A WILD WOOING.

Thames Star, Volume LX, Issue 16922, 21 October 1926, Page 3

A WILD WOOING.

BY FLORENCE WARDEN,

CHAPTER XXXII. When the service was over, he disappeared before the rest of the con' gregation bad moved from their seats Poor Freda tottered as she went out, and had to lean for support on Mrs. Bean. She had forgotten that the story of her father’s crime and capture would be likely to be in every one’s mouth that morning; the whispering groups gathering in the churchyard suddenly woke her to this fact, a.nd stung her to put forth all her strength to reach the Abbey quickly. John Thurley met her at the gates. “You will have to make haste with your packing,” he said abruptly, but not unkindly, “our train goes at four.” “I will see to that.” said Nell. Freda siaid nothing at all. She passed the other two, and went into the house, and appeared, in due time quiet and composed, at the dinner-table. When the meal was over, Thurley told her to go and put on her things, but instead of going to her own apartment, she went to the library, and finding the secret door as she had left it, closed, but not locked, had little difficulty in opening it, and in securing it behind her. Now Thurley knew of this :.oor, singe he had seen Dick comv through it; so to secure herself from pursuit in case he should guess where she had gone, Freda closed the trapdoor at the head of the narrow staircase, and bolted it securely. Then, running down the second staircase, she locked herself into the room where her father had made himself known to her, and as a last precautionary measure, let herself down the rope ladder into the cellar beneath. He must go to London without her nowl The triumphant thought had scarcely flashed throught her mind when, with a start, she became aware that she was not alone. A man was creeping stealthily from the opposite side of the room towards her. CHAPTER XXXIII. Freda was by this time getting too much-accustomed to the shifts and surprises of the smugglers’ haunt to be greatly alarmed by the discovery that she was not alone in the underground chamber. Besides., her indignation against Thurley gave her a fellow-feel-ing with even the most lawless of the men he had been sent to spy upon. So she cried out in a clear vaiee: “It is I ,Freda Mulgrave; I have come down here to escape being carried off to London by John Thurley. Who are you?” The man raised to the level of liis face a dark lantern, turning its rays full upon himself. The girl, in spite of the fact that she' was prepared to keep her feelings well under control, gave a cry of joy. It was her father. Freda stretched out her arms to him, trembling, frightened, crying with misery and with oy. “You have escaped!” she whispered. “Escaped! Oh, what can Ido to

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help you? To save you?” Captain Mu 1 grave laughed, but with a quiver in his voice, as he smoothed her bright hair. “OaJm down, child,” he said kindly. “I—l want to talk to you. Come with me to the ruins! I want to get out to the daylight, where I can see your little face.” “But, father, John Thurley may still be about. He wanted to take me away to London this afternoon, and I came down here to be safe. Perhaps ” ‘Never mind him. He sha’n’t take you anywhere unless you want to go. Come with me.” Surprised by the tone he took, which Was not that of a hunted man, Freda followed her father in silence along the underground passage, and up the steps into the ruined church. Captain Mulgra.ve then helped his daughter up the broken steps which led to the window in the west front, and they sat down on the old stones and looked out to the sea. A conviction which had been growing in Freda’s mind as they came along, brightening her eyes and making her heart beat wildly, became stronger than ever when he ly chose this spot, in full view of any one who might stroll through the ruins. It was a grey, cold day, with a drizzle of rain falling; the sea was all shades of murky green and brown, with little crests of foam appearing and disap* pearing; the sea-birds flew in and out restlessly about the worn grey arches, screaming and flapping their wide wings; the wind blew keen and straight from the north-west, but Freda did not know that she was bitterly cold, and that her lips and fingers were blue, for her heart and her head were on fire. “Father,”/she whispered, crouching near him and looking into his face, “forgive me for what I thought. Oh, I see it was not true, and I could die of joy!” She was shaking from head to foot, panting with excitement. Captain Mulgrave looked affectionately into her glowing face. “Why, child,’ he said, “there wasn’t a man or woman in England who wouldn’t have condemned me! Why should you blame yourself? When Barnabiis Ugthorpe caught me, as he thought, red-handed, I saw that no* thing but a. miracle could save my neck if I lived; it was sure to leak out. So .1 died. And they buried the murdered man instead of me.” “But. father .the jury—were they all in the secret?” - “No. They viewed a live body instead of a dead one. I had a beautifully painted wound on my breast, and I bay in the coffin till I was as cold as tiie dead ; and I took care that the jury shouldn’t be warm enough to want to hang about long. or. to have much sensitiveness of touch left if they were inclined to be curious.” “But. father, wouldn’t it have lieen less risk just to go away?” “No. for my disappearance would have told against me at the inevitable time, when Barnabas should babble out his secret. I thought, too, that my supposed death would put the real

murderer off his guard, and that. 1 might be able to track him down in the end.” ‘‘Did you know who it was?” she asked in a whisper, after a pause. “I guessed—and guessed correctly.” “Who was it?” “Bob Heritage.” “And they ; have caught him?” “Last night, "hiding about the old farm-house. I went away yesterday in my yacht, because I had got wind of the search and thought they were after me. This morning I came sneaking black to find out whether you were safe, and Crispin was on the scaur with the news.” Freda listened to these details, conscious, though she would not have owned it, of a secret disappointment in the midst of her joy at learning her father’s innocence. In spite of the kindness he showed when he was with her, she was to him only an afterthought. He bad made no provision for her safety yesterday, left her no directions for her protection in the time of trouble which was coming. One other consideration grieved her deeply; the shame and distress which had been lifted from her shoulders now fell upon those of poor Dick. These thoughts caused her to drop into a silence which her father made no attempt to break. While they were still sitting side by side without exchanging word, they heard the click of the gate and a man’s voice saying “Thank you” to the lodge-keeper. It was John Thurley. Captain Mulgrave and lie caught sight of each other iat the same moment and the former at once came down The meeting between the two men was a strange one. Each held out his hand but with diffidence. Thurley spoke first. “Captain Mulgrave,” said he, “I am indeed sorry that 1 should have been the means of bringing justice down upon you. At' the same time I must say 1 should have thought that a man who had served his country so well would be the last to have any hand in defrauding her.” Captain Mulgrave laughed harshly. ‘My country’ rated my service so highly that in return for them they turned me off like a dog. ‘My country’ made me an outlaw by her treatment; let ‘my country’ take the blame of my reprisals.” “!' should have expected more magnanimity from you.” “To every man his own virtues; none of the meeker ones 'are .among mine,” said the other grimly. “I have been disgraced and left to eat my heart out for fifteen years. And 1 tell you 1 think the debt between my country and me is still on her side.” “Perhaps your country begins to think so too. At any rate the government. I feel sure, would be reluctant to prosecute you, as it would have done anybody else in your case. For it would not be only smuggling against you, Captain Mulgrave; it would be conspiracy.” “The government knows, as well as I do, that prosecution, of me would lead to unpleasant inquiries and reminiscences. The same party is in now that was in at the time of my disgrace; and as we are on the eve of a general election, my case would make a very good handle for the opposite side to use.” “Well, don’t count on that too much. You can’t deny n is a serious offence to form such an organisation for illegal

purposes as you have done. This place must be cleared out, the underground passages (which x know all about) blocked up; and if you don’t find it convenient to leave England for a time, I am afraid you’ll find that your , past services won’t save you from arrest.” “The organisation is better worked than you think; my going away will not break it up. There’s another good heiad in it.” “If you mean Crispin Bean’s, it is a good head indeed. On finding, this morning, that the game was up, he came to me, and gave me full details of the band, its working, everything.” ’ ~ Captain Mulgrave was not only astonished, lie was incredulous. “The d 1 he did!” he muttered. And it wias not until John Thurley had read him out some notes he had taken down during Crispin’s confession, that the master of Sea-Mew Abbey would believe that his lienteuant had gone over to the enemy. Then he shrugged his shoulders and chose a cigar very carefully. “Will you have one?” he said, offering the ease to Thurley. “They smoke none the worse for being contraband.” John Thurley declined. “All, well,” continued the other, “1 bear you no ill-will for causing my expatriation, especially as in doing so you have cleared my nlame of a charge I saw no means of disproving. By-the* bye, why didn’t you speak out sooner about the murder?” “Because I had no very strong evidence myself. I put the case in the hands of the police, and detectives were sent down here who discovered that a .man on horseback had come from Oldcastle Farm on the day of the murder, that he had tied up his horse in a shed ia,t the bottom of the hill, just outside the town, and had been seen with a revolver in his hand making his way across the field to the spot where Barnabas Ugthorpe found the body. The man was identified ‘as Robert Heritage; it was found out that he had just learnt the servant’s intention to betray, his master’s secrets to you. This is evidence enough to try the man on, if not to hang him.” “And the cousin, what becomes of him?” This was the question Freda had been dying to ask, and she drew near, clasping her hands tightly in her anxiety to learn Dick’s fate. “I don’t quite know. He seems to have been used as a tool from a very early age by his good-for-nothing cousin. It’s an exceedingly awkward business,- especially for me, as I wa distantlv connected with the family, and I feel for the poor lady very much., I must look into their affairs, and try, to get the farm let for her benefit. Ae for Dick, be bad better emigrate.” “He won’t do that,” interrupted 1 Freda quickly. “He would rather starve than leave his old home!” Both gentlemen turned in surprise, for the girl spoke with feeling and fire. John Thurley looked hurt and angry, her father only amused. - “What do you know about the young rascal’s sentiments?” asked the latter. “I only know what he told me,” she answered with a blush. There was a. pause in the talk for a few minutes. Then Captain Mulgnave said: “We might go over to the farm this afternoon, and see the fellow.

(To be continued.)