LOVE SHAKES THE DICE

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXI, Issue 144097, 17 May 1913, Page 5

LOVE SHAKES THE DICE

By AMY MANIFOLD,

Author of “An Ambushed Doe,” “A Prince of Knaves,” “Tho Shadow of a Crime,” “The Hand of Justice,” etc., etc. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER I.—Continued. In tho great four-poster bed Lord Lansingham reclined, propped up by pillows, an alert look in ids sunken eyes, a strangely cynical smile flickering round his pallid lips, as ho watched the approach of 'his kinsfolk, Horace Lansingiiam and Constance Despard. Beside him sat tho lawyer, Mr. Raw-, son —quiet, yet watchful.' At tho foot of tho bed tbs family doctor was posted, his experienced eyes never leaving tire dying man’s face; while in tho shadow ot tire heavy hangings Charlotte Brown had placed herseif, ready to attend on the patient at a moment's notice—ready, too, to watch and exult over tho humiliation of those sho hated.

“You asked tor me, uncle?” Horace said in hushed tones, advancing to tho bed, wish Constance close behind him.

“Yes,” came the lee-hlo answer, a cold, cynical ring even then in tho laitering tones. “My minutes on earth are lew, and I have something I must tell you before I go.” “Oh, uncle, don’t say that!” buret out tho younger man, but coming to a sudden abrujm stop as ho encountered a terrible glance from tho dying man. “Don’t, bo a hyprocrite, nephew,” the old lord put in with an unpleasan t laugh. “1 know yon well—know all your shifty ways—-the gambling, the dissipations which have 1 placed the millstone of'debt round your, neck—a burden from which my opportune death was to release you, nay,” as his-nephew would have uttered an indignant protest, “you have, not for one instant Minded me, and I feel glad now to be able to tell you that you will .never reign here when I am gone; never have the chance to squander the Lansingham fortune.” : The younger man’s face grew deathly pale, he glanced desperately at Constance, biit she had dropped on her knees and was looking with wild, startled’ eyes at the bitter old man in the bed.

"You think I am mad,” went on that weak but implacable voice. "I am nothing of the sort. Many years ago my own son, Everard—a wild and fickle man, as are all the Lansinghams —left home for a time, and went up into the Jell country on a painting expedition. After a time he came back hero and settled down, never speaking of his, absence from homo, and leading the life of a recluse until he died. A little while ago I lighted upon an old diary of 'his. and from it that while away that one year in tho North, ho had had a love affair with a little Quakerish farmer’s daughter, had gone through some form of marriage with the rustic beauty, then soon alter had tired of her (as r the faithless men of our race generally do), and, telling her tho marriage had been hat a mock one, had deserted her and come home. There was ono entry after that. In some way he had news of tho .girl’s death soon after ho returned to hails Ingham, and of that ho had made a note. Feeling curious, I despatched a trustworthy person to that distant northern village to investigate' tho, matter,, and”—his eyes wandering to, Charlotte Brown’s quiet figure—“heard one or two surprising things ou tho return of my messenger. Tho girl had indeed died, but she had left a girl baby behind* her. An elder sister of the hapless young woman’s had taken charge of this child and brought her up, caring for her as a mother. Another thingamy employee ascertained—tho marriage had been in perfect order, for Everard had given a name belonging to him when tho ceremony was performed, signing himself Everard Ansdell, his legal name. He had lied when he told Ids poor dupe she was not his lawful wife, there was no disgrace attached to her, and her one child is my granddaughter and heiress, also—according to' the traditions of the family—a baroness in her own right. This”—with a cynical smile as ho marked the expression of rage and disappointment on Horace’s* 1 handsome face—“is the news I have for you, nephew.” “I—l can’t credit it!’ ejaculated the young man furiously ; “it can’t be true. It’s all a mado-up tale; I’ll dispute this upstart’s claim. I’ll ” “Hush I—hush! —Mr. Lansingham !” interposed the old lawyer, sternly. “Are you mad to speak so to a dying man ? I can vouch for the truth of this wonderful story, and also that all arrangements are made for the reception hero of the young Lady Lausingham.” “She is not yet of age,” put in the old lord in feeble yet pointed tones. “Once I am gone my will will be read, then you will know all that is arranged. I have left you, nephew, £lo,ooo—possibly it may just cover your gambling debts. Constance, too,- will have £10,000; so you may bo able to marry if you aro both content to live quietly. This house will remain closed until my grandchild’s coming of age. Lady Castlemayno, my old friend, will receive her into her house during the remainder of her minority, and Anthony Castlemayne will act as her ■ guardian—at least, they loam of my wishes when my will is read, and I am hoping they will not refuse to accept their brief responsibility. Y r ou, nephew, may remain hero as land steward if you care to do so, a handsome salary being paid you for the discharge of your duties.” “But, but—this girl—this little ignorant rustic,” stammered out tho younger man desperately. “You—yc« know nothing of her ! She surely is not fit to fill the great position which by rights should be mine. Uncle, you are mad to dream of such a ” He broke off and shrank back with a cry of alarm as the old man, with a marvellous effort, pulled himself almost into a sitting position and pointed a shaking finger at him. “Take care!” he gasped out, an ominous rattle in his- throat. “She is Everard’s child, and my heiress, though I have never set eyes on her. Baroness Lausingham of Lansingham—a peeress in her "own right. Take caiji how you '■.treat her, nephew! My curse upon you if you do her any wrong—remember—mv dying ” No other word came—only the dread rattle was heard again—then the greyhead fell back, and he lay there, still and white —in death’s cold and terrible embrace.

‘‘Ho’s gone!” murmured the doctor, muring forward. “Mr, Lansingham, had you not better take Miss Despard away?” ■ With a terrible effort, the young man roused himself, and lifting the trembling girl got her out of the room, placing 3 her then in the care of one of the awe-struck maids. Lansingham returned and stood gaz-

ing stonily down at tho dead man, on whose set face a malicious smile still soeraod to linger. And standing there by tho quiet dead—with Charlotte Brown watching him mockingly from the other side of the great bed—tho young man gave rein to the evil thoughts surging into In's undisciplined heart, and, turning fled from the room like one possessed of many devils.

CHAPTER 11. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. “It’s monstrous—incredible! To rob me of tho child I havo loved and cherished all these years. Oh, it is unjust —cruel—wicked I” “It is hard on you, I admit, my dear lady, but I am afraid 1 am powerless to re-arrange matters in any way. 'As the family lawyer I must follow out the late Lord Lansiugham’s instructions as ‘embodied in his will.” Miss Hallam, sitting bolt upright on the hardest and most uncomfortable chair in her prim little parlour, eyed Mr. Rawson in a stony fashion, and retorted with quiet yet bitter emphasis. “Lord Lansingham has acted with unpardonable selfishness and fiendish cruelty in this painful business. Ohl” sharply, as the lawyer coughed deprocatingly, “Why did that wicked 1 old. man not claim Jiis granddaughter years ago? It would have been kinder to me —more considerate.”

The lawyer looked pityingly at tho old lady’s gaunt face. She showed a bravo front to him, yet he know just as well as though sho had broken down and wept, that the heart of this sternfaced woman was full of a deep and intolerable sorrow.

: “My dear madame,” he responded very gently, “that #as an impossibility. Lord Lansingham, up to a few months ago, to completely ignorant ot his only granddohiid’s existence. As I havo told you, the Honourable Evcrard never made a confidant of his father, but carried tho secret of his youthful romance with him to the grave. It was only during his lordship’s last illness that he made the astounding discovery that his erring son had left a child—this ho found out from an old diary loft by Evcrard. He had inquiries made here in Lazcnby and found that not only had the marriage been in perfect order, but that tho poor young wife ere she died, had given birth to a girl baby and bad left it in the caro ol her elder and only sister. That child, at Lord Lansingham’s death, became the Baroness Lansingham of . Lansingii'am—a poetess in her own right and mistress of a great estate and splendid fortune. I think, Miss Hallam”—a note ot severity creeping into his quiet voice, “that it was wrong of you, very wrong, to conceal from his lordship the fact of his granddchild’s existence. Ho should havo been communicated with at her birth.”

Grimly, coldly, defiantly. Miss Hallam met the lawyer’s reproving glance.

“You are condemning, mo most unjustly,” she murmured stiffly. “I new nothing of Lord Lansingham. Y'ou evidently luivo not reckoned up tho situation correctly. The man who broke my young sister’s heart, you must remember, posed only as a struggling artist when he e.amo to this little out-of-the-world village of ours, calling himself Evcrard Ansdel. He stole from our quiet homo tho fair young sister whom 1 loved so well, .and only a short while after, basely deserted her, leaving ■ not tho slightest clue as to his whereabouts. From thattirae wo never heard of or saw him again.” “I crave your pardon. Miss Hallam,” tho lawyer put in quickly as sho ended. “1 have indeed wronged, you. I fool deeply ashamed when I Think that-all these years you have cherished and guarded the child ot your dead sister—utterly ignorant of her high birth and tho splendid position awaiting her.”

(To bo continued.)