[COPTRIGHT.] MIGHT VERSUS RIGHT. [TWO INSTALMENTS APPEAR IN THIS DAY'S ISSUE.]

Tuapeka Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 4251, 22 June 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

[COPTRIGHT.] MIGHT VERSUS RIGHT. [TWO INSTALMENTS APPEAR IN THIS DAY'S ISSUE.]

BY JULIA MACK, Author of " Th' Boggart 0' W Mill," " QUn> Gordon," <$"<\ Chaptee XIX. TSTjo steals my parse, steals trash . . , But he th«t filches from me my good nam* Eodb me of that which not enriches Mud, But makes me poor indeed 1 * — Shaxespiabe. placeSuLri HeilST 1 *** Btandwt *** REMEMBER ? Ah, yes ! Elsie's father j|\ was in no danger 6f forgetting her message; but to deliver it kindly ivas another matter ; in fact, to deliver |ib at all was not easy. The Vicar spent hours in planning how best he could fulfil his promise without alluding directly fco Elsie; for that this iniquitous young man should guess her feelings for him was too dreadful to contemplate. Such plans are rarely of any practical value. When the Vicar found himself face to face with Frank Armitage, he speedily discovered that his carefully prepared speeches would be of no use to him. It is not easy to address a mau as a criminal who receives you with the dignity of a young prince, and looks you fall in the face, as though he had no cause at all to dread what you might say. .n, Mr. Vere felt embarrassed, and thought it best to ask Frank to tell him the story i'roni his point of view, hoping therein jto find some peg upon whicn to hang his discourse. ».•-•-(* 'f,Tcs»»- v ! In vain. Frank's account was word for iword the same as that Mr. Vere had jheard from Mr. Dodd. ■&. There was no j quibble; no attempt at evasion, nor any ■apparent desire to enlist the sympathy of his heaver. - He spoke gravely, coldly, .dispassionately; almost, so Mr. Vere thought, as if the case were that of some one else — some stranger in whose jf ate he felt no special interest. f "I am glad to hear your own statement," c said Mr. : Vere, cautiously, i "There are usually two sides to every ;• " Hardly, in this case," replied Frank, proudly. "You have no doubt heard a correct version." ; i "You acknowledge then " began Mr. Vere, eagerly. "Acknowledge myself a thief*?" interrupted Frank, firing- up. "No thank you ! I admit my folly in being so easily trapped, otherwisevl have done no wrong. However," he added, more calmly, " I blame no one for thinking me guilty ; the evidence is all againstme." . . „ - "No man should be convicted upon circumstantial evidence only," said- Mr. Vere, gravely. * "It- is enough for most people," responded Frank. -*■ '«^ .«» ■ " Not so. "At least, not in this case,' 1 answered the Vicar, earnestly. "Had your character proved trustwotthy in other respects, this charge would not iiave found such ready credence." Frank controlled himself with an effort. "My character ? " he repeated, quietly. "May I ask you, Mr. Vere, if you ever took the trouble to prove one of the charges made against me? " "Well, 1 cannot say I have, personally," said the Vicar, a little consciencestricken; "but I heard, on very good authority, that your conduct was not such as I could approve." " Exactly. And no doubt your • good authority' was equally content to accept the rumour without questioning its truth." . Mr. Vere drew himself up. " I think your language" is unbecoming," he said, icily. "Unbecoming in a criminal, you, mean," said Frank, bitterly. "Humble 1 penitence is the correct thing, I suppose; but, unfortunately, I do not find it easy to play the role assigned to me by those who called themselves my friends. Mr. Vere, it does not appear difficult to acquiesce calmly and dispassionately in the ruin of a fellow-ci-eature; but if the man ruined were yourself, you, too, might be tempted to speak unbecomingly." Mr. Vere was silent. The matter had not appeared to him in this light before, and his conscience smote him for lack of ' charity. What if this man should be innocent, after all ? 1 "God knows I would gladly believe you innocent, if I could," he said, looking searchingly at the troubled face before him. "Frank Armitage t the ■wisest of men are prone to error, but God sees the heart ; He never mistakes. If you are guilty, you deserve punishjinent; if innocent, He will- prove your linnocence. Your cause is safe in His hands." ■ "So my mother tells me," replied Frank, gloomily. "The thought comforts her, for which I am thankful;" "It does not comfort you ? " said the 1 Vicar. ! " No. You say, *God defends the right, and you bring forward te^ts of [Scripture to prove it. I do" not wish to be irreverent ; God forbid ! All I say is, what does practical everyday life prove ? In to-day's paper, I see an. account of a man who has suffeyej} fifteen ,years' "penal servitude — unjustly. Evijaence was against him and. he was condemned. And now the real criminal on ilis deathbed confesses, and the injured •man is pardoned— pardoned for a crime he never committed. Mr. Vere, it would be more merciful if they had shot him instead of releasing him. The world has forgotten him ; his place in life is filled by another; those he loved best are dead- he is dead himself to all intents and purposes. Is this God's justice to the innocent ? " I Mr. Vere looked distressed. I "You are arguing from a case of which you know only the outline. Possibly the man of whom you speak could tell you how wonderfully God has dealt ■with him during those fifteen years' of trial. He may have needed the discipline, we cannot tell. Of one thing we may be very sure : God did not leave him to bear his burden alone ; every step of the painful way Sis hand has led and ,upheld him. Why so bitter an ordeal was appointed, he perhaps will not fully understand till he has passed beyond, the veil and stands in the full li<*Ht of G od's presence." j* Frank sighed. Not for him was this consolation. Doubtless God would support His children in the h^our of trial"; but he had no right to look for a Father's help. "You, at least, have no such trial before you," continued Mr. Vere. "I^ understand that Mr. Dodd does not. intend to prosecute." 1 " No. As usual, he is good and kind ; but, if it were not for my mother, I would insist upon a trial. Hopeless as the case appears to me, a lawyer might have bee.n able to sift out the truth. Butit caripot be; the anxiety and distress of a public trial would kill my dear little mother; for her sake I accept Mr. Dodd's kindness. For my*self it only makes ruin more inevitable. ' "I don't see that," said the Vicar.

innocence was growing upon mm. liad it n6t been for Jjjlsie hp would, ere tliis, have thrown himself heart and soul into his cause. "Mr. Vere you are one of the most charitable of nien —usually "—the Vicar ■winced — " but even you would not engage a servant who was accused of stealing his last master's spoons. Even if there were a doubt on the subject, you would prefer not running the risk. Quite right too. Do you see how this le-Js against a man who is trying to retrieve a lost character ? It may have "W*»n unjustly lost — what of that ? the .iw-.lt is the same as if he were guilty. A man had better lose his life than his character." "Don't say that, Armitage," said Mr. Vere, his tender heart touched by the despair of these words. " While there is life there is hope, you knovy. Things look dark now, I allow ; but, believe me, the world is not so hard-hearted as you think. You must not imagine that no one believes in your innocence. I assure you my daughter Elsie is — indeed, we are all distressed " He stopped in confusion; for Frank's face had suddenly grown pale as death. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. "Elsie! Elsie!" he said, brokenly; " she knows it — she believes me — guilty?" Alas ! for all stoical resolutions : the man conquered the father. The softhearted Vicar cast prudence to the winds, and obeyed his own compassionate impulse. "No, my dear fellow," he said, laying his hand upon Frank's bowed shoulders ; "on the contrary, she believes you innocent. She bade me tell you that she had never credited the reports about you ; neither does she now believe in your guilt." What a transformed face was that which emerged from the clasped hands ! what ecstasy in the grey eyes! what a proud smile on the lips, which had been so set and stern ! The impetuous Vicar was at once thrown back into a state of hesitation and repentance, and strove to regain his lost. "ground. , "I hope you will understand," he began, nervously, "that this message would never have been sent had my daughter been in her usual health. She is very ill, and everything excites her. Tou will remember that she always was attached •to your • mother, and she naturally, felt much for her. I suppose —a— it occurred to her that — a— this assurance of confidence would be some little comfort to her." -* } The Vicar was not used to telling fibs, and did it very badly, stumbling over his words in a ruinous manner. Frank could , have laughed iv the sudden joy of his. heart. j "I see, Mr. Vere," he said, drawing himself upwith a bright, manly look andsmile, "which again melted the Vicar. " I see, you are afraid I shall take advantage 1 of this sweet message from your daughj ter ; but you need not fear. Do nob , grudge me this ray of comfort ; I shall carry these words with me into the cold, hard world, and- they will keep me from despair. Mr. Vere, I will not try to hide j ifrom you that I love your daughter ; but i j I give you my word of honour that she j shall never- know it unless I can come to ! her with an unsullied reputation. Tou j perhaps do not think my honour is worth . much." " I do," declared Mr. Vere, impulsively, his last scruples vanishing. "I trust you implicitly, and I feel convinced 'that your name will be cleared some day." " I do not see how," said Frank, sadly ; " there is but one way in which it can be, and you may. judge how unlikely that is." " You mean by- Sam Dodd's con- , f ession P " answered Mr. Vere, in a lowvoice. Frank made a gesture of assent, but did not reply, " What could be his motive P J> askedthe Vicar ; "he did not want money." "He* wanted- something more- than , money," returned Frank, gravely. " Mr. Vere, only to my mother have I spoken openly of what lies at the root of- this matter, and she will never talk a*iout it; you will be equally, prudent. I daresay it never occurred to you that Sam Dodd and I -were rivals. We both love your daughter ; whether she knew of. my love I cannot say, but Sam- knew. He hated me, even when he had* apparently, succeeded in, winning her for his wife. He plotted- my- ruin. If you- care to sift the matter, yon will find that he was the author- of> all' those injurious reports. You will easily understand why he has now blasted* my life." "I- see ! I see ! " cried. Mr. Vere, much distressed; "but, my dear Armitage, this, is. not a thing which ought to De concealed. You, know it is the absence of any, possible motive on Sam Dodd's' part which has told, so heavily, against ypu." ; "I am.sorr.y you look at the matter in that light, Mr. Vere. Surely you must see how impossible it would be for us to allow your daughter's name to be bandied about, and her feelings speculated upon, by .every ruffian who chose to discuss the subject. Besides, what difference ' would it make? I cannot prove Sam's ! villainy, although I am morally sure of* j it. The world judges by facts, and the facts are all dead against me." / ; " Perhaps you.are right/ returned, the Vicar, uneasily ; "I am grateful for ypur forbearance, but I shall bind myselfi by no promise. If I ccc cause or reasonable hope that by speaking I, can serve you, I shall certainiyt conceal nothing." At this moment Bertie came runningtoward* the. cottage, without his hat. B^oth men went out to meet him. "Father," said the boy, hurriedly, "please come home directly. Elsie is much worse." "Mr, Vere," said Frank, anxiously, "do allow me to go for Dr. Grey. I know yob do not favour doctors at the Vicarage, but I am sure you ought to have advice, and Grey is. very clever." " Come on to the Vicarage," said- Mr. Vere ; "if there is need you shall go." "Is father mad?" thought Bertie; " but, of course, he does not know of this fellow's daring to make up to Elsie." AiTived at the Vicarage, Mr. Vere ranhastily upstairs. Even, before he reached the room lie heard Elsie speaking rapidly, in a thick, unnatural voice. She took no notice of him when he entered, but went on talking- to Mary. j "If father would come, he would take care of me,, and I should- not be so fright- 1 ened. Oh, those dreadful, eyes!— oh, do send for father! Why doesn't he come?" " "I am here, my darling," cried Mr. Vere, hurrying- to her side. "■ Efa, no ! " said the girl, shrinking away from him. "■ I. cannot, bear any more -strangers in the roon*; crowds/of angry faces, all with dreadful wicked eyes. Oh ! those eyes ! lam sum father would ■ come if he knew how frightened I am." "She does not know me," exclaimed Mi-. Vere, turning very pale; "what can have brought, on this fresh attack ? " "I'll not have, the subject named i' this room," said Betty, turning round with a stern, anxious lace; "there's been mischief enough done wi' careless talk." Mr. Vere looked miserable. Was this delirium the result of the morning's conversation? He d>-e w Mar V out of the jsMn^^^^_^»i^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^g^

"** Oh, father, it is terrible ! " she said. "It was Bertie's doing. She will tall about that horrid forgery, and Bertie, a: you know, is very hot about it. I f eai he was imprudent enough to argue. Sh( became very excited, and said she hac seen it all in Sam's eyes long ago. Thei she began to talk nonsense, and declared that Sam was there looking at her witl threatening eyes. Wherever she look) she thinks she sees him. Is it not dreadj ful ? " ' Mi*. Vere shook his head sorrowfully, and went back to Elsie's room. "Betty," he said, "don't you think we had better send for a doctor ? " "Ay, send at oncet," replied Betty, gravely ; f< it will happen be a comfort to you to feel that you've done all you could." I The words.-struck chill to ihe heart of the poor father; he stood for a moment listening to Elsie's entreaths that he would come and relieve her from her tormenting fears. How the piteous appeal wrung his heart! When he . reached the study he was almost speechless with agitation. •' Go ar once ! " he said, hoarsely, pressing Frank's hand in his trembling fingers ; " bring him directly." "Let me go for Dr. Grey, father, 7 ' cried Bertie, impetuously. " What are you thinking of ? " "Be quiet, lad," said his father, wearily. " You do not know anything about it." Chaptee XX. Go, let the treacherous throw their darts, And gore the good malign ; Perjure their conscience, stain their hearts, To gain their foul deafen. Teb shall right triumph in the end, And virtue fortune shall defend. —Amok. : Dr. Grey was a^eat little man, with a quick step, a curt manner, and keen, observant eyes. Accustomed to command, it never seemed to occur to him that his order could be disputed. j It needed no prophet to foretell that: his will and Mrs. Betty's must eventu- 1 ally clash; but as yet there was no' rebellion, for Betty was reduced; to a state of meekness hitherto., unknown.' She even Bubmitted without a word when Dr. Grey said a nurse must be sent for, and himself wrote a telegram* for that purpose. ■* -• v^.siP&f Again, much to Bertie's annoyance, Frank was the messenger chosen by^hie father. Dr. Grey shot 1 a glance o| scrutiny at the young man's pale • fact as he handed him the telegram. \- Ther he stood for a few minutes deep ii thought, and apparently anxious to discover if one of his irreproachable bootsi werenot more highly polished than the other. ' ■ Presently he returned to Elsie's bed-j side, and laid his fingers upon her flutJ tering pulse. ', . "Was this access of fever brought on by any shock ? " he inquired. j Betty was prepai'ed for this question." " Eh ! no, sir," she answered, readily] •' You may see for yourself as her family is all' in good health." " And nothing outside her own family could possibly distress a young lady,'! said the doctor, smiling. " You wish me; to believe that ?" *~ *^j..-. | Betty did not respond to the smile i she looked grim, and: tightened her lips.j Elsie's restless eyes "settled upon Dr.' Grey's face. One word had caught her ear. "You don't believe it, do you?" she asked, fixing her burning eyes upon the doctor's face. r "Believe it? No, no, not I!" he replied, in a cheery voice. - k . . " Ah ! " she said, in a tone of relief, "that is like me. Ido not believe it ; I never will believe it — never ! Listen ! " She ,. seized the doctor's hand, and her* voice sank to a whisper. " I will tell you a secret. Sam did it— Sam did it! I know why ; and yet I cannot save him ! " • The doctor listened gravely. That there had been some serious shock he was sure, in spite of Mrs. Betty's contradiction. "It's not to tell what foolishness folks will tajk -when they're off their head," remarked Betty, uneasily. "Happen you're used to such-lik* wandering, sir?" i "Don't distress yourself, Betty," he eaid, kindly ; " you may trust me." '• "Trust him," murmured Elsie, "yes, ypu may trust him. His eyes are true r-rhonestand true; not like these," she glanced fearfully about the room — ''these dark, treacherous eves. Ah! Ah ! it is too cruel — too cruel ! " 1 "Have you a good pair of scissors, Betty P* asked Dr. Grey, quietly. ' Betty fetched the required articles, andwatehe^in silent dismay while he cut off lock after lock of the sunny brown hair which was her pride 'and delight. "Wi "out so much as, <.' with your'leave,' nor 'by your leave ' ! " as she grumbled afterwards, when relating the evil deed to Mary. • When it was all gone, and the poor head lay shorn of all its glory, the doctor turned, to give his orders for the evening, i "I shall give Miss Vere a draught which will make her sleep. While this continues, the house must be kept per^ feefcly still; no bell must be rung, and no- one must speak loud enough to bd I heard* in this room. If she is not disj turbed, she may awaken in he.r right mind ; ; if not, she will have brain fever. I^donbtnowif it is possible to arrest itl but we will hope for the best. Yoi* will take charge of the patient until thd nurse arrives; how soon that may bej I cannot quite say, but you will do welj enough till to-morrow morning, when J shall' come again." -^ - •.*» | Betty received ' these directions* meekly, and might be well trusted- to, carry them out. She was too mucli terrified- by the threat of brain fever tq rebel against this autocratic little manj who seemed to hold the destiny of her " lamb " in his hands. ' Downstairs the doctor repeated his orders, and then mounted his horse, and rode thoughtfully away. The case interested him ; there was a dash of mystery in the affair which piqued hia curiosity. In poor Elsie's delirium he had once or twice caught the name of " Sam " uttered in- a tone of fear. Who was the young man in the vicar's study ; and why did the boy glare at him so savagely ? As these thoughts passed through Dr. Grey's mind, he saw the said young man leaning over the gate of a small garden, •which led up to a pretty cottage. He lift ad his hat as the doctor approached, and looked as if he wisjied to speak, but for some reason, unknown to Dr. Grey, he refrained. The doctor obeyed an impulse which was half kindliness, and half curiosity ,- he stopped liis horse, and began to talk. As he suspected, the temptation was too great to be resisted. Frank at once came out of his garden, and stood beside the doctor's horse. ' [CONTINUED' EtSSWHEBB.]