Margaret Fans; or Snares Unseen.

Timaru Herald, Volume XIIIC, Issue 14216, 4 June 1910, Page 1 (Supplement)

Margaret Fans; or Snares Unseen.

(I>y Mary Cross.)

(All Rights Reserved.'! CHAPTER- Vll. —(.Continued.). FURTHER ROGUERY. In this batcio Agatha could scarcely e said to have ccine olf with living _ olours; indeed, she realized that, instead of deposing George, she had only made her own position insecure, and she did not bear it- well, ".Nagging''*

is not- conducive to domestic sweetness, and, though Edgar might- be blamed, lie could scarcely be wondered at; for seeking occasionally the haven of repose sympathy of which Margaret was beacon in preference to the storms and tempests of home. _"Mr. Wiiiowby comes here rather Oiten,doesn s her" asked fctephen of his wife one night. Not for the world would he repeat to her the little bit of scandal which had reached his ear that dav.

.^? u E0 * too, do yon, Stepaenr" asked Margarc-t. "I 'was about- to mako tho sumo remark nivseii. But we cannot tell him not to come! pan we?"

Certainly not. Bui- there's alwavs a set of busy bodies ready to remark dud gossip- - -

fhac is true. It is a pitv that ;^ r \, Uiihra oy does not- think*of it. * —lau I say that wo prefer him -to stav away?"

"That would hardly be nice," said Stephen, dubiously. **You see it's his coming alone that does it. Wliv doesn't he bring that- friend of his with him if call he must?"

•Perhaps the friend won't come." said Margaret, with a slight laugh. "All men are not so condescending as Mr Edgar Wiiiowby. remember." "* hen her ntisband had left her. she turned a discontented face to the "look-ing-glass.

How tired X am of this chill, wretclicdlife. she exclaimed, "of this routine of household earc> 3 of the half-bred plebeian I havo tied myself to! "What a fool I was! Herrick was I marred my fortunes, but it was not as he thinks. I did it- when I left him for the shallow boy, the 'harebrained idiot,* whom I still can lead as I choose. Oh, if fate had given power and wealth, to Herrick mv life .would have been perfect!' 1 The day after this the harebrained idiot appeared to receive sweet sympathy and gentle consolation from the pearl of great price, and to be asked in a softly reproachful tone why he never brought his friend. i used to know i\fr Herrick very once," she said. '*l tliink he oiipht cail on me sometimes with you.''* '"I will ask In'm if it will give you pleasure." said Edgar. "I am sure I do not know why ho has staged awav. I will ask him. if you like." And thus did the young man precipitate his fate.

don't I go and sea Margaret Selby?" repeated Herrick, lowby put the question to liim. "For the very simple reason that I do not wish to see her. I liavo no more business there than von .an<3 I aon ? t chose to play second fiddle to that kind of thing." 4 'l don't understand you. She inquired very kindly about you." **Xo doubt ; but I have learnt to fear the Greeks when they come with gifts. I was not cut out for a duenna. 11 *'l should very much like to know 'what you mean." said Edgar slowlv and gravely, but !Mr Herrick onlv whistled a stave of "Auld Uobin Grav."

"My feeling and my sympathies," lie Said with a meditative air, "were always with Auld Robin, not with Jamie and Jeanle, by any means." "I say that I don't understand you. •Herrick. and I ask %r,u to speak out," said Edgar, waxing hot. ""Well, I think you might do better than you are doing. I think you might find more harmless amusement than ruining an honest man's home. He is honest: I suppose that is why he married Margaret Fane. .1 have" noticed that the worse a man is. the more fastidious will he be in his choice of a wife; the worse he has been the tighter will he draw the reins over his wife. That is why so many rakes and spendthrifts have good wives, and no doubt jhe argument will work both ways." "You never did Margaret justice, and you do not care for her," said Edgar, in whose eyes a fixe was slowlv kindling.

'"lt would take a Thackeray or a Balzac to do her justice. That I don't care for her is certainly wonderful, considering that she is another man's wife; and beholding the bright example Bet by you."

"Do you know, Herrick, Low grossly insulting Margaret; and me a^s ? ~ .??°. 7 0u believe me caoable of eucii villainy; do you believe that, to use your own words, I would deliberately set myself to ruin tins honest man's Lome. _ God forgive you if you do." "I did not use the word 'deliberately.' It does not apply to your conduct under any circumstances". Ido not for a minute think that- you. mean anv harm ncw,_ but all things have a be'ginning. You see a drunken, besotted wretch staggering past you in the street. Do you suppose he ever had the deliberate intention of ending so ? Tbjre was a beginning. There Is a beginning to every crime. And vou have taken the first step in a verv dark road: you have begun a ttliing that will end badly for some one. lam no Mrs. Grundy to croak and sigh over fancied ills, but I do der-lare that, if I had foreseen this sequel, I'd have sent the bullet through your head instead of that brute's in India."

Herrick spoke very quietly, his eyes On Edgar's all the time. The voung man flushed and paled bv turns," hutwas apparently too angry to answer. "Go back to India." "said Herrick. '"and without delay." That is my adyice."

There was a long silence, during which Willowby walked up and down the room, not like a caged lion or any other beast, but like a man in doubt and hesitation. Now he who hesitates is lost. "I have had enough of India," he Enid with impatience, "and you do me and Margaret a great wrong by your suspicions. Have you no better advice to offer?"

"Don t go to Selby's house any more. That's advice number two." "You are always inclined to make the worst of things, Herrick. I certainly see nothing wrong nor evil in my visiting there." Mr. Herrick swung his long limbs over the window ledge, preparatory to e. ramble in the park.

lion the Lord wishes to chastise He first- makes mad," he said calnilv. "An revoir. lam going to read the*pathetic story of Lady Clara Xewconie." "You have used some very hard words," said Edgar gravely. "I ma.nt thorn one and all," replied Herrick. sounding a rataplan with his knuckles. "You are quite roi?tnken, George, and time will show you that." '"Just so," replied Hernck apathetically, and the disagreeable conversation closed, as lie dropped to the ground and strode awav. CTT \PTETJ. YITT. "snE spf\ks potxai;d>—every WORD STABS." "Do I roir°mher Margaret Fane, mv Sear? Perfectly. But I certainly have n«t seen her lifr-ly. T should know her. of cours". about five vears oeo. _sbe was the object of particular attention."

And tho_ re-tors wi-V finished her wntenoe with a pleasant laugh. Mrs. Fairlech had driven over from Wniow|jr Park f"r pumos" P «t-. faur that lady, who was generally well

Begum?"

posted up in local intelligence, for news ot .Margaret Fane. .All Stretford liad known of Mr. Edgar Willowlty's devotion to the young governess, but outside tho family no one knew the true reason of his five years' absence, and tho rector's wife jnmped to the conclusion that Mrs. Fairlegh was airaid of a boyish fancy reviving, and had some plan afoot for getting Miss Fane out of sight again. But her visit was without result, as Margaret had no: been seen by the "Reverend Mrs. "Wells,'-' as the school children called lier.

Tl:a tiny being: fine, and the children pond, Mrs. Fairlegh bade her servant drive by Windy Hill, and she abandone<l herself to wondering whether or not Edgar knew _ of Miss Fane's whereabouts. As it happened, Mr Wiiiowby at that particular moment was in the very presence of Margaret, and answering her remark of 'Tint you have not told me why Mr Herric-k does not come hone."

Edgar winced slightly. He could not repeat- tho conversation which had taken placo between Herrick and himself to tho subject of it.

"C'eorge takes whims and fancies." ho at last- replied. "At present lie occupies himself with urging my return to India."

"Your return to India!" exclaimed Margaret: "surely you do not mean to follow that- advice."

"I don't know," said Edgar doubtfully: "there is not much to keep me at- home."

"Bark to India! T\hat good could that do—unless indeed you married a

"1 in just- as hkelv to marry a negro," he replied. "Xo, I should never seek a wife in India, and that is certainly not the reason why Herrick wishes mo to return."

"I cannot understand why he should wish to take you back to thoso perils and dangers," she exclaimed. You escaped once. The second time you might lie less fortunate."

"Perhaps lie thinks there is worse peril here," said Edgar in a low voice.

Margaret turned and looked at him, her colour rising.

"In that case," she said proudly, "he shr-nlij not havo led you into it." '•He lead me into it! Nay. my dear Margaret, that is not quite fair." "If L understand you, Edgar, the peril to which you allude is in my company. Your friend —save the mark!— believes that we are both worthless. Such a thought never entered your mind. I know. And I say again, if Herrick thought there was danger to you in my society, why did not he keep us apart," "How could he, not knowing your whereabouts, not even knowing of your marriage until the night we came here with your husband?'''

"Edgar, what do you mean?"- she exclaimed.

"'I think my meaning is clear enough," ho replied staring. "You might almost be implying that George had been behind the scenes all the time."

"Do you remember tlia night we met?" she asked, clasping her hands and looking fixedly into his face; "do you say that yon did not know then that you were in my husband's house? 0, Edgar, I thought then you might have spared me the pain of that meeting!" "Margaret, until I saw your face, unt;l I saw the ring upon your finger, I believed you to be as free as when we parted. I knew nothing of your marriage." "Why did he not tell you?" she cried, "why did he not break the news to von?"

"Whom, in heaven's name, do you mean?" *

"George Herrick. He knew of my marriage, Edgar, indeed lie did; for almost immediately after your return he met me, and I told him all. I implored him to break it to you, and keep you away until the first shock was over."

"George Herrick knew; George Herrick had seen you? It is impossible?"

"It is too true, Edgar, he has played a cruel trick unon us both."

"Do you declare, Margaret, that whilst- I was writing to London to you, whilst I was asking your whereabouts, whilst I was rejoicing in the thought of our meeting, this man, my trusted friend, knew the truth, had actually heard it from your lips?" "Unfortunately, it- is true." "And he listtened t-o all my hopes, he hoard me speak of you every hour, he heard all my plans, knowing how vain my holies were and that my very love was wrong."

"He certainly knew the truth." "Ho knew that Selby was your liusliand, tliat when we came here you and I must meet?"

"Yes. It was sport- to him. nerhaps, hut. oh! it was death to me, Edgar." "And this is the man I have trusted from my very boyhood, in whose friendship I had perfect faith! Heaven save me from my friends! Margaret, why was he so cruel ? What ioy, what profit could he find in so misleading mop Snort to him! "What sport could he find in dragcring mo through" such anguish? J have rend of wretches who could torture dumb things for the simple pleasure of watching their agonies—that, heaven forgive him, is what he Las done to me." Margaret was perfectly silent, watching the young man standing before her, white as the dead.

"Perhaps." he said, suddenly turning to lier, with the light of a new suspicion upon him "perhaps he is the man whose lie parted us, and whose name you would not give me?" She was silent still; then, covering her face with her hands, hurst out sobbing. Edgar stared at her a moment, then without a word turned awav.

■ "God in heaven help me!" he cried; "whom on this earth can I trust? The woman I loved since I knew what love meant was not true to my memory for even a few poor months, the only relatives I have wait and lons for my death—and my friend, whom I have loved as a brother, is false to me, false as the blackest traitor and glories in my sorrow!"

"Tp and down the little room he walked, cut to the very heart, wounded in his inmost soul. "Margaret, is it true?" he asked, pausing beside her. "Is there no mistake on your side or on his?" "Xo, there is none. I never trusted George Herrick; now my doubts are justified." "Well, I must go. I must be alone until I have quite realized this, Margaret." "But- you will come back, will you not. Edgar? Will you not see me again?" "To-morrow, perhaps. To-night I pay my debt to Herrick." "You will not harm him!" she almost shrieked, grasping his arm with both hands. "Edgar, you daren't, you won't —for your own sake, if not for mine!" "Harm him No, I shall not harm him. I never struck any one in my lite. Margaret. lam no brawler, no duellist. But- one part of my life has come to a close, and I shall turn its final page to-night." He left her, walking unsteadily out, seeing not the bright garden, the winding road, the far-off splendour of the sea.

A little phaeton came rolling along, hut he saw it not. He turned off the road into a narrow path leading through a field with tall grass, through which T)ink clover blushed, and he cast himself amid it with a sudden failing of strength and energy, with desolation pouring her dark waters over his soul. Desolation ! T~ntil this day it had had little or 110 significance. It- had been to him but- a word of so many letters, not a thing to be felt and shuddered over, a bewildering agony passing to

dead, dull blank. Not until tliis hour had ho known with what full trust and confidence he had leaned upon Herrick; not until tliis hour had he known the depth of his affection for his friend. A star had fallen, and in its placo wero clouds and shadows of coming rain. Oh, how many of us can remember such hours, which seemed the last of life! Days which should have no' morrow; and how many of us would or could reflect that sorrow is but the fiery furnace through which the gold must pass, and that it is not joy which breeds heroes ? That sorrow is the mother and the nurse of heroism; the rack and scourge, the pain and tears., win the crown and palm?

The phaeton which Edgar in ordinary mood would have seen, and, seeing, recognized as his own, had stopped bofore the manager's cottage. Its occupant, as the reader knows, was Mrs. and she, to her intense surpnse, had beheld the young man as ho left the_ garden and walked away. She knew him instantly, and in passing the house favoured it with a keen scrutiny to behold at its window the face of Margaret Fane.

Slvs at once ordered the man to stop, and alighting, went straight to the door. It was half open and with the coinage of true virtue 6he entered without knocking. Her sharp eves noted every detail, the pretty hall, the dauiur, well furnished room, with its ilov, ei's beyond, and the graceful woman in her long, soft robe who conlrouted her in scornful beautv, with knowledges_of her suspicion and dislike expiessed in every lme 5 m every fen.ture. Margaret was a woman to" make even trifles things of advantago to herself, and, what was better, to make lier opponents feel them. It is wonderful how iar appearance goes in a war between women, and whilst Margaret tiiiiniphed in her good looks and appomtnients Agatha was unpleasantly conscious that a long dusty drive had no I t .,y. 1 I ! } n vJ va y heightened her charms. , el'; i! rs. 1' airlegh," began Margaret standing with her left hand behind her, and_ her right on tho back of a chair,_ 'it is a_ long time since we met is it nou You remember me perfectly I see. May I ask what kind intenaou what benevolent motive has brougat you to me!-" +J, 1 s - aw cou , sil ? leave this house ten minutes ago," began Agatha. -Ir Ldgnr A\ illowby. do you mean? I aln ays understood that he was your

"Are you his wife s "' -fe-yet- saxd "Although yon wear a wedding-rin" ? I saw it despite your pains to conceal

-.ly pams to conceal it," said Marr aret, lifung her eyebrows. "Mv dear 7' + I , ieod llot conceal the evidence of a fact known to all Stretford. I am married, but not to Mr. Willowby—

Edglr"iere?" edl 131611 b " n S S

Mnr™ f U Margaret coolly, "and I am ouite sure that he will not either. Only remember, my dear madam, that there are other women m the world besides Marmnv Jf le i "® w that Mr " ™£ w 1, 1C M to , a of k er Prothough he has lost herself You have not won Willowby Park vet!" Wer ,f alvra J"s my enemv," Marg Ffv F a V e ' Cried A S atll a, at'bay. tWr "i u y f ; you luade 1116 that, and that I shall be to the end. There is not a sneer of yours, not a petty slight and mean injury you inflicted" on me + ,, *? ' i. not a Erno °th lie vou uttered to part- me from Edgar, that I- <, °,"° VT emb ?, and co " nt as so ™any to be paid back, each with full interest. And now would-be mistress of \\illowby 1 ark, this is my house, and I order you to leave it." For once in her life Agatha Fairlegli uas thoroughly cowed, and walked silently from the cottago. As she took her seat, in the phaeton, Jack remarked .^ af ', le - llow vhlte mamma, looked Hint is a terrible woma.n," said 3lrs. Fairlegh to herself. "If Edgar only knew it he has had a lucky escane." J

. Sll * lla<J n „° opportunity of Questioning Edgar, for when, at a late hour, the yomi!? gentleman returned home, he went direct to his room, locking the door find refusing to answer any knocks or interrogations. The crisis w ?s a +, K ari(l , fhougli not eyen ho knew it. The turning-point of his life had come. (To he Continued.)