THE MYSTERY OF MORDAUNT HALL.'

Thames Star, Volume XXVII, Issue 8322, 13 April 1896, Page 1

THE MYSTERY OF MORDAUNT HALL.'

CHAPTER XXIX. ; {Continued) • Be kind enough not to ask any more questions, mamma, if yon plbase,' he said, plaintively. • I'm fit to drop of exhaustion—beat out —used np— completely flabbergasted! Fray allow me a gentle siesta, and don't exclaim any more ! I have nerves, though no one ever consider them, and they've been worn to fiddle-strings by the tragical events of this day. So absurdly hot as it has been, too; and the First of September, and not one pop at the partridges. Ob, why couldn't Mrs Pivers have postponed shooting that fellow four and twenty hours, at least ?'. Harry gently lapsed into a balmy I slumber, whilst hii mother, quite dizzy with all these horrors and astounding revelations, sought out her daughter on the terrace. But Blanche was not there. She bad wandered off to a little rosegarden, wherejountains splashed, and rich red and white rotes—-the royal flower of love—bloomed in wanton profusion. A fair vision, she stood there, her little dogs frisking about her, and making fairy music with their i silver bells—the sweetest rose among roses—when a step came crashing over turf -and gravel—a step she knew dearly and well—and a tall form stood between her and the rosy western light. 'B'anche!' She looked up—the eloquent glow on her cheeks, the starry radiance in her eyes—then, again, down. Those grat dark eyes were not so easily met.

• What!' he said, bending over her, ' not one word ? Not one word of welcome fer Cousin Edward? And the ring—the love token—l gave yon fifteen years ago, and which yon vowed to wear for ever, gone—flung contemptuously into the fish-pond. Little traitress. Is this how you keep your plighted troth ?' She laughed. Then the laugh died away, and she came dose to him, with a paling cheek and a shiver. ' Oh, Edward!' she laid both white hands in his and looked at him with tears-in the vio'et eyes, * how could you deceive me so ? And aea what a tragedy it has evoked. That wretched man—that more wretched woman. And your father! Oh, pitiful heaven ! What a fate his has been!'

*My poor father ! But I could not hare averted that. When I came to Darepart the town was ringing with the news of his disappearance, and the usurper of my rights was here; It was too late then—his fate was as dense a mystery to me as to all others. And, Blanche, I saw you, and I loved you from the first, and I determined, under my incognito, to woo and win you. Edward Clifford had been the dream and the ideal of your young life—as Edward Clifford there would be little merit in winning you— it might bo your own ideal you ipould still love, not the real man. b*n6as Kenneth Macleao, the penniless tenant of the Hermitage—the hard* wopkittg magazine hack—to win the lovely heiress so many had sought in vain—ah J that, indeed, would be a triumph ! There is the secret of my long incognito, though I tell it to no one but you. And, my darling, who so nobly loved and Accepted the obscure author, will lo»estili more dearly Cousin Edward ? For me, I*m the happiest man on earth !' And then Edward, and" Blanche, and Flo, and Mimi set np furious and indignant yelps of eiposu'ation; for this audacious male intruder deliberately kissed their mistress.

'And Mrs Rivers, Edward? she is your—you * 4 Not wife, Blanche. She never-was that; but she is the woman who duped me into eloping with her sixteen years ago—who wrought the ruin of my life. It was no marriage at the best —contracted by a minor, without a licence. But from even the shadow of d pJaim the law set me free years ago*. That miserable woman, Ella Slaney, «h»ll not stand one second between you' *n<* me» m 7 peerless darling' ' How cruel she has been f kow terribly merciless!' Blanche mnrmu've^* ' To ihink of your father's awful fate 7 J I will never forgive her for that, Edward—never!' I

'Don't think of it My dearest; such horrors are not for yonr gentle ears or tender heart. To night we will find the secret room, and the remains will be placed in the family vault. And, my dear love, there is ho muoh to be done that I must leave you at once- To-morrow they hold the in • quest, and remove her to Dareport gaol; for, of course, there can be no doubt of the verdict. She was caught 'red-handed,' and by her own sou. She horse-whipped him the other day—l hope she recognized the lex talionis. I'm afraid that poor, persecuted deline will exult in the fall of her foe.' (Aod the will, Edward ? you fouud

that? 1 Yes, Miss Clifford, and jou are a pauper, thanks to yourftelf. I shall consign that will to the fire immediately I get home. It should never have been made;' * No! no !'■ Blanche said, clingi™ to him; no, no, Edward,let it stand. It doesn't much matter which of us has your father s inheritance; but It is your birthright, and I hud much rather owe everything to yfftu Let it stand, and take me, as I am—pebnilesi Blanche Grey—my love, my hero, my brave, true Edward !' ■ And then Flo, and Mimi and company nearly went into convulsions, for tbts time it was their mistress who ksewf the bearded intruder—this hitman poacher on their manor.'- ; • Your s?aveh4sbntfto obey/O fairest f Princess Blanche ! By the bye, and apropos of no bing, I left poor old H«g«r performing a sort of «keen • over her dead—the only mourner—poor erased creature! Do you recollect lier bulefnl chant, htr weird proheoy of which you. were to be the victim ? • Dark falls the doom upon the last fair daughter of the racY The doom has fallen or if about to fall, I fancy/ 'How?' Blanche asked, rate startled.

1 Why. y v are doomed -yen, irrevocably—to be my wife within the three next months at furthest, than which so more awful drom could befall.'

1 Very, trap, bo I shall hefitate long before taking (he fatal step ! Don't flatter yourself I shall rush to my doam within the next three months. If I consent in fhree years yon. may think yourself fortunate. Here comes mamma with a face that is a whole catechism in itself. Poor, dear mamma, she tats the fall of her pet, Mr§ jtivers very deeply to heart.' ' I shall beat a retreat/ said Clifford. • Tel> my lady I am drive* to death and we'll answer questions next time I come over. For the present, my dearest, adieu.'

He made his escape barely in time and rode back, in the silvery September twilight, to the Hermitage—the bouse of mourning now—where old H»gar sti'l rocked and crooned over her 4eavf f and the wi etched murderess crouched in the chamber above.

The inquest was held next day, and the verdict returned, « Wilful murder. A carriage an i two constables wii*. iv waiting to convey the prisoner to Dareport ga >1, to etand her trial at the winter assizes for her life

As they led her down, haggard, hollow eyed—her beauty all gone; in a night—she paused on the threshold and aaked to ccc servant Bill. It was a strange request but they granted it, and Bill, with hie cap pulled far over his eye?, douched forward with hanging head. And his mother bent forward and kitted him.

« You are my eon,' ehe eaid ' and I am Boriy I struck you. I don't aek you to forgive in**. I dou*t deserve it, and y< v cannot but forget me if you can, Jt was just retribution tbat you should have arrested ma in the act, Good-bye

Ant tbea the turned to Edwan! Clifford, standing with folded trme, terribly stern and grave. ' I ueither ask you to forgive or forget. You will be happy in spite of me. I did uiy best—l fought to the last, t would have killed you if Icould, but you have won !'

They led her way. She spoke no word as the carriage whirled through ihetowo followed by the hoot and giw.m of the mob, who would hare torn h>r to pieces could they have reached her. They locked her in a dreary cell, which she was to leave but for • colder and darker home, and left- her to hejrqejf and the lopg, pitiless night. AuA in iMp morafag they fonnd her di ad. A tjny icnifo—3« tiny tbat she bad hidden it in the thick eoiis of hrr hair —bad opened a veinj and, without word or cry she had laitt there alone and bled to death.

(To ti Cmtimtl:}