velvety blackness. “They had been murdered ?” she said.

“Maybe so. ’Twouldn’t be a long struggle, amvny. Am I to light your ladyship to your room? ’Twon’t be no trouble; why should it? Well, your ladyship knows best.” (To bo continued,)