THANKS FOR PUBLISHING HAIR FORMULA.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10106, 18 March 1911, Page 2

THANKS FOR PUBLISHING HAIR FORMULA.

REMARKABLE RESULTS DESCRIBED BY READER,

Dear Editor,—l want to thank you for the remarkable results I have secured by iising the hair formula which appeared in a recent issue of your valuable paper. As directed, I went to my chemist and had him put up 3oz Bay Rum, loz Lavona do Composee, and i dram Menthol Crystals. He told me that this preparation was unequalled for hair and scalp troubles, but I did not look for the astonishing benefits which followed. For a long time I had been troubled with dandruff and falling hair, and my hair had become so thin and lifeless that I feared I would become completely bald. I applied the tonic twice a day, rubbing it into the scalp with the finger-tips, and you can imagine my delight when at the end of the third day I found that the dandruff and scalp itching had completely disappeared; within two weeks the falhng-out had entirely ceased, and now at the end of eight weeks the thin places are covered with a thick growth of new hair nearly six inches long. For the benefit of others who suffer as I once suffered I would suggest that you publish the formula again. The preparation was also used by mv husband, who was not only delighted with its refreshing and invigorating effect on the scalp, but says "rfc is the best hair tonic he has ever used." Gratefully yours. TINA H. PRATT. NOTE.— The formula mentioned in the above letter was published some time ago. Readers are cautioned to avoid applying it where hair is not desired. 317

ding them all attend. Aunt Mirabel had orders to prepare a feast of Gargantuan dimensions, Dick Carlyn was determined 'to give his hospitable taste full rein.

Tommy came home to Sylvester Terrace full of the news. The old clerk, grown garrulous of late, took a delight in the details that to Priscilla seemed childish. She did not understand that men and women older grown snatch at trifles, eager of diversion from the grini tragedy of life and its twin brother, death. " It will be a magnificent affair, Priscilla, my dear. .The gentlemen in the office are. full of it. I am told at least two cases of champagne-mag-nums, Priscilla, will be opened; wino will now like water, and the flowers will be a sight.' You are to come with me, my dear; Mr Carlyn, unfailing in his kindness and courtesy, told us to bring our ladies with us. You must have a new dress, my dear, and wear a flower." His kind face beamed, his faded eyes brightened. Priscilla was filled, with wonder at his delight. " It will be a grand evening, my dear," he said, and talked at length about the entertainment. To Priscilla it seemed that time had never lagged so slow. She longed to be upstairs in Monty's attic, watching and hoping for a renewal of the consciousness that had flickered up in him the night before. Dinner dragged interminably. Tommy sat late over his flass of weak whisky and water, and oan kept him company. She had been going out of, late with Hagon. Theatres, suppers, taxis had been the rule] she was acquiring a

taste for expensive restaurants that ■would haTe astonished the simple folk at Dewlay. That evening, however, the typist devoted to the congenial task of designing a new gown for the reception at Connaucht Square,. She listened to Tommy's drowsy reflections, her mind fixed on white chiffon, cream satin, and lace. She—not. Miss Carlyn—would ba the heroine of the occasion. With, an instinct for the dramatic she decided to launch the bombshell that was to separate Hugh from Dolores at tha eleventh hour. And the scene for the explosion was Gonnaught Square. It 'was eleven o'clock when, her boarders, finally settled in their rooms. Priscilla stole up to the attic. The last two weeks had tried her courage and her strength. It needed all her ingenuity to make ends meet. Sam s appetite was large, if not fastidious, and Monty had need of delicacies and nourishing food. For the first time her heart sank as she watched his face. "He has not spoken since last night, SamP" " Neber a word, missie. ' "I wonder," her eyes filled with tears, "if ho will ever be like himself again?" " be all right if him waked up." The black face, made beautiful in Priscilla's eyes by long and faithful service, looked eager. "If we could wake him." She took his hand, the long, thin fingers closed en hers, the brown eyes opened with a smile. The lame girl's heart gave a sudden leap. He knew her, felt her presence, was glad that she was there." Surely, by reason of her infinite love and

patience he -would recover. And then -^thoii —she permitted herself to look over the walls of an enchanted garden, while Monty, her hero, her beloved, clasped her in his arms and whispered wonderful, beautiful tilings. For a -inoment it was given her to forget; the next remembrance pierced her through, and through. She was lame, piteously deformed, she was shut out from Lovo's Garden. She must content herself with making smooth the way for others happier far than she. Stooping, she kissed his forehead. While Tie was weak and ailing he was hers. She almost grudged his return to health 1 'He stirred at hor touch; then in a 35W SToiee uttered, a name that set Priscilla's blood aflame. "Dolores!" \ If you could have heard the longing, the entreaty of his voice! So _ might a traveller in a thirsty land, dying for ■prater, cry out in despair. "Dolores!" Tho lame girl fell upon her knees beside the bed and put her hands up to her ears. . She would not hear, she would not listen. She knew, she felt with an unerring instinct, that Dolores and the hope of meeting her alone could call him back to life. In Priscilla's hands lay the choice—the ohoice tlutt would keep him for over from that other woman or give hira up to her. To and fro,, to and fro the slight figure swayed in an ecstacy of sufrerinfi. ■ , . "Let me keep him just . a little longer l" her iips moved in a halfarturulate prayer "Oh, God, let him be with me just a little longer!" She had but to keep silence, put from her the conviction that only through Dolores would he regain health, and in a matter of ten days between him and the woman he loved a greai gulf would bo set. Why should she hesitate? Why should she put the knife through her own heart? " Dolores 1" She shivered, sinking wearily to the floor. And then across the span of years came the remembrance of a certain summer afteimoon, on the lawn under the great elm tree sat Tommy. • youth with dreamy eyes and a sweet mouth by his side. A little child toddled near them, listening with greedy ears to what the old man said. "And so the. knight set the lady's favour on his lance, her picture next his heart, and swore to lovo her always for his honour's sake. And the lady took a like vow. And the knight fell sick and was tended by a beautiful damsel who ' did falsely toll him that his love was dead, and tempted him to break his vows. And when he was come to himself again ho learnt the trick that she had played, and he arose and went from the place, and never saw her face.again. For in those days love was not lightly to be given nor easily cast aside." •And he never saw her face again 1 Priscilla gripped hor hands tightly together, dragged herself to her feet and sat by Monty's side. "I've a message to give you from Dolores," she said slowly, fixing .her eyes on his. " She needs you, she is in trouble, and wants your help." 'Many times she repeated the words, and at • last a gleam of intelligence stirred his face, bringing a fleeting glimpse of the old fascinating Monty, who won all hearts and bound them to his own ;

. ;Lovo had taught her the ,way; .for love's sake she constrained her -own poor quivering lips in prayer that he might! come back to hie old self and to Dolores.

' Somehow it did not seem strange to her a3 ehe-lifted her head, to find Tommy standing in the doorway. Hq asked no questions, expressed no surprise, all emotions were swept aside by the overwhelming tidd of joy and thankfulness that welled ujj within hinii There was a radiance in the faded eyes that made Priseilla, catch her breath and prepared her for his cry. '-My boy, my boy, my own dear son that is alive again." The world was changed to him. From his kind old face a seore of years had been swept. His hande trembled with delight, he kissed poor Monty's fingers, as a mother kisses her baby's hands for sheer love of their touoh. Later, when he had came to earth again, Priseilla explained how and when Monty had arrived. She excused herself for not telling him before, but the old man would not listen.

"You were quite right, my dear. I am an old fool, Priseilla, a presumptuous old* fool. But I thank you, I bless you from the bottom of my heart." He did not question her authority in the conduct ef Monty's affairs. He accepted her instructions witii a humility that brought a sting of shame to her cheek.

" Whatever you think is right, my dear, I'll do. My life couicbrt repayyou, Priscilla, but it's youufe, my dear, it's yours." i He agreed -with hay that nothing Bhould be said at the office of Monty's return, but was inclined to think Dolorea ought immediately to be informed. "If you tell her, you tell everyone, Tommy. We must wait till he'is better. There's no knowing what Foster would do. He is a dreadful man."

i " Dreadful indeed," said Tommy, his noft heart stirred to a desire for vengeance. "I—l should kill him, .my dear." "We'll ruin him, that's better. If only Monty can get ■mell in. time !" He stayed the niglft with his son, but patiently set off for the office at his usual hour next morning, in company ,with Joan. A simple old maiv, some might think a foolish one, to trust his dear son's future in a girl's small hands. But then Tommy's wisdom was rot of this world; he was not of those who lay treasure up on earth. i The days passedall too quick for Priscilla, fighting against time for Monty's pake. For Hugh the hours were leaden, footed, lagging painfully, it seemed centuries before his wedding day. i His mother, a gentle old lady, arrived the night before Oarlyn's reception. She believed that Hugh was the freatest man of his century, and dently looked forward to seeing him at the head of the State.

t _ She was not at all elated at bis marriage.' She would havo thought ■a Princess Royal lit mate for him ; liis (partner's daughter would make a suit'abje but by no means a distinguished strife!

' Hugh did not tell her Dolores was to (him the one woman in the world ho •wanted.' Chary of his words as nf his emotions, he locked up his heart, and listened while the dear old lady told him what a genius he was. i The next morning ha rose early. Even Siis iron nerve felt the strain. The Siour of his triumph was drawing ever hearer. His spirits rose at the thought. (AH things were arranged, every posfe&W contingency provided for. The passages to Africa were booked: the iteamer was sailing a week after the Redding. i He had nothing to fear, he told himjnelf a thousand times a day.

I And yet he was conscious of a premonition of 'danger. At any moment .the. sword of Damocles might fall; itruth, fully armed', leap at his throat. I Where was Mtfnty? What had happened, to Black Sam ? ) He had seen his detectives, and urged /them, on to greater efforts. The fugitives, it was reported, had left the lodgings in Waterloo midge Road—but could not.be traced. ) The evening of the reception, Hugh returned home to dress, and found a telegram awaiting him. He had had a •busy day arranging the detail's of his part in the morrow's ceremony. It gave him a thrill to remember it was the •last tii«3 he should return to the old lodging. To-morrow he would be with

Dolores—Dolores, his wife.—till death did them part. He opened the telegram—the room went spinning before nis eyes, there was a crash as of thunder in his ears. Monty Savile had been traced to Sylvester Terrace, and at any moment might see Dolores I And the next day was his wedding 1

CHAPTER XXI. A FIGHTING CHAKCK. Hugh was always quick on the trigger when the time came to, shoot. He tore the telegram m pieces, and for a moment stared into space. Then he went on dressing, adjusting his tie with his usual fastidious care, flicking away imaginary speaks of dust from his well-fitting clothes. He was a goodly specimen, his mother thought, as he presented himself before her. "You look oh arming, mother." He kissed, her cheek, soft rose tinted for all her fifty years. "I'm clad you're pleased, my boy," her silk skirt of a pale shade of a grey rustled -with delight. Se had ventured to pin a rosebud in hir lace fichu, and, hoped Hugh would not think it out of place!

1 m. obliged to see a man on business before I go to Oonnaught Square, mother. I am very sorry, but you'll have to start without me. Aunt Mirabel will welcome you and Delores." "As you lik« ; my dear," she sighed a little, but checked her disappointment.

' I'll send a taxi for you, mother." " You're very good to me, my son." She put her hancTupon his arm, gazing up into his face with the look of admiring wonder that at times shines in a mothers -eyes' when she beholds the tiny specimen of babyhood, not such a long time back hold in her arms, grown to man's estate. He stooped and kissed her fondly, patting her shoulder with a caressing gesture familiar to her from his earliest boyhood. , " Tell Dolores I shall be with her as soon as possible, mother. Keep with her, dear, till*l come, as much as you can."

"Yes, my hoy." She always fetf in with his views, and obeyed his requests without question or comment . " Wish me luck, mother," ho said eagerly, stirred to an unwonted softness, "wish me lack."

Her parting words rang in his ears, and stiffened his purpose. He 'phoned up Maloney's agency from the nearest offioe. "Are you there? It's Foster speaking. Any news from Sylvester Terrace? You say Savile and his men have been there two weeks or more You believe nobody knows it. outside the house? What? No one in the house except a lame ginl—the landlady's daughter. Hold the line a moment, please, I must think." He paused, and a thousand schemes rushed through his brain. He was not done yet, by many rounds The game was in his hands I A sick man, with only an ignorant black and a lame girl t > help him! "You there, .Maloney? What's the motive for keeping, it dark? What's that? She has an idea of getting him to Connaught Square to-mght.—How do you know?— The black man been talking Throwing out mysterious I suppose, the usual yarn about enemies.—Hold, on Maloney.—Listen for your life.—Have you reliable men on the watoh? That's good; two of 'em? Send down another two l , put a couple outside the house, the others, at the top of the rpad, and, wait a minute, draft three more to Connaught Square—l'll toll you diroctly what they are to must bo clever and discreet men of their hands, you understand— Is Savillo better?— The black man said ho was getting on fine. That means, I suppose, he can put one foot before the other. He must be a fool all the same not to have sent a wire or telephone message to our friends—What? Off his head!" . He dropped his receiver, choking back a cry of delight. " See here, Maloney, if this job goes through I'll pay you a thousand —On the nail? Of- course. I'll send you a cheque for two hundred and fifty ■ now and the balance tomorrow. At all costs, you understand, at. all costs Savile and the black man *must be kept away from Oonnaught Square, until to-morrow—Stick at nothing, Maloney—you can trust your men to be on the right side of the "law. Remember, whatever is done they must be kept away.—You want five hundred whether you do it or not? You shall have it; rf it goes through there's another five, and it must go through," he paused, a:id for a moment his eyes grew strained.

It was seven o'clock. The reception commenced at seven-thirty. He rang up the detective once more, hut the chief of the agency was not available. He waited a quarter of an hour, waited until he' felt stifled l in the box, and louged in his nervous irritation to smash the glass. Would Makmey never ring him up? He watched the little instrument, face's messenger of modern days, that has so often brouglub the news of death and disaster, and bit his lips in. his anxiety.

At last tho ting of the bell broke the hot silence. " Any news? You've sent off the men?— Good. Reports from the spot say that Thomson has left?—No cause for anxiety then.—l'll deal with Thomson.— Understand, Maloney, Savile must not communicate with Miss Carlyn.—She thinks he is dead—the shock of hearing from him might he fatal.— I'll ring von up again in half an hour. —And Maloney, 'phone me to Connaught Square at each move of the game.—You've a man there specially to 'phone your proceedings?— That's good; do your best," the strong voice shook, " for heaven's sake do your heat, Maloney." At the other end ©f the wire the Irishman shook his head and pursed his lips. It would be, he reflected, an easy job to tackle two men, but he would see it was an expensive one. The house in Con naught Square was ablaze with light when Hugh drove up. A stream of carriages, taxis and tho more humble hansom stretehed across the square. Pretty women in delightful gowiiß tripped up the steps and passed, into the big hall, odorous with groat white lilies, vivid with orchids, blood-red with curious snake-like blossoms. It was a brilliant scene. In the cool green drawing-room great banks of lilies flung out. a faint sweet scent, and roses red and white rioted in a splash of colour-. Dick Carlyn had surpassed himself. He invariably arranged tho programme for his entertainments, and carefully supervised all arrangements for, carrying it out/ Aunt Mirabel, an admiring and faithful satellite, dutifully saw to details, and Dolores was glad to leave things in her capable hands. Dick the debonair looked very handsome as he stood in the big room receiving his guests. There was a trace of Spanish descent in his manner, reminding one of an old-time hidalgo in the munificence of the hospitality, the perfection of the entertainment offered, to his guest*

By his side stood Dolores,. her dark eyes velvety, soft as tlis purple night. Hugh caught his breath as he saw her, ana tlio blood rushed to his head. Lovely at all times, to-night she was wonderful, unearthly almost. She wore a gown of soft gold tissue veiled with white, clinging tightly to her figure; it showed the rounded curves of her perfect arms, the contour of her throat and dimpled shoulders. Her hair; parted over her low brow, rippled in-soft waves and curls to the nape of her neck, there, to be knotted in a heavy coil. Excitement and a touch of exaltation had whipped a vivid colour to her cheeks, and at times her shadowy eyes gleamed like the jewels of heaven on a summer night. She was wearing a fine- gold chain with an emerald heart. It was Hugh's latest gift, and he flushed with pleasure at the sight of it. He contrived to snatch a moment with hor in the shadow of a convenient alcove.

"You are wonderful to-night, Dolores. There is no one like> you, sweet. I love you I Do you know that?" " I think you do." "I must convince you. Shall I swear on your lips? Then on your little hand? Ah, no, I'll swear upon this heart—my heart, Dolores, that you have for ever."

He kissed the emerald fervently. ''To-morrow, dear love, you will be my wife." ;; Yes, dear." "Tell tog you are glad.' "I am content, Hugh." She smiled at him with sweet grave eyes. There was a wistfublook on his face, a tone m his voice that touched her. She smiled at him—he was so tall and strong, so splendid. She fell a thrill of regret she could not lovt> him as he wished her to.

" If I please you, Hugh, grant m© a favour?'

"To the naif of my kingdom, beloved.

She nestled close to him like a child trying to coax a boon.

"I want to be married very quietly,' she whispered. "I can't bear the thought of a fashionable ceremony. There are no bridesmaids, Hugh. No one would be disappointed. Can't we steal off to-morrow, you and I quite early, and go to church alojie, with only a dear old verger and a pewopener to look at us?"

He caught eagerly at the suggestion. The thought of the morrow's ceremony with-its. attendant publicity and display had added to his anxiety. Dolores, poor soul, cut the knot of his difficulty. He earned her gratitude by his ready consont, and stand<ing on tiptoe she softly kissed his cheek and left -him tremulous with emotion. Onoe let him win Dolores, and he would make good all the wrong that he had done. Hs cast the vow at the foot of the god of luck, commanding rather than beseeching a blessing. Maloney would keep Savilo from the house that night, and bestow him safely in a hospital or same remote spot until after to-morrow. Dolores herself had destroyed all hope of communication the next morning. Tho ceremony was originally fixed for two—nobody would drWn of its taking place at ten!

Even if the lame girl or Tommy shouid send a wire ot 'phone Jier up, he could explain the message away. Dolores would not draw back—unless Monty himself appeared 1 He rang up Maloney and learnt that the black man had been dispatched for a four-wheejer ' fr6m the house in Sylvester Terrace, and that three of the Irishman's agents wore on hi 3 track.

Tha news was good, his heart beat high. Old Thomson meeting him in the passage, wondered at his air of triumph. He had it in him almost to feel sorry for the young man. " You're looking very well," said Hugh with.a beaming smile. ''Let mo take you to my mother. She's often heard me speak of you." His arm in the old m an ' s ) he whirled .him off to Mrs Foster, and consigned him to her care.

"Don't let him move, mother," he! said quickly. The old- clerk had gone to fetch a chair and Hugh improved the opportunity. The gentle lady looked bewildered, felt perplexed, but promised obedience. Hugh.squaued his shoulders with a gosturo of relief, and wondered if it were any us© 'phoning Maloney again. Ji'e crossed the hall,, ancl went haok into the library, a spacious room' lined with books, and furnished with writing tables and comfortable chairs.

A girl in a gown of glittering silver rose as he entered, a very pretty girl with yellow hair piled high on her dainty head, and a complexion of milk and roses.

" Why, Joan," he said, " what are you doing?" " Is it only just, now you've noticed that I'm herer" she said. Her blue eyes sparkled with tears of anger, her foot beat impatiently upon the floor. " You've passed me over so many times this evening. You came eo close you brushed my, arm with your ooat." .".Please forgive me—your gown ,13 positively dazzling!" " You did not think so when you passed me. You'd only eyes for her. And she doesn't care a scrap for you. Not a scrap. It's no use to look at me like that. It's true every ,word. You worship the ground Dolores walks on, and you don't care if I'm dead or •alive." The outburst culminated in a sob. She bit her lips and clenched her hands.

Why Hugh suddenly seized her right hand and wrested the fingers open he did not know. But like a flash he r.cented danger, and realised instinctively the girl held something'she did not wish him to se*>.

"You hurt me," she exclaimed. " Let me go!" " Not till I've seen what you're holding. I thought as much—you little vixen I"

Before his eyes lay a typewritten message on a slip of paper. "Monty Savile is'alive—and in London!"

CHAPTER XXH. FROVIDENCK AND PKJSCIiT.A,

"What are you doing? Hugh, you hurt me. Let me go." " I mean to hurt you, and T shall not let yon go until you've told me why you've done this. Yeu mean to give it to Dolores?"

"No," she faced "him stolidly. " Neither she nor you would have known it came from mo.". " A stab.in the dark, eh. Whv?" His eyes searched her face. 'What he read there sent a dark flush to his cheek.

With a gesture of distaste ho drew back—her wrists, bruised and swollen, dropped limply to her sides. "Yes," she said defiantly, " it's true' --it's true. I'm jealous! Oh, Hugh, it's killed me to see bow much you care for her. How indifferent you are to me. I'd die for you—she wouldn't lift a finger I" " .1. paid for your silence. You took my money, and have betrayed me—or tried to do so. You're a' base, bad woman. The thought of you Jills me with disgust."

"You used to care for me " ; urged to the uttermost point of humiliation she cast all her pride and reserve to the winds. " I'm no worse than you," she cried. " You're seeking to* win Dolores by a trick. I've only tried to do the same to you. Oh, Hugh, don't be so merciless. Ail my "life I've thought of nobody but you." I've treasured all your letters, all your messages. But for you I should havo been married a long time ago. You know Jack Martin cares for mo. Oh, Hugh! don't be so merciless." She was a pretty creature in lier shimmering draperies. "Oh, Hugh, don't be so hard to me. Remember I've known you all my lifo —we've played together, Hugh, and quarrelled and kissed; you can't forget all that," she sobbed, "you can't forget the garden and the old yew tree. Oh, my dear, my dear, can I help caring for you?" " You took my money." The masculine sense of justice beat aside her appeal. "You maddened me with. your, in-

difference. You put me out of your life, treated me as a machine. I didn't want the money—l could have got quite as much for the asking , from Jack. I only wanted you to love me. Don't be cruel to me, don't be harsh, to me. You'll want me yet, Hugh., you'll want my help yet." " Have you another piece of treachery prepared?" he sneered. She didn't answer, but stared at him, a touch of defiance in her blue eyea, soft'enod and beautified with tears. ;

" Anyway, there's no chance of you getting at Dolores. If she learns that Savile is alive, I shall' know you told her, and shall give information, to the police at once, as to the stolen cablegram. Also I shall tell her you concocted the etory because you care for a man who doesn't want you—who n«ver under any oiroumstanoes would want you. You wouldn't like that?"

She didn't aniswer. Crouched on a chair pushed' up in a corner, she looked a piteous and childish, figiire. Something in her attitude reminded him of an incident long years ago when Joan, accused of some childish misdemeanour of which he hadi been guilty, had suffered for him in silence. "You silly little fool!" he said. "What did you hope to do? Suppose you separated me from Dolores—what good would that have been? Don't be ridiculous, Joan, and imagine you could ever take her place with me. If you -an behave yourself, I'll be your chum, if not I'U never see you any more."

His voice was not unkind, his manner more like the Hugh of former timea.

" If you'll care for mo, I'll do anything you say," she said collapsing utterly. Hugh gazed at her in wonder. She was a clever and audacious schemer, a hard fighter—and yet ehe went down look, stock and barrel at the veriest suggestion of sentiment! What were women made of? "You'll not tell Dolores about SavileP" " No," she drew a quick breath that broke into a sob.

" There's a good girl." The new method of diplomacy coming easier with overy moment, he patted her shoulder encouragingly.

"That's like the Joan of old.times, You'll go home how, eh?"

"I can't do that." Deep in her heart "under the load of mortification and misery, hope was strong yot. A wild and forlorn hop© that somebody or something would send Dolores the news that S&vile was alive. Mandrew. at the eleventh hour might strike. Until the night was past; hope would not die.. ~■.'■■-.■'■•'• "I can't go liome." she said. "I should go mad, thinking and thinking. Let nte stay Hugh. I'll be good; I will bo -rpad "

She clung tightly to his arm, and of a- sudden the jealous hate, the thwarted passion that had resulted in treachery, lies and cruel deceit, seemed to leave her.

"Oh Hugh," sbe said, " I know you must despise me. I know you must hat© mo, but try to think a little kindly of me sometimes. You arc my world, th>> star that brought a touch of brightness into the greyness of life. You cared for me once. I thought you'd always care—and when I learnt you loved Dolores it was as if my heart turned to stone. Be kind, to me; forgive ino, Hugh!" The roar-stained Face quivering with emotion touched his.

"Ther°, there," he said, "dry your eyes and don't bo silly." He patted her shoulder—he cculd not bring himnelf to kiss her, and she thankfully accepted the caress.

He waited while she tidied her hair, powdered her faco, and restored her composure, then full of suppressed impatience, took her to tho buffet and insisted she should drink, a glass of champagne. That done, he placed her in the care of John Grimshaw, of whom she stood in lively awe, and Imrried back to the* library and the telephone. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead as he took up the receiver. The evening was a long-drawn agony. How many crises he' wondered must ho get through' before the ordeal cl6sed P

"Are you there, Maloney? What news?—l can't hear you distinctly, there's something wrong with tho lines. Eh!—what's that you say?—the black man was persuaded to have a drink, a quarrel was picked, he was knocker! down and taken to the police station? Oh ! by heavens, Maloney, that's great! More news coming through: hold the lino? Yes—yes, I'll hold it.—Hurry, for the Lord's sake, hurry!" The receiver at his ear. his.eager eyes watched the door. _Waa that, a step in the passage'' Was some, fool coming through the door? Oh, hurry, Maloney, hurry! His heart thumped, the pulse in hisi throat throbbed painfully. The ordeal of waiting was sheer physicalpain. Hurry, Maloney ! Pate hange in the baVance. A little longer keep the foe at bay. And then, then, then the prize will be won. He gave a gasping breath that was almost a cry when at last the voice spoke over the lines. He could hear Moloney's Irish accent at the other ond shouting something which the voicft at his ear repeated. "News just arrived, sir. After the black had gone for the cab the parties waited patiently for half an hour, then tho lame girl went out into the front, stood by the gate, and called to a passer-by, asking him to fetch a cab. She called to one of our men, and he took on the job. No cab to be found, he explained. Sh© sent a paper hoy next time, and seemed nevvous and agitated like. It was getting late, she said, and she had to keep an appointment. The boy got a hansuin, and cabby wouldn't be put off the, Job, so Joe Fletchor tickled up the horse when he was waiting, and the thing kicked the cab into bits. Cabby gave Fletcher in charge, and they went to the station.

•'Don't worry about that," ffucrh fairly yelled m his excitement. "I'll pay'damages and fines. Buy off the cabby, and I'll settle. What next?" "The lame girl seemed distressed, ft was past eleven and she was still waiting for a cab to take her to t.ho party. A "taxi happening to pass down th«- terrace, she hailed the driver and started to run. .Accidental like she tripped over Sandy Jones's' foot, stuck out as she passed him. She went down a cropper, hurt herself cruel, and had trouble to crawl back." "Servo her right!" Hugh's voicewas savage. st Has Savilo showed himself yet?" There was a silence for a moment. Then once more the voice took up the strain. " Not a souJi hag fdaojvu except the

lame party. News just come through that tiie' front door is still shut. No one seen or heard of him. Maloney's suspicious as to what they're after. told the men to get into th© house and see.—Ring off, mister. Our man's 'phoning up the exchange." The voice ceased, the silence was oppressive. Hugh's "heart sickened with feax. What had happened in that silent house with the shut doorP Bab. I what could happen? What could a sick man hardly eane—accomplish, and a la/ne gin? He laughed, and, squared his shoulders with relief. Nothing could happen—nothing.

The clock struck twelve. In another hour the guests would commence to depart. His ordeal would be over.

A fierce longing for Dolores assailed him. He hungered for the touch of her. Fear still tugffed at his heart—fear that only the clasp of her hand, the pressure of her warm red lips, could drive away. She was not in the crowded recep-tion-room, though a Polish, violinist of world-wide fame and a profusion of dark hair was playing her favourite nocturne, and the supper-room knew her not. He discovered her in an alcove talking to Grimshaw. Old John had sought her out some half-hour previously. "You are happy, Dolores?" the old man said, and the wistfulness in his voice told only' a part of his longing for assurance. The last days had been troublous to the senior partner, and had traced lines on his face and on his heart that he would never outlive. He bad committed his firm to a risky course for the sake of Oarlyn, his partner and Dolores 3 father. Dolores' father I That sealed his lips and kept him from reproaohing Dick, the debonair. He would wait till Dolores was married before he spoke. Then, when his darling's future was settled he would indict the prodigal and send him from the business never to return. "You are happy, Dolores?"

She leant against his arm. • " Oh-. Uncle Johnnie," she said, softly, " I can't say. Sometimes I think we only know that we've been happy when it is too late. I thought I was the most miserable,woman alive, eating ray heart out for news of Monty. Now I know that I was happy—happy, indeed, to think lie was alive. When I first heard that he was dead. Uncle Johnnie, it was as if my soul had been torn from my body. I know now I was happier oven in the knowledge of his death than at.this moment, when I realise that to-morrow I am going to be married. I don't mean, Lncle Johnnie, ■ that Hugh is hateful, to mo. lam foud of Hugh. But—but," sho put her hands up to her heart, "life is so hard, so difficult. If I only knew just what was right. I long to live alone—alone, Uncle Johnnie, except for you and father and Aunt Mirabel. But I am told I ought to marry, for the firm's sake, for my father's sake—for Hugh's. And I have yielded—given up the one thing loft for me to do for sake. 0 I Uncle Johnnie, when poor Thomson told me he felt Monty was alive a wild hope sprang up within my heart. It's been dying ever since," she said, "dying ever since, and to-night—to-night it will be dead!" '

"My dear, dear child, if, you feel like that it's not too late," he said vaguely. "If you wish I'll speak to Hugh-—"

" Oh, nOj no, Uncle Johnnie, you mustn't say a word. And please don't think I'm miserable. lam very fond of Hugh, and later, later, I shall laugh at what I feel to-night. I couldn't speak to anyone but you, Uncle Johnnie," she said wistfully. "And it's the last time I can speak so to you. You see, some women are'born to constancy. It's part of them. They can love but once. And it hurts ov'en to think of a new love in the place of the old. But I'm hot miserable. And I'm very fond of Hugh." She smiled at the old man and kissed' him. All the same he felt a twinge when Hugh claimed her, a tired look on his handsome face and a strain about the mouth, and eyes. " Dolores, speak to me a minute. I want you, he led her into a little room where she used to work or read in the old days and build wonderful castles in Spain. " 1 don't seom to he able to get near you. Oh, how I hate these people. Every one of them. I'm longing for von, Dolores, aching for your touch. Tell me you love me—say one kind word to me, my sweet."

He took her in his arms, and kissed her fiercely. She did not Repulse him, but lay passively in his arms. "You love me, DoloresP"

" Indeed I'm very fond of you/*" she answered.

"No more?" The anguish in his voice hurt. her. ',' If you know how I want your love!" " Indeed, my dear, I wish I cared for you as you for mo. You must he patient, Hugh. To-morrow," she caught her breath, "wo shall be married. Don't grudge me my friends to-night." " I grudge you nothing, sweet; so you wall love mo."

He strained her to his heart again, and pressed his lips on. hers. And at her touch the brooding fear left his heart. She wa,s his, now and for ever. None could take her from him.

A sick man—a lame girl? He laughed and hurried down the stairs back to the telephone. He had to wait some minutes for the answer, and in tho siknice the clock droned out tho half hour. There was a Btir in the hall, the swish of silken skirts, the mumur of well-bred voices. Already tho guests were beginning to leave. Suspense long drawn out would shortly end. " Are you thare? Yes, it's Foster. What news?"

The voice answered him slowly, almost with a drawl, as if tho 'words were forced against their will to crawl over the line.

'■' Our men got into the house—through a window. Everything quiet -—not a soul to be seen or hoard—lionse searched, from roof to basement. Nobody there, lame girl and Savilo gone —birds flown.'' " Gone" the agony in his voice ra«pod. "You fool, yon fool, how can they have gone?" '•They have gone, all the same-," came the rejoinder. "How? Where?" The answer came slowly. "The punt is missing iVem the bottom of the garden. It's supposed they got off by the river at least an hour ago." Tho voice stopped—Alalonoy's office- had rung off; the connection was concluded. A slight noise bohind him brought him swiftly round. Priscilla, tho lame girl, was staving at him from tho door!

jCEsi be, concluded next week.)