The Man of Silence.

Waipa Post, Volume VII, Issue 343, 25 August 1914, Page 3

The Man of Silence.

[All Rights Kesekvkd.)

BY TOM,.GAL t U>N r , ,» ; Author o( " |uir!s£ "Fate's Beg§aY"J^aid > " 4 etc.* # '

j CHAPTER *. The .sunlight* Streaming* jnt<J the* jroom showed hep* tjiaj.it was. that mysterious man in. her *hufeband’s' 4 clothes. Her* first*thqpght 6pe of wonder tQ how he* have' igot there; the' second" perplexity as ito whocovdd pave tied him up it\ that fashion- , ,(?u*iosity bringing fjatch inter the room, thl ,tw<> 1 9L them. proceeded' to set the man free, fit was Hafch who* the icloth about his iace*and revealed hts features. And tfidh* $f Jha.% *that f Hatch staggered bpicjr with and ggfc irffo $ corner of.the room,’ and Wean to wnmfper absj(lrd|y.«* < • “Ghosts l” he cried.* , “Ghosjs* iMr.* Vlhcenrcqpie alive'.” « * 1 .»It sas amazing ®because, -while Hatch reQpgjilspd thb man from *the Mtoja'elT,* ton the.otjjjer mart who- ha‘d* slippeS through ♦hit', clutchei-Vtlfe fhanj\vhg so stfangfly > wor’e’hers'hlisbapd’s clmh@s.(@ And between.= tjie'm Vinchnt Ayd(?jdale, stretching' his»lintbs, and striving to* 'get* the"4>lood «circulating in* Shis yeirg; {* and all’ the time softly •icilfthe delivered him into* the hands of ihhf brother.*, . • r .»„* •'* -><V »> • “yesj” he cried at»last, impatiently, conte ! 'alive f l And come alive too fate? HfearWhile-I’ve been,tied top berg 'all hasdJeen happening that 1 1 tried to prevent. Reuben has gone to fheichurch-^—-” . “TOufiqd, that the bride is not. ■there.’** hrok& in Lydia. “I don t .whb you a'rh,' pOr * what' coriof yours; but there will be no marriage fo-day, sliss Madeline Iran away this morning. I saw

VitfoeA laughed as*'he 'stretched Ills Jimb9 , again. "Thank - Heaven for tfaasyi*|ie ©xclaimed. And then, kurrfing to yatch, who, still crouched jn s\corher of the room'watch•Sng hiriif tie in something .of his ojd manneV "You're not,afraid *>l JrHtcJ*, purely ; Strange as ■ltJseeaiSi, it's all.' true*.- Ive come back from the grave-*l)ack< to ; life

jßga!n.# at me;. Jouch me, if Vou like*. \ no ghost. I'm a liv.fh& Wan,'"comeback into the world Jtejdaim«mf. own again J' ,' tit -Hatdfcame a.little nearer, watching him;fearfulry as he did so. He touched his fathered garments; and 'the/' fes*pectable. manservant, peeped »9,tit 4n* the man's evident disgust at 'finding Vinqgnt in such clothes. "You don'ttlook a bit yourelf, sir," •li»s|i i anUwed voice.-. '.. . ''.j'Nof do ■i'.'feel.a jjit myself," re•torted Vincent, with a laugh. Then, *tuloipg and looking at her curiously, He* .".You are the

■wpmali *I. njet in the grounds - of ' Wood*Eiid'Hduse wiornan who to «ne, and me, and .hid J- • . . V'Y J es,'** , si}6 replied, slowly. "I 3i4 because of the cfothes you wore; Y wanted Wo fi#d out who you and .where you dame from. IS 4t *tru€*.**.*Ss this, man suggests, you arl 'the»*nan Supposed to %§*dea*d—the Mr. Vincent Avondale who' was\ sbppossd. tq have been drowned?';; •* '* i ,' .■ '•"•Yes—l am fhe pian," he ankwered, looking' at her in perplexity. "Then why do you* wear the clothes that belong to my husband?" she demandea. He looked at her stupidly for a moment or two, and then a great light seemed to break in upon him, and that look of perplexity changed to one of pity and of horror. "I see it all now," he said; "I understand it all. Your husband was a man who went to see my brother

Reuben, hoping to get some money from him—eh?' He spoke very gently, and went a little nearer to Jie'r as he did so. "He went to Mr. Reuben Avondale; he was turned away by him. ■From that night nothing has been heard of him, ' said Lydia. "On that night he was taken

from the river—drowned," said Vin-

cent. "There was nothing upon him by which he could be identified ; but he was to serve a vile purpose afterwards, by changing' places with me. Too long a story to tell you now; but he lies buried in the grave in which I am supposed to be resting. So much, at least, I heard last night; so much I know to be true." She nodded slowly, looking at ,\'incent as she did so. ""Then he carried out his threat," .she said, slowly. "He swore that if he could get nothing out of your brother he .would not come back to me; he could not bear to see me starve. ■For that, then, your brother is responsible; he drove my husband to his death." "I fear so," said Vincent. "And H did not lie to you on lb.at night fypu found me in the grounds at [Wood End House; my memory was fcone, and I did not then know who | was. It's a tangled story; I am fcorry it has no better ending for Spu." \- *'lt doesn't matter," she anIfwered, quietly. "I only wanted to ,|know what had happened; I only 1 panted to be sure of the fate of my , husband. But what is to be done?''

she demanded, with sudden passion "with this man who has wreck- ! ed our lives like this, and who goes free? What is to become of him?" "Fate will decide that! Fate has decided'that already," said Vincent. game is-up', so far as he is conceitied*' tis. power is'broken. fefl'me again, I tJeg*of.yi*if ko\VMt cbrrfei .about, that,, there wiii be »op > to-6*ay,» -and * V ia * '^ !ls; -$ Westley haS escaped.," * J ■ » < f .*; She "told iiim, p as few, words.lis possibly all that she seen \hV night* befer.i *Stfe tokl him tier- , purpose' in Madelir^ *was«free;. she h.ad tlie-matter, .into herj»owai*-affds,;*arfd had/un« 'aW: .■•"•• '" I /.'■«■ ;.*; k Jiftugheo) when }ie thfiught,o£ thatf and*whfti t >ljeithought-of .wafting vainly iof trat .ira< wjillih'g bride ;& yetj' o|her » ; hand,'a shade of anxiety* fape.'» whgfre*, has sjie * gone*? Do *ypu # know- that?y he asked. .*•* . *I <( do.n*'jb know. # All*l know* is. .that she Has # run away, andj that »there will pe no weddirtgito-day,*" said»Lyc% , 4 ** .•'• # ; * '» ' With that he* hajd,to*b% cgrftent. I *|/I|(3elinjßtha*d |rom the Jjhat ft in a*a& fime.he'would .His bubbles* ,jiow was to expla'in to the*bev\fijde#d Hatch*so *migh; as was* ,#*ftlat story, fell-' him that it the beginifiU'g, and that that wa# Aow to be set right. More than that, he made th<sgi©aq, understand best "know** mo-, tfung rjf !he escafoljof that . who'bad beelt I&uW allocked in , yinoent Avondale's bedroom; that-', .the safests policy/ ; he» .eould ad,opt /would be to preterfcTeQmplete ignorance of all that had happened- % A.s .a matter of fact;'he need not-have taken that precautio'n, because the unfortunate ..Hatch*, had been ■■ so 'shaken to his'respectable' depths by all these'Strange happenings, that ,he had but a confused notion of where he" stood, or of • what'.' had really occurred! \ Further than that, the' ' remembrance that .presently Reuben -Avondale must return from the church (for had there not been 'talk of a bride who had fled/ and ■that*there was to be no wedding?) suggested to Hatch that it might be wiser if he sought another situation. When these people had gone he intended to do a little hurried packing, and to get out* of the place as rapidly as possible. ■ •'" • So, with- explanations made, Yincent Avondale, and Lydia left 'the place. Vincent's first thought was of Madeline. In some indefinite way i he must .set about to search for her. ! Also in some indefinite way he. mustset about that even more difficult part of bringing from the grave the Vincent Avondale.that was supposed to be lying in'it, and to ' set him before the world again and clear Up the mystery concerning him. As they stood in 'the street together—the shabby man and the woman in black —she'smiled at .him faintly,- with a suggestion of tears in her eyes, and held-out a hand to him. ■ "Something tells me," she said,, "that all Will yet be well with you.and with the .woman you love. You wall" not need "me again; my part in the story is ended. ' ) t

He watched her drift away among the hurrying crowds of people. •Then he turned, and set o!f himself, on that quest of which he did not even know the beginning. ' • It is not necessary to .dwell. upon all 'that strange business in a crowded "and fashionable-church. Vou may imagine Reuben and watching the door anxiously, and you may see the 'agitated figure ol Clarence Westley, who, if the - truth be told, had put off the business as long as possible, in sheer terroi'-as to what was to happen, arriving with a message. Vou may se-e the people trailing out of church, whispering as they go, and conjecturing what could be the meaning of it all. Last of all, you may see Reuben Avondale going back, inwardly raging, to his chambers, there to find the place absolutely empty, his prisoner escaped in some mysterious fashion, and even Hatch gone. It meant a great deal more than that, as :l disaster, to the unfortunate Clarence Westley. With a rich son-in-law in prospect he had managed to keep afloat—things would be all right immediately after the wedding. . But now, with all prospect of t:he wedding gone and the whole business at an end, the crash came, and Clarence Westley went down under it. He went with clasped hands and tears in his eyes to that gloomy man sitting alone in his chambers, and begged for help. "Bring her back and put things straight, and I'll listen to you," Reuben retorted.

"But you know I can't do that — 1 don't even know where she is. I've advertised, and I've done all that a man could; but I can't find her."

This was a week after the day fixed for the wedding, and during that week Reuben had avoided all men and had kept himself hidden away in his rooms. He did not know what might be happening, or what had become of Vincent, or what blow might be preparing to fall upon hum.

Clarence Westley went away in despair, knowing now that nothing could save him. In due course that which he expected happened—people swooped down upon him and left him bare. The house at Wood End Ferry was -sold tip. When every-

thine had bet'n finished —and it was, ind t'd, msrcly a matter of days— Clare- it Weslie\ found himself with a uMlance, and '.hat was all; he loimu h mseil with something else loo—and that was a letter from

She would not come back, because •she knew what that would involve; "bul ;she\i was sorry for what had happcf;'.;r! - to,hy,r. dear, dear father, ahti«shcvfx'Wed <his* forgiveness. -She "would Jifte* to/sec him again, But she. jvvquld not sc*e 'him iii London. , If he ..woild wr*ite »tp ,3 cprtain address giver*- 1 - an »ob"sciire' flost * 'an * appointment somlwhe/e else*, she would meet hinj'i'and* ,«He begged/fiiqj, as no phe-of thjs.' It was obvious that, Madeliife* feared* a .-No-\y," it* happened*, fthat.flarence* 4 Wcstlevnvas„goi-ng to*Wqod ,End House lor* the last time, to' 'fiear up , a«few i pe J rsona , l matters* and he*w,as-going' ajohej -' ft seemed to hmi t4]'at here* .chance to Jhveet'this \vifliil end'eatour to" bring her »to - reason.- . Be *wf6te, • tlieiieEore, at to the*ad*dr^s'§Jof e trie -post office sH'» hltd; mentioneM, and madje" an "appointment'lo/meet 'ivia/dfline , two * c>6n!ft|s later at .Wood F.n'd**Hous§. * •> *T % 4 4n)3 after*that, ,whdejhe» waited-,,a greir arid hobble temptation,came *to him. It was so' h#r-rible*at, -first* thai fee tb/HSt'it'away fronf it ca/ne creejrfifig, biftc *g^in # and . again, and would ndfe-b'e and at la*st,-.wit.h Madeline's Jettecin Kis*pockct, he wVnt otft'ofe.the s%ialj' lodging'that sheltered .him and* Mrs*. nWestldy &ief3Babs; 4fr*wa!ked*witb dragging feet.ip the diredion''of,the« .Albany.. ; ; » , * |■ * ' /.-. Twice he tunned a#ay, .but. each time he went, bark; and at mounted the ''stairs, and, 4 'after' standing dejectedly for 1 a.Jong, .time, outside the door, pf Reubens rooms, rang the bell. , 'Reuben answered the" himself. '."We11,"." he asked,, ''Have you ' cdfne, here.»* BeggAg. again? It's no use, you*kn6*w,,un.-. less "'- . '•'■;, .... •• » - "IVe found .her,J_ said, Clarence in a very small yo;-;:-. *"i l' f 'i ->w * •where she. is." * w " ' ''.». • Reuben laughed grimly. \'K «»AIJ cJcr'ht—you can come in,""he sak'.' (To be Continued.)—M-i'^' ; ■$