ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9048, 14 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

Author of "Nina's Repentance," " Clyda's Love Dream," " Her Soldier

Lover," " For Love of Marjorie," " The Mystery of Woodcroft," etc,

CHAPTER IX.—Continued.

cause it is your wish. And in the meantime I will rush arrangements through. We will have one evening, together, at any rate, before I sail." "One evening," sho said faintly. "To-morrow, Stella.?" "To-morrow." He pressed his lips to her brow, and she shuddered. Her heart had turned as cold as death.

"What else matters?" she repeated mournfully. "Everything, Charlie. .1 will not go to my new home under a cloud. Ycu have a certain social standing to maintain; you have the future of your daughter to consider. The honour of the Eastwoods has been without blot or blemish for generations. Much as I love you, I would rather live and die in poverty and obscurity than cause you a moment of shame."

CHAPTER X

He heard, and his confidence came back in a full l .ide. Her heart was throbbing against his temple; its wild pulsation seemed to be beating to his brain, and her tears wore on his hand. "Stella! Stella!" "Now tell me the worst," she whispered, "and I will face it alone if I must." "Never alone," he said. There was a short silence. He was choosing his words, and the woman was waiting. "It's that stuff of Vipont's," he went on at length. "Berrington employed Scotland Yard to investigate, and left a copy of it with the chief. I've just come from there." . Stella gasped. ' "Infamous!" he said. "But Berrington will never interfere again. You have only to contradict the rubbish, and we will drive a nail through the black lies! You know hovy it is when the long arm of the law is set in motion." "Oh, Charlie, I know nothing about it." "Of course you don't. Vipont was mad with hate and jealousy. He declared that when you were a girl you married a sailor named Hobday, and that Hobday is still alive! The police have been to the church, and m 18S7 there certainly was a mariage between George Hobday and Stella White." "My maiden name was Stella Hobday." She laughed faintly. "Vipont. has built up an ugly story upon nothing." "I knew it all along," he said con- | fidently. "He had the gall to say that you had gone through the marriage ( ceremony with him—that you polished your second husband, the count, and finished up by shooting Vipont." She covered her eyes with her hands and shivered. Charlie now assumed the role of comforter. He murmured gentle words in her ear and caressed her plenteous dark hair. "How can I refute these dreadful things Charlie.without creating a nine days' wonder for you? You are the husband of an adventuress—a thief—a murderess!" "lam content," he said, "if you deny it all." "I do deny it. I swear that I never heard of George Hobday until this moment; 1 swear that Henri Vipont perjured his immortal soul in the hour of his death." "I am content," he said again, "more than content. We will assist the police in bringing George Hobday to England. This will purge the poison from their minds, once and for all. The chief suggested that it should be done." He laughed. "Of course, it is absurd —ludicrous! Fancy my beautiful Stella, the wife of a rough sailor —a rascal who is imprisoned for burglary!" A sudden thought struck him. "Stella, shall we go to New York, and face the man with witnesses? It would save so much time, and the hands of Scotland Yard would be tied. I want to lling the evidence in the face of the chief there, he was so insulting and cock sure that you were the worst woman on earth!" "Hush hush! Charlie. I am dazed; let me think." She clasped her head between both palms convulsively. "Go—go, Charlie, for five —ten minutes. 1 wish to ring for my maid. I must have my sal """ volatile. My brain reels." He went very reluctantly, and paused in the doorway. "Ten minutes, Stella?" "Yes —yes! Go." The door closed upon him, and the woman burst into a paroxysm of rage. With clenched hands, blazing eyes, and gnashing teeth she paced the floor. "It must be," she breathed at last. "It must be!" She bathed her hands and face, moaning bitterly the while. "My life is one continuous tragedy," she said. She unlocked a small portable cabinet, and took therefrom a bottle of odorless cordial. She raised it to her lips and the effect was almost electrical. The carmine sprang into her cheeks, and the old brilliance into her eyes. "You sue how quickly my moods come and go," she greeted the anxious Eastwood, when ho returned. ■"I would .not for worlds let you have ,a fainting wo.■nan on your hands, Charlie. 1 believe that I have a weak heart. Worry and excitement always ..S3i"ve me in that way." She smiled into his eyes. "We will defy the whole world, Stella," he began imnetuously. ■"No. that would be s fatal beginning. My honour must be proven .stainless, as much for my sake as yours. You agree with me, don't >you, Charlie?" She was pathetically j pleading. "In anything in everything, :Stella. What is it you want mo to .do?" "Stay the bungling hands of the jpolicc, and go to New York your.aelf. You can see that man, Hob►day—and you can get him deported, .as Scotland Yard suggested. It will .save so much time Will you?" "Willi? Yes, a thousand times! Within forty-eight hours I shall be the Campania, Stella—be-

ALLAN BERRINGTON AT HOME

The mind of the postmaster at Castle Stanford was in a state of agitation, albeit his exterior was fairly calm. But this was the result of long years of repression in the school of officialdom. Telegraphic messages had been flying to and from the Red House, and to and from the Priory, the whole of the morning, and from their nature he was sure that the whole of Castle Stanford would soon be topsy-turvy with excitement. If he only dared to unburden himself to the grocer or the butcher! Once again he turned to the originals, and muttered: "Mr Berrington disappeared mysteriously and suspiciously the night before last, and Mr Allan Berrington is coming home to-day. Mr Eastwood has married some lady in London, on the quiet, and announces to Miss Miriam that he is sailing for America tomorrow. Is it all a hoax, and are the two cronies going on a spree again? It looks very much like it to me. But there are the frenzied telegrams of both the young women. Miss Eastwood is frantic, and so is Miss Linley. Good gracious! if I had their money, I should put it to better uses. It's grind, grind, grind, with me for a paltry pittance, and I daren't say my soul's my own for fear the autocrat at the General Post-office might hear of it." «A postman shambled into the office, and the chief regarded him severely. "Youai-e late, Manders," he said tartly. "And I'm sorry to say there's a serious complaint against you. Miss Spinks is writing to the postmastergeneral and charging you with reading her post-cards. It is positively disgraceful, Manders. Hello, what's coming now?" "The Berrington car," said the postman. "More telegrams," grumbled his chief. But the automobile whizzed past, and the postmaster murmured, "Going to the station to meet Mr Allan Berrington. Pshaw! What a dust that thing has made!" Business was quiet for a while, and he stood in the doorway, watching for the automobile to return. The owners of many of the shops wemsimilarly occupied, and soon the tooting of a horn was heard, followed by the "throb-throb" of the machine. With a hum and a whirr, it flashed through the village again, and the postmaster retired within the office, after calling to the grocer: "Young Mr Berrington is home!" At the end of the street of little shoes the automobile spun round to the'right, and climbed the long, white road to the Red House. It was a modest-looking, old-fashioned place, set in the heart of acres of well-timbered land, and surrounded with terraces and lawns. Solidity and comfort were impressed upon every square foot offthe Red House. The automobile came to a halt at the front entrance and Allan Berrington stepped springly to the ground. The butler glided forward to meet him,- and the peculiar silence about the house struck a chill intoAllan'3 heart. "Any news, Benson?" "None, sir." (To be continued.) Mr C. F. R Livcsay, Architect of Wei pngton, has moved to more convenient rooms in the National Mutual Chambers, Customhouse Quay, (adjoining the Head Office of the Bank of N.Z.) Address— P.O. Box 771. Telephone 2G92.