The Man of Silence.

Waipa Post, Volume VII, Issue 329, 10 July 1914, Page 2

The Man of Silence.

BY TOM GALLON, Author of “ My Lady of the Ruins,” “ Fate’s Beggar Maid,” etc.

(All Rights Res kvid.)

CHAPTER Xl.—(Continued.)

It was good to be out in the streets alone. Unconsciously he made his way out of the mum and into the broader and more important thoroughfares. Once or twice across his darkened vision would come the sudden exciting thought that he had been in this place before; that he Had seen that building, and had walked along this street. And then the memory was gone, and all streets were alike to h.m. In one of those more lucid intervals, when he knew where he was, he swung into the entrance of the Albany out of Piccadilly. He was certain now; in a moment he would pass through a gateway, and would walk along a flagged passage, and then up some stairs, ii omy he could keen cjuite clearly be,ore him the remembrance of wnere he was, he might presently waik back into the old life.

It was all coming beaut fuhy true, because here, staring at him, wideeyed, was someone ne knew. i'e could not give a name to this young girl, and the look witn vinca sue regarded him was a lithe icnifjing, and was making that poor Drain cl his play tricks again It nad ail been so beautifully s.n.p.e a moment before; and now it was lading; and he stood, a shabby, ragged creature* before a stranger, simp.y pulling oil his cap because it was the right thing to do when you spoke to a lady. But his chance was gone, and he was lost again.

As for poor Barbara, she stoed there wide-eyed, and witn her mouth open, staring at this man who had risen, as it were, from the graveTlie thing was impossible,incredible, yet here was surely Vincent Avondale, with his cap in his hand, looking at her whimsically, and sm.lingin the old fashion. Even while she shrank away from him, she put a panting, breathless question. ‘‘lt isn’t —it can’t be? You’re not Vincent.”

“I’m not anybody,” he said, vaguely. “I don't know; I’ve forgotten. Why do you look so troubled and so frightened? I’m not going to hurt you.” ‘‘l shall scream or go mad if you look at me like that,” said Babs, “beginning to tremble. ‘'They took you from the river and buried you — and yet—-yet you seem to be here. What does it all mean?”

The man began to be afraid; looked about him as though for a way to escape. He glanced out towards where the stream of traffic was pouring past along Piccadilly : made a movment in that direction.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said, gently. I don’t know who you are, but, of course, that doesn’t matter. Good-day to you.” He was drifting away again, but Babs, scarcely knowing what she did, seized him and held him; it was amazing to find, after all, that he was real. “No —no; you mustn’t go; I can’t let you go,” «he said. “Wait here; there’s someone I must bring to you-’’ She flew along the flagged passage and up the stairs. Her one thought was to find Madeline and bring her down to see this wonder, and perhaps to explain it. Her hand was absolutely raised to push the bell outside Reuben’s door when she stopped; she had not remembered him before. For the matter of that, she had not remembered the absurdity of her errand until now; for a moment she stood still. For what was it that she had come to announce, save that she had seen a man something like the man she knew to be in his grave! She hesitated for a v moment or two, and then ran down the stairs again. She would ask him his name, and where he came from, and all about him. She literally ran to the entrance —but the man had gone. Vincent had simply dr’ftcd away again. He had been a little startled and a little afraid; it would be best for him to go away. So that by the time Babs came down in frantic search far him, he was fifty yards away along Piccadilly, wandering aimle- !y, a-cl wondering why he had come in this direction at all. And the girl ran hither and th'ther for a minute or two, blu ’d .'ring iv.tn nn :s----ers-by, and sari raffing passible faces; until at last she gave up the quest altogether, half irei red, if the truth be told, to b .'!!•. va that it had been merely sene tr-canny dream from which she had just awakened.

And that poor wardc-cr contrived in some fumbling f-’sh’oo to get back to Crow’s !?.nts. Tambrlh: and was quite glad to find himr./f at home again, and so to relieve the mind cf Dannv Bats- n. who,

finding him gore, had trcnb'cd to think what Stark would say should that gentleman return unexpectedly .

Meanwhile, we mav 'cturn lo Madeline Westley, trailing hcpe-

lessly up the stairs on her way to Reuben’s rooms and steeling herself for the ordeal that fr.exl her. There was no hope-in her heart at all; her or.e desire was to get the business over, and to get back to Babs, and ho off to that lunch she had promised the girl. Small delights leaven big tragedies; it would be good to see the girl’s happy face, and to realise that Babs, at least, was getting some enjoyment out of the excursion to London.

Clarence Westlcy’s telegram to Reuben had put the latter into a very fever of impatience; it had simply suggested that Madeline would bring her own answer. What would she say? What would be her attitude towards him ? Those were the questions that occupied his mind to the exclusion of everything else; those were the questions that leapt up every time he heard the ringing of the bell that announced a visitor.

When at last it seemed possible that the hand that rang the bed at one particular moment might be that of Madeline Westley, it happened that Hatch, the man-ser-vant, was engaged in setting straight his master’s' clothes. Reuben himself went to the door and threw it open, and with a great show of heartiness welcomed tne girl in black who stood outside. She touched his hand for a moment as she passed in; he closed the door and followed her.

She stood with her hands clasped before her, not looking at him, But keeping her eyes fixed upon floor. Reuben, for his part, shifted about, and made impatient movements with his hands, until, at last, unable to bear the silence any longer he broke it lamely enough. “It was good of you to come,” he said. “It was necessary for me to c'r.r.e,” she answered, raising her eyes, and Hashing a glance at him. “I am here for my father’s sake.” “I had a telegram from him this morning,” he said. “Just to tell me that you were coming.” “I came up with Babs. I felt I wanted to 'see you, so that there might be no misunderstanding between us,” she said, quietly. “Babs is waiting down below., I don’t think our interview will take very long. I take it that you require a definite answer to a proposal for my hand made through my father?” “My dearest girl—why will you speak in that fashion?” he exclaimed, making a movement towards her.

The look in her eyes checked him. He stood still watching her hungrily. There was that in her glance that held him back, as nothing else would have done. “I want no endearments; those must come at a later time, when I belong- to you and cannot defend myself,”' she said, coldly. “I am to belong to you, because it seems that I am the price that must be paid for my father’s peace of mind, and for his safety. That does not matter; because all my life lies behind me in shadows—all the real life of me. So that you may have what remains; you may know that I am glad and willing to pay the price for my father’s sake.”-

He looked at her for what seemed a long time in silence; then he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “As you will,” he said. “I have won you, and you will belong to me; I care nothing for the manner of the winning. You might have been more gracious about it. You might at least have pretended you cared for me a little.”

“I do not deal in pretences; I cannot,” was her reply. “I have loved one man, and one man only; my heart lies with him in his grave. I can give you the husk of me that remains—and that is ail. You drive a bargain with me, and I must drive one with you- What is the position with regards my father?” “He owes me a great deal of money, if that’s what you moan,” said Reuben; “but I shall, of course, be lenient with him about that.” “You drive me with the hardest bargain to which a woman can subscribe,” she said', in a level voice. “I must drive one with you. On the day I marry you my father must be free from that debt. That is the price I demand; that is the price you must pay.” 1

“It shall be done,” he answefed. “This is a new side of your character-, Madeline, and one I did not suspect you of possessing. In the time to come you will perhaps not regard it as so hard a bargain; you will perhaps come to look upon me in another light. You madden me!” lie exclaimed, with sudden, fi •to energy, “to sec you standing there like that,, and to know that you wir not even lot me come near you. Do you think that the man you rre to marry has no right—::o privioges?”

Her face paled as he began to nr've. towards her. She saw the laughter on lrs lips, and saw h’s a-ms outstretched. As she moved a wav from him, she unconsciously pra"cd to be saved from the degradation cf las' caresses; add that iv.y or was strangely answeredThere came a sudden, violent ringing at the bell.

Reuben stopped, and turned with an impatient frown towards the

door. It happened that Hatch, the man-servant, had forgotten for once that his master had a visitor. He moved to the outer door, and opened it, and saw there a big, burly fellow, in new and common clothes, and with a black eye, the colours on which were beginning to fade. As he stood in perplexity the man in the new clothes thrust his way, in and closed the door. At the same time, Reuben opened the door; of the inner room, and stepped out to see who his visitor was. Mr. Noah Stark—for he it was—grinned at him in friendly fashion and gave him a mocking bow. “Said I might look yer up, you did,” he said, a little aggressively, “and ’ere I am, payin’ a friendly; call. I ’opes I see yer well?” Madeline was standing in the doorway of the sitting-room, looking out curiously at the visitor. Reuben Avondale, fidgeting a little and inwardly cursing the man Hatch; was wondering whether to bluff this matter cut and get rid of Stark, or whether to receive him in an ordinary way as a chance caller.

Mace he was settling the matter for herself by moving towards the doer with a murmured word of farewell, when Stark knuckled his forehead and grinned at her, and ducked her an awkward bow.

“Mornin’, lady,” he said, thickly. “Dessay you remember me—honest, ’ard-working man by the name o’ Stark, lady. Used ter be down at Wood End Ferry, lookin’ arter the boats.”

“I remember you perfectly,” said Madeline, looking the man up and down. “And so you’ve come to London, have you? You seem to be prospering.”

“Tfianks ter kind friends, lady;—• friends as is willin’ ter ’elp a ’ardworkin’ man wot deserves it—a ’ard-workin’ man wot’s safe ter. keep ’is mouf shut an’ not go ——’ 3

“That will do,” broke in Reuben, hurriedly. “You can wait here a moment; I’ll see you when I come back.’*’

He literally hurried Madeline out of the place and down the stairs.; She touched his hand for a moment as she left him, shrinking away, and glad to see that Babs was standing waiting near the porter’s lodge. “Good-bye,”- she said quickly to. Reuben.

“Good-bye,” he answered. am grateful to you; you shall not regret it. I want the marriage to be soon.”

“You shall arrange that with my father,” she said. “Good-bye.”

She was so eager to get away that she did not notice anything strange in Babs’ manner. She seized the girl by the arm and hurried her out into the street, and began to chatter a little hysterically to her.

“Come along, darling Babs; we’ll see if we can’t just for once let you have everything that you like, whether it’s digestible or. not. It’s so delightful to have you with me—just the two of us alone together—that we simply won’t remember that there’s anything disagreeable in the world. For an hour at least we’ll • try to be lighthearted and frivolous. Come along 1” Babs said nothing; she was still thinking of what she has seen and still wondering what she ought to do. Glancing to right and left as Madeline hurried her . along, she seemed to see —now here, now -there, and now disappearing down a side-street —that shabby figure that had the face of Vincent Avondale; she remembered exactly how he had smiled at her and had pulled off his old ragged cap. The lunch was ordered, and Madeline sat facing her sister withf a little smile upon her face —a smile of expectation; and then suddenly that smile faded, as she saw the strained look on the younger girl’s face.

“Why, Babs dear, what’s the matter with you?” she demanded anxiously. “You look white and ill. What has frightened you?” There was a pause for a moment or two, and then the girl leaned across the table. seen a ghost!” she whispered. A light reply rose to Madeline’s lips, but she checked it; clearly this was no laughing matter. “What do you mean?’’ she whispered back. “Tell me what has happened.” (To be Continued.) —M.S. 12.