Margaret Fane; or Snares Unseen.

Timaru Herald, Volume XIIIC, Issue 14238, 2 July 1910, Page 1 (Supplement)

Margaret Fane; or Snares Unseen.

Ci i. At' j lill AIH. (Continued.) ARCHIE 3>-\ I.i l (J i-4 INV ALID. "It was 11.'1 consolation to mo to remember that ('barks Dickens was once in a somcwh.it similar pred.cament. I. had never in my life experienced such terror. As a. matter of courso the communication cord was out of repair, anil 1 had no alternative but to sit quietly waiting for something, I knew not what, to hapjien, and, reflecting that tho position of affairs was my own fault, never mora would I yield to an impulse.

"My friend sat talking arrant ,11011nenso lor half-an-hour, but I did not mind that, if ho would not, proceed to act.oll. Instead of doing anything frightful, ho finally subsided into coma, and then I saw what really iv'as the xnatter, though it did not ltiako my position any more agreeable. The man was ill tho first stage- of brain fever.

"What was to ho done with him? I oskod myself remembering tho letter lio had given mo, and his words —

" 'I rely on your honour —because I must —not to open it until'l am dead.'

. "What was to bo dono with him? If I took iiim to a hospital I should have to answer unpleasant questions, and his wish about tho mysterious letter might not bo respected. Before the two hours' journey was ended I had determined to take him to my rooms. It might bo that somo friend, some relative, would ono day thank me. "My chambers wero small enough, and the staircase steep enough. I had, of course, to get assistance in conveying tho unfortunato fellow to niy quarters, and the noiso caused a door to open, and neighbour, Jack Carstairs, our ' brielless barrister, 5 looked out. You remember him?

"'Holloa, Balfour 1 'P'Oll my .word, I thought you wero having a iparty without iricl'

"1 explained hurriedly tho position-of affairs, and ho laughed heartily.

" ' Old Archie I'alfour turned generous ? You might knock mo down with a feather! '

"'1 might,' I answered, ' but it's possible 1 shall iisi) something stronger if you don't stop that confounded row.' | '"Ho docaniped, .still laughing, and Tiy midnight tivo .strong men were hold-, ing my invalid down ill bed ns lie, tossed and raved in liia fever, and Dr. Grey, looking at me, solemnly shook his ■, Lead. " 'lf this man has any friends, Mr.Balfour,' he said, 'Llicy had better 'bo Sent for.'

" 'lf ho has any,' I repeated, ' butVho told mo that ho had not. You thinkihe is seriously ill ?'

"'Very seriously. Where did, you pick him up?' "I hesitated a moment before I replied. " 'On tho shore at Wellbury.' " '.Exactly. From tho condition his clothes I thought you had pulled liiin out of tho sea. They are soaked with salt water.'

" 'So I observed. What do you think ?'

" 'That li© has been trying to drown himself, poor wretch. Apparently you know more about him than I do, Mr. Balfour, and again I advise you to send for his friends.'

"And again I thought of the letter nnd tho trust reposed in me. I could liot open it, consequently I had 110 clue to tho man's identity. Hero, my dear Glynne, I .must write 'To bo Continued.' Tlio man still lies in a critical utato at my place, and I, am installed as head nurse. Jack Carstairs has been very good, relieving mo when ' professional duties ' called me awny. I nm sorry to say ho leaves in a day or two, and heaven knows what kind of a neighbour fufco may send. If ho is not noisy, and doesn't givo sapper parties, 1 shall not mind. Otherwise it'will bo rather hard on my invalid. "Now what o do yon think of it? What in_ my duty? 'Canny Scot' though Myra calls' mo I humbly ask an Englishman's advice. My invalid is yet knocking at death's door; and the letter is unopened. Shall I obey him, or shall I open it? Anxiously waiting a reply, I am, with kind regards to Myra,

"Yours v«rv faithfully, "A. W. Balfour." Mr. Oliver Glynno drew a breath as long as tho cpistlo. "Ho lias £ot the art of letter-writing nt last My hi. Ho hasn't told mo half enough." And tho old gentleman, rising, began walking from one end of the ro-orn to tho other, with tho slow step of a man deep in tho thought that is mingled with anxiety.

CHAPTER XIV. GOOD SAMARITANS

■Whilst Mr. Glynno continued his Bcntry-wnlk, Myra re-read tho letter, and then, laying it down, began to conjuro up mental pictures of tho chore, with that solitary wretched figure upon it. What could his story bo? Ono surely filled with some great Borrow, somo deep misery, such as she could not imagine.

"Poor fellow," thought Myra, "I bonder if ho really has no friends? iWhat a dreudful thing to bo friendless, to be quite aloiio in tho world ! Poor follow, what can his story be?" Unconsciously she uttered the remark'; aloud, and Mr. Glvnno answered it? i

"Just my story repeated, Myra. That i ss it, no doubt. This young man has i quarrelled with his relatives, and they i liftvo shown him the door as niine did, j perhaps for tho same cause." _ | "Do you think ho had been trying to i drown himself, grandma?" asked Mvra gravely. _ •_ | ' Wo will bono not, mv dear; wo will I hopo not. I am glad Balfour found | Jiim, though; ho is in good hands. Now about this letter; what is to bo done " Myra. listened eagerly, following iGlynno's movements with her eyes. "When my relatives sent mo adrift," pursued tho old gentleman, "I should jiot have thanked any ono for letting them know my whereabouts. When I flied to them, I wished to bo dead." "But, dear grandpapa, turely you never wero so forlorn as this young man ? Never eo deserted, and miserable?" "Thank heaven, never: but I should linvo been if 1 had not had a loving and (faithful heart, worth all sacrifice, to cheer r.io. This young man, mv .Myra, cannot havo that consolation. He may havo given up nil for a woman's sake, to find that slio would give up nothing for his. That at least is what T think, find if Archie did not put all his imagination into his books, ho would have \.noßsud it at onco," *■ "•'V.nd what will you do?" asked Myra teagen^; "I Balfour at once. And I think that •Vtfcer may remain unopened. the poor fellow foresaw his illness, and i\"i.s prepared for it. He had anticipated insiN/\i'>ility, and knowing that lio might be searched for a. duo to his name or liiwfi, .. n . r, d that the letter would in all probability bo opened, took tho precaution dv .giving it to Jialfour, and warning him iltf.t to read it, thus securing himself, cr-^ainst — ngiiiiist—l don't know what, <mi un"l am sure von will do all that yyu (jnn, dear grandpapa," said Myra earnafitl.v, and Mr. Glvnno silently nodded.

"I shall go without dolav " he said. Mwnghtfiillv; "no doubt Archibald Jecls himself in a. responsible. not to say jurkward position. How will you amuse yourself, niy dear, whilst, T am away?' "Ob, 7 shall read all these letters, mtld perhaps find some one suitable for Imunekecper. and when those are exhausted I. shall read another kind of Action." Myrn'o reading was of a varied ami ttnrtansive Vind. T'ntil quite recently she had bolievc/l «.very hook she had pood to ba perfectly true, and sho had

noted many of tlio scones to audiences of chairs and tables; even yet the roll of wheels at night or early uawn roused her with tho old shivering fear born of n. perusal of «'j. , coys' Diary," with its do.«ript.on of Hid ureat i'laguo and the death-carts rattling all night long. London to her meant Dickens and Thackeray; shades of the good old Colonel and Clive passed her in its streets; a common-place hunchback became tiio genius of Gandish's studio; Dick Swiveller lurched past her on the pavement, and frnm dismal old shops Mr. Kruolc and his black cat peered forth. Unconsciously she had surrounded herself with, a halo of romance. She weaved stories about tho people she saw, from tho windows of the villa, passing along the bright, waters in skift'3 and boats of every description, tho gaily dressed ladies with attendant cavaliers, thy solitary whitc-ilanneled oarsmen, tho llomeos and Juliets who drifted with tho tide, and all the changing panorama of that silver streak. She was content to watch and wonder without sharing or envying the pleasure, a sleeping beauty whom thg prince might 0110 day waken. Leaving her to dream, Mr. Glynno went his way through London streets. Ho always walked in the city, believing that a foot-passenger saw, and heard, and understood moro of life than others, and doubtless ho was right; who sees into tho heart of a city from the top of an omnibus or through the windows of a cab? With his long coat, his broad hat, and white board, he passed along like a kindly magician, a benevolent ' wizard, weaving for himself, much as his grand-daughter did, little histories of those whom ho saw on. the way to Balfour's chambers.

Ho was journeying through a dingy street of nondescript shops, admiring the free vigour of step of a young man some distance ahead, certainly not an inhabitant of these parts, Mr. Glynno decided, judging the individual by the coat 110 wore for once. He was something more than astonished when this person turned into a shop over which hung tho significant sign of three golden balls, after giving a glance from right to left not altogether free from confusion, and in tho same manner he stepped out again, continuing his walk with less elasticity. At the corner of the street a ragged youth war. singing, or rather making a hoarse noise, ever and anon stopped by •a rattling. Tho young man. eyed him for .a moment'or two over the heads of the urchins who formed his audience, said something in a low tone, and dropped something into the extended hand.

"That is what I call genuine charity," said Mr. Glynne to himself, making a mental noto of this for Myra's benefit.

Soon after lie was in tha hurdy-gurdy-li.umted square where Balfour's abode. The houses were all let off in chambers. Balfour lived at tho ton of a corner dwelling, and Mr. Glynne climbed the stairs with care, halting on the landing to contemplate a door from which the name of. Carstairs had newly been erased. On the next appeared in white letters "A. W. Balfour," and at this Mr. Glynne knocked softly. It was opened immediately by a long, lean man. who had evidently been smoked and dried like a haddock, to judge by ,appearance. "I answer vour letter in person, Balfour," said Air. Glynne in a low voice. "How is your invalid?" " Much the same." replied Balfour, slinking his head, "I have rery little liopt*/" Oliver,sat down, laying aside his hat and stick, and Mr. Balfour sat down also, contemplating the toe of u slipner damaged by being used as a poker. The view of the square was shut out by a window-box in which flourished eome hardy green things. The table under the window was covered with that chaos of notes and scraps- from which Mr. Balfour's stories evolved. A door onenccl off this room into another, and Mr. Glynne gave a glance of inquiry at it.

"Yes, he's there," stkl Archie, (answering' the glance, "asleep now or unconscious. Look!"

They went on tiptoe across the room, and iiito tlio next, tbe sick chamber; and Oliver looked compassionately at a white face with closed eyes, and lips that twit-elieel with the invalid's heavy, irregular brcatiling, then tho two men as softly withdrew. "He's bad enough now," siid Balfour gravely, 'but he generallv starts no from that hind of tiling, sleep or stupor, to delirium, which is worse. "Do liis ravings give you any clue to what has happened him?" "No. Ho raves about tho sea, and fancies himself wandering on the shore, searching for something, or he raves about India. "What do you think of it all?"

"I think it is just my story over a pain, Balfour. This younug man has quarrelled with his relatives for some one's sake, and she—'unlike my Alice —| has not been worth tbe sacrifice." | "She," repeated Hal four, 'humph! These sort of things gei,..Tally do begin and end with a She." "If ho recovers," pursued Glynno, i ghn'l.l, provided he tells his story, try to reconcile him to/his friends. "Provided also that that story be what you think. T-ife is like a staircase " went on Balfour meditatively "ma'do. for uos and downs and occasional stumbles. This man has had a stumble, I think." ' ■ "Whv?" . , , "About friends and relatives he is silent. If. as. you suppose, lie.Was simolv at variance with "therm, nad le.t his home for somo quixotic purpose, surely his ravines would have been or thom, not of 'five years' and the sea. Vor itiv nart I think ho has been sentenced to five years' penal servitude or imprisonment, and has contrived to escape. Do you think I am right iu keening tile letter as I received it ? "Ouite. Never betray a t-vist. Archie, no matter by whom placed. And now* tell me how you manage about attendance." "Dr. Grey sent me a nurse, a respectable widow whom he knows. ...ho comes here occasionally. And Caf'stairs has been wonderfully good. I am sorry ho lias gone, because he helped me in. several ways. Another man has taken li s rooms. I don't know anything about hmi, but ] bone he'll keep him-s-.df quiet until this poor fellow gets heifer, or —" I Balfour filled tho blank by nodding.

Oliver remained v.*illl him some time, and, when lie did go, it was with a promise of sncedv return. As ho descended tlio stairs ho encountered some ono -ascending, who drew aside to let. him pass, and in whom ho recognized the individual who had bestowed liis charity not wisely but too well on the street-singer. Some feeling oromnted him to look hack, and he found that the stranger was doing the same. And then he hefan to wonder where ho had_ seen the man before, or what association he had with him. besides the little incident of to-dav. Tie halted on the stairs to consider'this, and the ascending footsteps ceased, an upper door closed. The object of Oliver's wonder had entered the sot of rooms nest to Balfour'o, and was therefore his new neighbour. Mr. Glvnne carried his vague perplexity lioiiiov/ards, unable to decide how, when, or where ho had seen tlio nian before to-day; and Balfour resumed his interrupted task of proof-correcting. It (struck him as a fortunate thing, for his invalid, at least, that lew if any of his acquaintances were likely to call upon him bore. Ho generally sought his friends at the club, glad to escape nt times from tlie close chambers. _ If this man were indeed endeavouring to escape the strong hand of the law, the fewer who saw him the better for himself, and nossibly others. Htt lay still and quiet now, and Bal- : four was i.oiigratulating himself on the silence which aided rest, when he heard the sound of a voice singing "The U.-nth ) <iK with new effects. Balfour thrust hi.; head through the window

angrily. Of late he had heen waging war with all wandering minstrels and hands, but the profuse strains of unpremeditated art 110 longer saluted him. When 110 drew his head in again, they fell oil his ear once more, and, what was worse, were disturbing his patient, who began to toss and moan. Archie went out rather irritably as the thought struck him that his next-door neighbour was indulging in a solo. Ho rapped at the door ineffectually. The voice within sounding its octaves with undiminished vigour he boldly opened the door, beholding the minstrel sitting by the window scribbling. "Excuse me," said Mr. Balfour, "but would you oblige me by stopping that noise."

"Noise?" repeated the other, looking up. "Your song, I mean. The fact is, I have an invalid friend in the next room, and a. great deal depends 011 his being kept quiet. If you will oblige me

"Oh, I will oblige you. It doesn't cost me anything," replied the other, lisrhtly. "I occasionally smoke; do you think the smell of tobacco likely ' to disagree with your invalid friend?" Mr. Balfour reddened a little.

"You can believe m© or not. just as you please," he replied; "tho facts remain tho same. I shall thank you sincerely if you remember that a possibly dying man is so near you."

'"A very cheerful reflection. However. like many a better man, I have sung my last song." Mr. .Balfour retired, not exactly afflicted with love at first sight, but inclined to wish heartily that Carstairs had remained. The day wore on to evening, and he dropped asleep in his chair as the room grew dark and the lamps in the square below were lighted, a slumber from which 110 was roused by tho sound of someone stirring, and, unclosing his eyes, he beheld to. his horror his invalid half-dressed and leaping through the window, which he had succeeded in opening—leaning through with the evident intention of precipitating himself into the street. Balfour was on his feet in an instant and dragged the unfortunate fellow back, to be grappled with as rapidly, and then began a horrible struggle, the one fighting with tho strength of delirium, the other almost beside himself with fear.

"For God's sake, help!" ha cried, in agony. "Help, help!"

And then someone rushed into the dark room, and without asking the llltiiiied question as most men ,vo lid have done, "AYhat'it the matter?" sprang to the rescue, twining his arms round the madman's body and holding him as in a vice.

It was not long "necessary; strength, and frenzy, rfnd consciousness passed away, leaving him weak as an infant, and more helpless.

"What's to be done with him ?" asked the newcomer, addressing Balfour, who was panting yet. "Shall I carry him into that room?"

Without waiting for any answer, he carried his burden to the inner room, depositing it gently enough on the bed.

"Rather a narrow escape," be said, returning to Balfour, who was lighting a caudle with a slightly unsteady hand, and who recognized his neighbour with whose harmony he had interfered. "It is a blessing that you came so promptly," ho said. "I am more thankful to you than I can 'well say." "Is your friend mad? Because " '".He is not mad; he is suffering from brain fever. I had no business to be asleep, that is the truth.'

Taking the candle, he went to the bedside. Looking round he saw that his neighbour had followed him, and, leaning against tho door, , trembled from head to foot, wiping great drops of perspiration from a face as colourless as a Parian bust.

"What is wrong with you?" asked Balfour.

"A slight shock, that is all," replied the other, with evident effort: "it—it is net every night I prevent a tragedy, my good sir,"

"It is well for two people that the shock did not affect you before," said Balfour, bathing his invalid's temples. "You had better sit down. Will you have some wine?" "Thank you, no,' !

He came forward a little, looking down with an expression still of horror, and putting ono hand on hia twitching month.

"Did you say he was dying " "Thero is small chance of his recovery," replied Balfour, "according to tho'doctor."

"Doctors may err. Has he been ill lons ?" "Not- very," replied Balfour with brevity. The other seemed on the point of asking something else, but suddenly checked himself.

'"ls he ever sensibleP" he began after a pause. "Does he know those about him ?" "No—not vet?"

"Are you not afraid of being: alone? Does not the continual watching tire you? Have you no one to relieve you?" "Why?" asked Balfour suspiciously. "Because I would help you if I might. I would watch him very willingly. I have watched a sick man. before this." "When your nerves were in better order, I presume," observed Balfour drily, for the man was still trembling, still white. "That is over now. Will you accept my services, such as they are? For til's one night at least." BaKour sitll hesitated, and the other smiled.

"I am not particularly honest," ha said, "'but I daresay you have keys

"I'm not doubting your honesty," interposed Balfour, "but I don't see that I havo any claim upon you, any right to ask "

"That's iu r t it. If you had either I should not offer to do anything for you. Perhaps you want a testimonial to my general excellence." He pulled a letter from his breast pocket, handing it to Balfour. It was dnt-p'l th" previous day from tho office of "The Fantasia," and bore one magic sentence "Declined with thanks" —■ which sent a, sympathetic thrill to the jroots of Balfour's hair. He glanced at the envelope, and saw that it Vas addressed to 4 .Tames Strong, Esq.

"AYell, Mr. Strong," he said sloivlv, "I don't deny th?t I should prefer not being alone to-night " "Let that settle it then. Husli!"

The invalid spoko ricr.v, in low, complaining tones, and Strong returned to him hastily. He snt down hy the bedside, speakiftG; to the sufferer quietly, laying a light hand on tho burning temples until tho fever-hri'dit eyes closed again. "With a sens© of peenrity Balfour took up his pen once more. "Whenever he looked across the room to the group in the other, he saw it still the same, the strange man ■watching with eager eyes everv change in the sufferer's fare, arid holding one weak liand close clasped in his own. And so the grey and liumid daivn found them. (To he Continued.)