OUR SERIAL.

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIV, 28 November 1925, Page 3

OUR SERIAL.

|RifhtJ Rwerved.) OIFOB FAME v OF LOVE, PLOTG AND CRIME. hTTprothero, ■'Apples of Gold,” "Th* Uon.” “A Strong Maa . ■•The Gambler*, etc. PART 18. the keen gaze of those squarely. Ballard was a an be thought, in a curi;onal fashion. He showed o f his late seizure and lky . But his eyes were ing and his voice, though not falter. ,i ear, this is Randall 1” n her voice must have hurt an. She linked her arm in and stood before him. inc r at the bar lowered his Bid the old man never hy did he not pronounce id have done with it ? Randall’s courage touched a F s it was the eager face :e he so dearly loved, rapride and happiness. Cerhe old man winced. His , but no sound issued, ed forward in his chair. my dear— you’d better Leslie some refreshment, stay with me.” closed behind them, Anig, Randall dazed. 1 give them ten minutes,” dge. He put out his hand, t it and held it. ER XXXIII.—LOVE—rong as death. i him, Randall ? He isn’t it you expected ? Oh, my you're glad !” Anthea against him. "I was so you. I saw his kind old I when they met yours—ear of him to see you this leu he’s only just over ck ? You’re not listening, IFhat’s wrong ?” uld be, while you love me, 're trembling ! And your Randall, they're full of may cry for joy, sweet, le to me, let me feel you my heart. You are mine ne.” I him fondly. She was tool ppy, too supremely conteve’s a darling !” loved.” He kissed a soft her ear. like him ? Randall, now e met Uncle, you won’t oming to our wedding ?” d up quickly. forgotten that,” he said, 's discuss it to-night, Anant to forget the past for ’, now is the moment,” Ped and kissed her. it I’d lost you,” he murthought you’d ceased to It was death,” he cried, .never feel sure, Randall ?’ ou are my own,” he anit before.” II be ‘soon,” she said softson.” ler close, kissing her soft, Ihe Hidden clicking of the ! him glance up. Hilary inside the door. allard would like to see ew minutes,. Randall. AnW >ll you stay With me ?” ner was curiously conmd the colour flamed in In a flash, Randall realias going to happen. ? written that the woman betrayed him once should a second time. I ar d had decided she he messenger of fate, and * her tenderness and pity >ity—had sent her to put to Anthea’s heart ! hunt Anthea.” His arm waist. 6 foolish, Randall. Tell he must not oppose dear »nt.” go. Randall ?” Anthea “ er lover startled. Love us face wiped out remon- “ clasped her hand upon l Q waited, trembling a lit- ’ Wor ‘ i! ' His voice cut ’’ ‘Do your treacherous I°u shall not hurt her in „ a ‘ l not stab her with- , s*/ b ' ie ' las news for f’ Aews that v.i’,l need to bear. lt vin Eta; , my darling—but I you frighten me t -p e yi ■ " cat bear anything trom ”er. Is eX'TT' hi 3 f£Ce at hands clend-.ed. ■ * 0 far and my

Mence will snap.” “I won’t tell her unless you go," Driven into a corner, Hilary’s obstinacy showed fight. The scene was not playing ’ itself as she had arranged—Randall always interfered with her stage management. She had not sought the mission. Ballard had forced it on her, and she had not dared to refuse. There had been in her the subtle consciousness that Anthea would never forgive the fact that she had Always the poison of the knowledge learnt from her of Randall’s secret, would stay—and the sting would guard her if Randall, goaded beyond endurance, broke his cath. For it would be easy then to prove she was acting irom motives of revenge ! "Anthea, I must speak to you alone. I have a message from Stephen. You won’t refuse to hear it ?”

“Anthea will hear it now. Tell her, My darling, you will hear it.” •He kissed her with a sudden fierceness. “Do your worst,” he said. “You are the hangman’s henchman.”

And at that Hilary ’ winced and grew hot with longing to hurt him. His love for Anthea was a stab even in her hard heart. He bent and kissed the soft red lips again. Then suddenly let her go and stood away Irons her.

“I wanted to tell you gently ! To break it to you, Anthea, but,“ but—he forces me io be brutal, he makes me cruel—oh, my dear, do you know whv Ran lall would never meet your, in le ?” ffhe paused, and put her hands ijp to li r throat. “ ’.e was the judge that s-nteneed him to penal s r i ide !” she gasped. “My uncle 1”

“’Zes.” ; “Sentenced Randall.” Anthea turned pale, put out her arms, an# with a swift cry, ran towards him. “Oh, cruel, cruel ! Sentenced you—my daring, my darling !” She vas shaking with "pity, indignation, her sori in arms against the world that I had condemned her lover. I “And you went to prison ?” • "I went to hell.” The bitterness of . his voice hurt her. I “And I never knew it ?” she said, “I never knew it. Oh, why didn’t I you tell me ? I could have comforted i you, I would have washed out the past with my tears. Oh, Randall, my poor, poor boy !” I And this was the woman he had been afraid to tell ! This was the love he had doub'ted ! This the moment he had feared, as men fear a j shameful death. He wanted to kneel down before her, to kiss the hem of her dress. He ■ was humbled to the dust, and dared , not lift up his eyes. Humbled as ! men must ever be at the miracle of a woman's love. “Why did Uncle Steve do it ?-** "He was found guilty?’ Hilary’s voice rasped. "Guilty ; absurd. What was,he accused of ?* "Forgery !” Once more the woman was whipped by the furies of remorse and envy. It she had been like Anthea ; if she had loved like this ! “It’s a mean sort of crime I was accused of, dearest !” i "You were not guilty ! No, no, I don’t answer yet. If you were guilty the more need I should love you. You know that—because you must have suffered more. Oh, my heart, my heart,' hoW you must have suffered. And if you did forge, I. love you. And I shall always love you. And I shall always trust you.” Her eyes shining, her beautiful face transI figured, she'smiled at him. ; “Oh, but, my dear, my dear, I was not guilty. And when I swear upon my love for you, you’ll know that it is true." "You poor boy.” She nestled close. "Oh, you poor boy. Send Hilary ' away please,. Randall, dear, I want ■ Lo.be with you by myself.” I "I’m glad she’s, gone—l’ve never , trusted her quite, since that evening at Buckerell’s. Randall, did she <now you—l6ng, long ago ? When you—you were accused of forgery 7” “Yes.” "Mustn’t I ask any more ? Well, then, I won’t. You love me now. I don't mind who you cared for all those years ago.” “I never loved till I met you.” She did not answer—perhaps the assertion was not wholly convincing. “You could not prove you were innocent, dearest 7" "There were reasons why I preferred not to try.” ■ "I understand, Randall ; was this | the mystery you were so afraid I should discover 7” "My darling, most women would ; Have thrown me over.” "Most women don’t love as I love you. Randall, does my father know ?’ “Not yet—but I think he suspects. ; They all suspect. I’ve had the whole ■ world against me except you. I exI torted their admiration as I extorttd their money, by sheer force of i will—l was the man from -nowhere, ! Anthea ! But I made them feel that t was something stronger than their doubt. I got home at last.” “Darling, Uncle Steve will tell my

father !” “More than that—he’ll tell the whole world. You’ll be taking a ’ruined man, Anthea, when you marry me.” She winced and gazed at him with .eyes suddenly widened with fear. He felt the change and gripped her closer.

“You’re afraid ?”. lie asked. “Afraid of the poverty, the shame. My darling, I’ll beat them again. They shan’t break me, Anthea. If they throw me down here, I’ll climb, up the ladder in a new country, if I have to cling on with my teeth.” “I’m not afraid of poverty. Oh, Randall, my poor boy, will you have to give up Parliament ?” “Your uncle, that just and upright judge, will drive me out of poli tics and out of commerce,” he said bitterly. “He—he’ll expose you ? No, no, he could not be so cruel. We must get married quickly. He wouldn’t disgrace the man I’ve married.” “He’ll give me the offer of social suicide —for your sake. I shall have the choice, at the point of the bayonet, of throwing up the sponge and telling everything, or being thrust publicly aside.” "I’ll talk to him ; plead with him. Darling, whatever happens, wo love each other. Oh, Randall, nothing matters if we have love—nothing ” her voice broke off, she stiffened sud-

denly in his arms. “Randall !” she cried, and her voice sharpened with terror, "Randall, who was it tried to kill Uncle Steve ?"

CHAPTER XXXIV.—THE MESSAGE OF A NIGHT.

Randall Leslie’s gift of sleeping under stress and storm failed him that night. The little village inn that stood by the cross roads had never fostered so restless a wayfarer. To and fro he paced the narrow confines of the tiny room with restless and unwearied feet. The fever of unrest was in his blood. He could not breathe within four walls that night. He must go out—go out, under the free sky ; he could breathe under the blessed canopy of heaven, those clutching and oursuing terrors would release him, those cruel and sleepless eyes let him escape. He went down the creaking staircase with cautious feet, his heart thumping at the sound of a distant door cautiohsly unlatched. He rushed out of the inn And strode into the night until he stood at the top of th<? long hill at a point crowned with pine. < Anthea ! In - the vast solitude he uttered her name. Anthea ! must he lose her ?. Never again feel the stir at his heart that told him of her coming ? She had asked him who had tried to murder her uncle. And he had seen the shade of doubt darken her beautiful eyes.

And the man who had done this monstrous thing’would escape! His father would sacrifice an’ old gaol bird for his son. Jack Loveridge was the man who struck the old man down. Randall felt he’d known from that moment he found the missing nosegay in his coat. His father would not, Hilary dare not condemn him. And against them how could he lift his voice ? And Anthea would believe him guilty ! Was there no justice ? Was the heart of man harder than the nether millstone? Shaken with emotion he Eturrblei;’ lost his footing, an. aa-I Ttunn.d and i. holly weary, lay on the lap of mother earth. om stuco. !:c passed to .sleep, and the night being cold but dry, slumbered peacefully. He had fallen under the lee of a clump of gorse sheltered from the wind. * • • « • • « * • He was himself again when, at midday, he met her in the hall. His eyes Were grave, but his soul' flashed like the sun from behind a cloud when he took her hand. She smiled up‘at him. “Now we will go to my uncle,” she said quietly, "and face the worst.” Her hand in his, together they went through the door. CHAPTER XXXV.—"I HAVE REGISTERED AN OATH.”. In the course of a long life, not devoid of events, Lord Ballard had never been more impressed than by Anthea’s attitude. He had expected an outburst of grief, a harrowing and distressing scene. His powers, still enfeebled, had hardly seemed equal to the strain, and for the moment he had shrunk from an interview. Anthea, however, had given him her Usual smile. “Are you better, uncle dear ? You must be careful, you know.” Her eyes met his without a touch of fear. “I’ve wired to Jack, unclehe’ll be down here mid-day. How delighted he will be to hear the news.” “I wonder, Anthea, I wonder ; the restoration of my memory has not proved an unmixed blessing, my dear. It has given you pain ?” He asked the question in a wistful, almost Plaintive faahio*.

“Whatever you decide to do, uncle, in regard to Randall, it will make no difference to me. I shall marry him in any case.” “Anlliea !” he sat up in bed, his gaunt face hollowed at the temples, actually distressed, “My child, you cannot mean this ?”

“Uncle dear,” she put her arms about his neck, “if you set a flaming sword between me and Randall, I should marry him. We won’t speak of it any more now. He’ll be here at eleven. Then, if you are strong enough, we’U thrash out the matter.” Later, she stood beside Randall, leaning a little towards him and facing his judge. She looked very young, childish almost, Lord Ballard thought and wished that he had not hurt her. “Randall and I are waiting to hear your decision, uncle,” She fell back a little, and watched her lover fondly with quiet, brave eyes. “You must leave Parliament, send in your resignation,” the old man's voice was clear — unfaltering. “A convicted felon cannot, must not, sit in Parliament.” “If I refuse ?”

“I shall be compelled to expose you. I shall communicate with the chiefs of your Party. They will do their duty, I make no doubt. If, however, they shrink from their responsibility, I shall make the facts public.”

Leslie's eyes flashed, and he clenched his hands. A torrent of fiery eloquence and invective trembled on his lips. But the touch of Anthea’s hand upon his arm restrained him. “A hard decision ; an unjust decision. You strip me of a position gained by honest work.”

“You must resign your position as Managing Director of your firm. The public well-being must not be placed in hands commercially unclean. Forgery is a crime asrainst society.”

“It is a mean crime.” He looked at his judge with sombre eyes A mean crime, indeed, and one of which the son of his judge was guilty. How that hard old man would wince at the truth !

The wireless telephony of the heart had already whispered to Anthea there was something between these two men that she did not know. She watched her lover closely.

“So !” he gave a little laugh. “You deprive me of political life ; you now rob me of the money I have honestly made.”

“You may keep your money. I do not find any evidence that you have come by it fraudulently. Your position you must resign.” “What then !’’ he sfiouted, “what then? What am I to do, how am I to live? You hound me out of the company of honest men.” “There are other countries,” said the voice of justice.

“Where, presumably, I am once more to fight my way up to success, only again to be thrust down.” “That doos not rest with me,” Lord Ballard leaned back in his chair.

"A ruined politician—a disgraced company promoter ! How can I look at you, Anthea—how can I touch you ?” “You will be my husband, darling. Together we will start afresh in.,a new country. You will resign, Randall ? I should prefer that my uncle did not move in the matter. ’ ’

Ho nodded, gripping her hand so hard- that the pain drew her mouth into a little twisted smile. • “You will do nothing for a .week, pnqlp. Give us so much grace ” “I will wait a week,” he saick“And then suddenly he cast aside the reserve that like a robe of office cloaked him, and with kindling eye commenced to speak. “Do you know-what you are going tb do ?” ‘He pointed straight ’at Randall. “You’re going to drag the woman you say you love through depths of • shame and degradation ; burden her shoulders with a load under which her spirit will break ; send hqr out into the world without a home, without a name. And you say,’ his' voice was vibrant with scorn, “you say you love her.” “Yes !” Randall faced him quietly, the light of a triumph, not of this world, in his eye,' “yes, and that is a thing that even you cannot deprive me of, my lord, my love for Anthea and Hers for me ; nothing can part us. We will go out into the world without a home, without a name—every man’s hand against us. But—and this is my answer and your condemnation—we shall go together. The convicted felon and the woman he loves.” “Together!” Anthea said the word softly, her hands linked on his arm. And as they stood, his eyes on hers, her heart with his, there rushed into the room, with all the signs of hasty travel, the man who loved her also— Jc.e'i: I.overidge. “Father!” his face was haggard, his v oice husky as he spoke the name ro rarely used in his most flippant day. “You are—well?” Jack hovered near him, unmindful of the others, v. ith c. question in his face that made Lord Ballard turn away his head. .".’.i well, Jack—but a little weal;.” <To be Continued.)