A TIGHT CORNER

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 16048, 5 February 1918, Page 8

A TIGHT CORNER

[COPYRIGHT.]

'fiy ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT,

Author of “By Right of Sword,” “Tho Man Who Was Dead,” Etc.

CHAPTER XXll.—Continued. “You need' not answer. I know, she said, the scorching dame ofjealeusy and indignation suddenly crimsoning her cheeks. “She has told me' all that was between you. You will bo giad to know where to find horand she fMj l3 *?' ed tho card from her desk and held it toward him, her fingers trembling violently. “You might have spared me from tho humiliation, of hearing it from her.” , . , He took the card but did not Jook at it, his: eyes were all for her and full of wondering speculation at her mood. “There is evidently some extraordinry misunderstanding. Do you mean that this woman has been here?” , “To toll me of your promise to make her your wife, and of—what with such a woman would be the preface of such a premise.” “And you believed her without a single word from me? Then why did you send for me?” he asked quickly. “No. 1 did not—until you come and your manner—ugh! why discuss it? She is anxious to see you and I am only to pleased, of course, to be the means of restoring you to one another,” she cried with a fine curl of the lip. ‘lt is such an honour I” . ■ “Matters are much too critical for we two to waste time in* quorelling without cause,” he said with quiet earnestness. "I hesitated to answer your Question just now because I had decided to tell you nothing about that woman. But it is necessary now. You will believe mo if I give you my word of honour that, to my knowledge, I have never spoken a single word to her. In Paris I saw her at the flying ground, when, as one tf the crowd, she pushed forward to ask me to shako hands with her. A little later. I saw hor in the car which ran me down. The third time was weeks afterwards at a musichall, where she was on the stage dancing, the Foliea Travnires.” The rush of relief with which Enid heard this was even more searching than the passing pang of wild jealousy, for with it was the shaming stab of selfreproach for her mistrust. "I am sorry and ashamed. 1 was mad,” she murmured. “But she told mo that ” “Never mind what she said. Only the truth matters to us two. Since I left there Blount has told mo things. Among others that this girl declare* I pledged myself to many her. What truth there is in her story I cannot say. It seems, however, that she was present when he saw me in Paris; That is all I know so far as she is concerned.” Enid crept back to him'and put her hand in his. “You forgive me?”

“God knows how willingly I would if there were anything to forgive. But there is not ; ” and he smiled in answer to the pleading in hor upturned face. “I was chilled and fear-stricken by the suddenness of it and sho tried to rouse mo to fury with her taunts and jibing laughter. She claimed you, declaring that sho had nursed you back from death to life, and swore that, because of it—you—you grew to —to love her. She maddened me with the wild things she described. It nearly killed me to hear it: hut I fought to control myself and make her believe I did not care.’ 1

“And just now you would have had me believe it also?” ho whispered tenderly. “Don’t,” she pleaded with a wince of pain. “I saw that my calmness angered her; that helped me; for I had to force her to tell me all she knew.” “Then you—you know?” His voice was low and tense, and she felt the muscles of his arm stiffen. “Who should know', if not I, my dear?” she cried in gentle protest. “Yes, I goaded her to tell me. It is a terrible story, and every word burnt itself into my memory. 1 have written it all down.” She slipped from his arms and fetched him the papers. "We will read it together.” “I fear i know more than even she told you,” he said as thoy took the papers and they sat down on the couch. “Did she speak of the—affair at Cremont?” lie shrank from using the word “murder.” “Yes. Can that be true?” she asked in a whisper of dread. “I fear there is no room for doubt. Would to heaven there were!” he answered with a heavy deep-drawn sigh. “Blount knows of it. He told me; and afterwards I went to the London office of the ‘Apres-Midi’ and read the account. God help mel” The utter hopelessness of his voice, the grey pallor. of his cheeks told her how he was suffering, and for some mo.monts thoy sat in this silent companionship of despair. She knew that the misery which gripped her heart and chilled her blood, well-nigh numbing every nerve, was as nought compared with the agony which held him in this palsy of desolation, changing his very nature, until he seemed like some other man.

The yearning to comfort him in this darkest hour of his life roused her then ; she must bo strong for his sake; her own misery must be put aside, fought down, and hidden; it was only cowardice to add to his despair by letting him see hers. This was to bo her hour. She must save him from himself and prove herself the real helpmeet so sorely needed. “Lot us read the story together,” she said.

“It will do no good,” he replied, shaking his head. “But if I wish it and think it will do good. You did not mean mo to know anything. I saw that just now. But I do know; and if wo talk it over w© easiest it, perhaps, and sift ivhat is true from what is false. I did not think it was all true when she told it. I saw her motive of course. To drive home the absolute conviction that she could force us apart. To do that she would lie readily enough. Come.” And she laid her hand in his.

. Ho drew his away quickly and shuddered. “I am not fit to— ” he broke off, and would have risen. But she held him.

“You must not say that,, dearest, n<fr think it. AVe are together in all this trouble and togethbr we must find the way out of it. I will not let you put me away out of your life. Where is my place if not at your side? Do you think I care what you have done? AA r hy, my very jealousy a few minutes since will answer that. lam glad now that I have let you soo it. I was jealous ; half distracted by that woman’s story of the hot and passionate kisses which she said you had rained upon her lips, The yellow hell, as she declared she herself had endured.” "You don’t’ understand. If this murder ”

“1 do understand. Could 1 see you Buffer as you are suffering and not understand ? It e you who do not. Who is there in the wholo world who would hold you responsible, or droam of bloming you for what you did when your rnrnd bad slipped from control? Suppose that that port of what this woman said bo true—that you did promise to marry her —would anyone say that suoh promise bound you to it?” “It is not that. But if the stain of this man’s blood is on my hands ” She carried his hand to her burning lrp« and kissed it. “There is my answer to that,” she said smiling. But ho tore it away and rose, pacing the room. “It is impossible. Impossible. I boro thought and thought and thought again, but it is impossible. God knows bow I welcome all the hope you would raise. But it is impossible,” he repeated. “What will you do, then?” she asked after a pause. She watched him closely as she put the question. Her woman’s wit divining what was in hia mind when she saw his start at the question. “ I have a plan. The only one I think.” He was afraid to look at her lest she should read his thoughts. “You came to tell me of course?”

He threw up his hands with a deep sigh. “I would, but there are things to bo done and ”

“You must tell mo,” she interposed gently but insistently. “1 have a right now to know everything.” “Don’t ask me yet,” ho murmured, trying to fend her off.” “You moan that you cannot trust me?"

•“As if I could dream of that?” “Then why not do it?” “I—l cannot,” ho murmured, wincing in desperate perplexity. She went to him and held him so that her face was close to his. “Shall I tell you why? Your plan is to take your life,” she said slowly, her eyes fixed on his.

He tried to lie; but his lips would not frame the words. “You must not question, me yet. 1 can’t speak of it now. I ”

“Would you sentence me to death as well, dearest?” “Enid!”

“You little know too if you think I should care to lire without you. What would life have for me then? No. You shall not break away from mo,” she cried, and flung her arms round his nock, as ho tried to move away. “This is my place—on your heart, my dear one. And here your lips,” and she drew hie head down and pressed her Ups to his in a long caress, the pent-up passion in her heart bursting its control. “You shaU not do this madness. No one shall part us, not even death.” And all the passion in her , poured out in wild words of endearment and entreaty as she bared her deep love, mingled with strenuous urgent pleas to turn him from his purpose.

Strongly as he held to it his resolve began to weaken before the storm of vehement assault; But ho had not yet yielded when tho stress and strain of rending emotion began to sap her strength and ho felt her hold on him loosening. He held her close pressed to his l(enrt and half led, half carried her back to the couch, kneeling by her and kissing her hands and cold Kps lovingly as his resolve battled with the yearning desire to ease her grief and grant the plea she had urged with such passionate loving insistence. Tho conflict was long and bitter and searching. To yield meant to face the shame and (disgrace from which he shrank, quivering in every nerve with tho chill of dread. He could not yield. He was a murderer, and tho price of murder was death. He rose at length, groaning with tho strain of the fierce struggle. Ho would go before she recovered. She would understand why he went. And with m last look at her, time ho would, ever see her on earth, he turned, and with head bent and his eyes clouded with trouble, crept out of the room. “God give her strength to bear it,” he murmured as ho closed the door softly.” (Continued daily.)

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