CHAPTER IX.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6936, 27 October 1900, Page 1

CHAPTER IX.

I A PRISON VI9ITOK. But" Will Lomas liimself upset? these calculations, for the establishment of his inn,ocenee. When- a man's conduct is altogether different from Avhat bur knowledge of him has led us to expect, we say he is ." mod}" and the Avord is well used. Will was mad for the time being. He could view nothing truly ; everything was out of shape and proportion ; and bis one consuming desire wns for freedom. With, the fierceness of tt SdVUge, of a wild mtvn of the woods, lie longed' to be agairii in the open air, and in the'company of the dear, sweet wife he had ljut newly married; and with, the concentration flndi secrecy of madness all his •thought j were b?nt and strained to the problem* ol getting out of prison. Be ha.d known the town of Wrottesley sine* ever he could remember, together with the outer aspect of the gaol and the arrangement of the streets that led to and from it. It was ami old . prison— d«rls and/ grim with age. It was in ttoji centre of the town, upraised a little like the boss. of a, roundi •hield. Everyone spoke pf it as " the Caatle;" but noWdy in Wrottesley was learned enough to tell whether it had ever been anything but a prison. Will Lpmaa was not a reading man j and he knew no more of the history of the place than his neighbours of the country-side. But. since the moment he had been shuit up •in " the Castle," the dread of it which he had cherished, in hia boyhood came back to him, and made him in that sense a, boy again. He would sit by the hour, picking at hia fingers, and thinking of nothing but " the Castle" as a grim, watchful m-onsrter, that was silently satisfied to ha.ye and keep him in its einbracer-until the end should come. Hie thought of that, over and over, and to. «md fro, Avith fear and horror, till (as we iiave Veen) his. native courage and manhood rose in veyplt, and, he resolved to regain has ■ iWom^-if it could by any means be resained. Yet hB still sat silent, aa af afraid to let a sound of his desire and intention be lwavd by the listening i»nd Avatch'iul monster Hour by hour he brooded on the shape and arrangement of "the Castle," so far as. he *ne.AV*it, both inside and'out; a-ncl «ver and anon he would imagine himselt, Avith fear at liia back, carelessly Avalking out atithe great, black, spike-topped gate, and down the atreet that it opened .vppn, or dipping over ■»' certain wall, a»d scurrying along a nar!jpw, dirty, winding lane. ... „,,,, But by Friday his dreams and desires had «ome to no fruition. He had done nothing BuVdreum. and desire; for he was no prac-.tkedprisevn-breaker-indeed, he had never Jbeeniu prison at all before-and he did not even know where his oell was sihiated- Un-, 1«» -t'heu'aome' nnraculous dispensation cam* uk« thVsoXmd of Joshua's horns, at which the walla Of Jericho fell flat there turned to be no hope for him Yet he clung jno»t tena,ci9Usly and obsUna'tely to «i« 4eaire j and the desire still maintained tiie jhobe, tti a stem supports the floAwer. "When Jenny left liim that day she was pleased to believe that he Avas mora- composed." ; And he w«s. It avos nob, hoAvever, the'composure of patient and Christian re•igniitionV but the composure of resolution. m had shut his mouth hard, choked back ins passion of revolt, and told himself that •"howling" about his trouble Avas absurd waste of effort; he must do something, ana he was in all the better spirits about doing aronething that he had long believed Friday ■to be fur him a lucky day. ' He looked around him at the white featureless Avails, and at the solid door, and -then,' as often before, he lilted his eyes to his barred windoAV—which was truly not a window at all, but merely a<n opening to admit light and air. It was too high and too deep set for him to sea anything through it" but v scrap of dull sky divided into nieagreTstrips.' by the bars. As he had done before, he mounted on his little table and then on his stool, aaid craned his neck to look out. The fresh air caressed hia cheek and increased his longing to be free. He pressed hig head this way and that into the opening, but he could see no more than befor&T-9xcept-r-ye3, except^the straight wires, Tike fine lines ruled upon paper for music, well overhead. Before he could deseuhd without, being noted his cell door opened, aild there entered the Governor of the prison ivith another gentleman. '' You eiinlt see nruch from there," said •the Governor quietly. " Nothing but telegraph Avires 1, sir," answered Will, standing on the floor. "Telephone, I believe," said the Governor; "but it doesn't matter." He spoke quite kindly. 'He.and..WriThad held several irien«fly. conversations, for lie was an ex«nicer of the li'imy, and he wrote booka about prison- life. .*" I have brought to see you," he contmued, " an old friend of mine -r-Captain Cathcart. Avho thinks he remembers'you in India." ' " I have been Avith my regiment in India," answered .Will, looking at the stranger—a, spare; tullish man, with a, heavy cavalry .moustache. "You Avere Avith the Kabul-Kandahar TS\eid. Force <ff Roberts? There was. a Sergeant Lomas, a Lancer in the Cavalry Brigade," said Captain Cathcarfc immediately. The. words went off Avith a spring, as if they ihod been Avaiting to be let loose. " Yes, sir," said WUl> his eye brightenJng; "I was. That avus me." " After the baltle of Kandahar, in the pursuit, aii officer.of the Indian Cavalry had hia horse shot under him in crossing a stream; AVhen he was struggling ia the "Water a Grhazi came hacking ut his head; you struck the Ghazi with your lance, and ' Muled the officer up on your saddle." "Yes, sir," said Will; "I remember." ' " That officer Avas me," said Captain Cath"Holding out his hand. " SomehoAV 1 'ne/yer met yoli to thank you." " Our regiments, sir, were marched back ty India separately," said Will. ■ " And r^e rieyer met you till now—amd ' he.ra'l" said Captain Cathcart, shaking him of the hand. 4 "' "It's riot mv fault that I'm here—l do asisure'you^ sir!" said Will. "It's a mistake, sir !*' he added AVith passionate energy. " I ■fceg you to believe it!" ' \ *' "Well, I .will believe it!" said the Captain, in quick, sympathetic response : " for the sake of coihradeship!—though, I believe i»ny man might be excused for knocking (jlowtti the biute Kesteveii!" ''I^ie Governor, "who had listened continuously, turning his eyes, as they Avinked, from the one to thY other, shook his head, as if he AA'ould say, " You should not have that." •Vjph?" said the Captain, noting him for a nupment. "Well, I don't know; but I , thinly pome men are better dead. Now, Lomas," he added, biislily, "Avhat I want to g^yl-.-wrhat I.came to say—is-."Can't I do . anyisUPg f°r y°u? Detectives? La-Avyers? lAny thing? 1' "I o!ai very much obliged to you, sir," said , |oTill. '*' |lyt "r^-aiid he smiled, a sick kind of f smile A3 he said*'it^-" I'm qUit^ supplied tfith. all I need in tka woy of lawyers, ana

the rest of 'em. They all say it's an awkward, ugly case — made np of circumstantial evidence. But they bid me hope all the same. Humpb !" "And you dom/t hope 1 much ? You d,on't think you've much chance of getting off?" " What, sir?" cried Will, in bitter passion.. "With fools to give evidence and idiots to try you?" "It's pretty bad," said the Captain, "if you feel and think like that." Then the Governor declared genially that there was thily no reason but " prison depression " for feeling and thinking like that ; and thus they talked to and fro for some minutes more. At last, when turning to depart, the Captain surprised both' his friends and the prisoner by producing a little book from his pocket. " May I," said he to the Governor, " give this to Lomas to read?" "Well," said the- Governor, "I daresay you may. But it is my duty to look at it .first. What is the book ?" He held out his vhand. • "' The Memoirs «>f Colonel Gardiner,''" said the Captain, while his friend the Governor looked at him as though he would say, " Well, you are a. fellow ! Fancy you presenting a book like that!" . *' He took the book— a small, slim vplume bound, in calf^-ran the pages under his thumb, noted it contained an old-fashioned silk book-mark, and handed it back. It seemed quite harmless— an old-fashioned book with an old-fashioned bookmark. The Captain passed i'fe to Will Lomas. "I. hope," said he, "you'll find it a good 1 book." "Thank you, Captain," said he, and took i*. Then the Governor and his friend depart- j ed, and Will sat down to look at the book witih some curiosity. He discovered that Colonel Gardiner was a. godly officer of dragoons who lived' more than a hundred and fifty years ago. and? 'that his "Memoirs" were not made tip of warlike adventures, but of religious experiences. He shut the book, wondering why Captain Cat heart had given ib ito him. He had not imagined that the Captain — well, was that kind of fellow. He lay down for a littje' While, despondent and thoughtful, and still wondering. And, as 'he Wondered* he slept and dreamed. Pro- | J>ably the few sentences he had read of Colonel Gardiner had brought memories of the Bible into his head. He <lf earned that Peter the Apostle was in t prison ;. but suddenly he felt , by the constriction of his hea,rt and his Badness that Peter was himself. And there came an angel in a great dazzling clow of light, and lo and behold ! the angel was his" own Jenny!— his own sweetheart !— liis wife so early afflicted in her married life! And when he knew her, he thought 'that he wept and sobbed — he scarce knew why, except because of the prevailing disappointment and woe of hi* life ! But the angel— that "is, Jenny— beckoned hjm> .to rise, and he rose. ' She passed through the cell door as* if it did not exist, and he confidently followed her. Oh, what joy! — what hope!— was leading him on! Down the corridor she passed, and he followed.. Here and there they came upon a warder, who stood like a graven image against "the Avail, lifeless or unheeding. Across the quadrangle the shining, heavenly apparition moved, and he followed— out to •the, great, spike-toppe,d gate, and through without its being opened. Then in , the street there wa9 ,a raging, roaring crowd ; ibis vision .vanished, and he woke, trembling with excitement. A noise' from the outside was in his ear-*, and the light of the westering sun pouring through his barred window flooded his eyes. He sat up. It took some seconds' thought to- britng him to himself. His dream had disturbed and excited him to an extraordinary degree. Had it any meaning? Was ib a proini-e of escape? Was it absurd to think that it might ba? He took it in his hand again— the little book Captain Cathcart had given him, wondering anew Avhy the present had been made. He slowly turned over the leaves without reading. He came upon the silk book-mark. He upted there Avere some faint- pencil jottinga on the margin of the page t they Avere made tolerably plain >by the sunlight falling on them. "After dark," he read, "tie this to the end of the silk and 'throw it out of window." " The silk." What silk?. He examined the book-mark, and' found it was a hank of silk tliTead ; and it 1 * purpose, and the meaning of the Captain's present, dawned upon him.