“CONSCIENCE,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 20 March 1925, Page 7

“CONSCIENCE,”

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.)

FASCINATING STORY OF LOVE AND MYSTERY.

(COPYRIGHT.)

CHAPTER XXVI. (Continued.) How Loraine hail detested those household upheavals in the old days shirking whenever possible her share of the labour they involved. But now slu thought of them as one remembers past joys, and her eyes filled with tears. She had told the chauffeur to drive her first to the hotel in Pent Cross. She did not wish anybody to know that she was going to J)r. Warrender’s. A sense of impending doom closed over her as the roofs and spire of the little market town drew near. She tried to toll herself that she was not afraid of the kind old doctor who had brought both her and .Janey through all the trifling ailments of childhood, but she was afraid. Very likely it it was anything serious, he wouldn't tell her the truth, but would want to see her husband. She was in a bad state of nerves by the time the car was dismissed, and she had climbed the narrow High street to the Georgian house where Dr. Warrender lived. It was years since she had been here, the last occasion being when Janey fell out of a. cherry tree and broke her wrist, and Loraine had posted over on the old pony they shared between them at that time. It was just the same; the same cool, waxed linoleum innocent of rugs, the oak hall stand with its bowl of flowers, the faint smell of drugs that drifted in from the surgery. Dr. Warrender was a little startled when she wastshown, into his study. He was a shaggy-headed man with great gold-rimmed spectacles which in moments of stress he pushed back upon his forhead.

‘''Dear me, Doric —what’s happened? Your father hasn’t 1 another stroke, 1 hope, ’ ‘ ho exclaimed. As a" matter of fact, it was something that he secretly feared.

Loraine dropped limply into a chair and .pressed her handkerchief to her trembling lips. “No —it’s not that. Dad’s gettingon nicely, Janey tells me. I ’vc come to see you about myself.” ‘‘ißless my soul! What’s the matter with von?” ho demanded. ‘‘Yes, you look a bit pale. Too many late'nights. Oh, wo hear all about the gay doings at Droone, young lady. Perhaps you need a tonic.” ‘‘l’m terribly afaid, doctor,” she gasped out. “I’m sure there’s something fundamentally wrong with me.” “Oh, no, oh, no!” he exclaimed in the kindly reassuring voice that had brought comfort to so many sick-beds. “Tell me all about it, Lorie.” In spite of herself she was heartened by his manner. Bo far she had not succeeded in scaring him. He questioned her gently, but everything he asked fit.d so well with her symptoms that she began to feel uneasy again.

“Doctor, please tell me the' truth,” she begged. “Dont put me off. I want to know.’’ , To lier amazement, his eyes began to j twinkle. '“lt wouldn’t do much good to put voir off, Lorie, even if 1 wanted to. You’d have to know sooner or later. The only thing that ails you, my dear, is that you’re going to be a little mother in about six ‘or seven months. It’s something that happens to quite a lot of young married women.” He. wondered why she stared at him in that frozen fashion, as though the news had stunned her, and he was inclined to be cross. “Come, Lorie, you’ve not going to tell me you aren’t pleased?” She got up, fumbling with her veil. “1 scarcely know,” she replied vaguely. “Somehow, I never thought of—of that.”'

She shuddered as with sudden cold. Her child and Alexander Flaggs’—the child of a man who had killed his friend and served fifteen years in prison. CHAPTER XXYII. Dennis Carr had gone over to the Yicarage one afternoon while the business of spring cleaning was s'llil on, and found Janet somewhat disturbed about her father. “He isn’t any worse,” she said, “but at the same time, he doesn’t get better. He’s worrying about something. J thing it’s Lorie. He used to be so fond of her and she scarcely comes near him, now. When she does, they treat each 'other very curiously. ’They'never'want to be alone together. 1 don’t understand it, Dennis.” They were in the old summer-house and Janet was taking a brief rest after her strenuous labours o/ the morning. Between her and Dennis had grown the tendcrcst of all relationships—they were friends, and as soon as Dennis fully realised his own feelings they would be lovers. It, had surprised and halt the boy to discover that he had lived down his love for Loraine, that it caused him no pain even to reside ! under the same roof with her and her i husband. He had expected that to be ; a, terrible ordeal. At first hi? had slipped away to the Yicarage whei/ever jiossibl/, in order to gi) out of Lorn in c V wav, and perhaps he imagined that he still did it for that reason, but bit" byb bit Janey became dearer to him, and now he came because he really wanted to be with her.

There'was something delightful about 1 this friendship that warmed their hearts. Janey was so sweet and seemed to meet all the troubles of life with such a brave face. He could not ining- , ino her as the wife of a, rich man, I whereas now it was difficult to imagine | the stately Loraine as anything else. It pleased him to have Janet share her worries with him; it deepened the tense of confidence between them. He, too, had noticed the rift between Loraine and her father, but set it down to her immense pre-occupation with her own affairs. Loraine was very selfish, and in these days she seemed to con- ; side.r other people even less than liefore. He had noticed at the Castle that . she almost ignored her husband. j “Have you asked your father?” lie j inquired. “I can’t ask him: I don’t want him" to think I’ve noticed. Lorie lias been so utterly different towardsi all of us over-since she got back from her honeymoon, but more particularly since that* hateful Mrs. Kendell turned up. You don’t know how I detest that woman!”

Dennis laughed. ‘‘l ought to; you’ve said y often enough. ” The garden* pate clicked, and dnnef poked tier lidad put of tide suinmcrhousc to see who was coming in. “Why, it’s Lorie!’’ she exclaimed in a surmised aside. ‘‘She hasn’t been here~for nearly a week. Oli, dear, I }!ot;o she’s not going to he snappy and superior.” She ran to meet her sister, and Lo- j mine treated her to a genuine shock by kissing her. There was a brenMilessnoss about te pink and golden lily; her cheeks were delica-tlv flushed, and her eyes held an exprssion of moist ten-

ELIZABETH YORK MILLER Author of ’The Brass Box,” “Carry On,” “The Sins of the Fathers,” etc., etc.,

derness. Sometimes in the past she had looked like that when Janet and she were in the process of patching up a quarrel. Janet remembered that it was almost always Lorie who said she was sorry first. Janet could be very sorry, but still remain stubbornly silent about it. “Hello, Dennis!” Loraine called out. “Isn’t if just like old times, the three of us! We had anofiifr Til itch of visitors arrive this morning,” she explained to Janet, “and I’ve run away from them. ’ ’

“What fun!” Janet cried. “Will you stay for tea, Lorie? There’s no cake, I’m afraid—only bread and jam. Betsy and 1 ’ve been so busy—” “ Yes, I know. I saw you the other morning carting out the rugs, I thought of coining in and offering von a hand. ’ ’ “Oh, yes, T daresay you thought!” Janet scoffed. Inwardly she was quivering with pure happiness. This was the old Lorie back again. She wasn’t resentful about Dennis any more, either. Dennis and Janet exchanged furtive glances that conveyed their delight. “I’ll just run in a. moment and say ‘hello’ to dad,” Loraine said with an air of carelessness than completely misled them. “He’s in the study,” Janet called at for her. “It’s the only room we’ve got really straight.” Loraine paused for, a. moment outside the study door, her pretty hands crossed on her breast. . . . The poor old man whom she had licarlv killmi! “Come in! ” he quavered, in response to her knock. , “Are, it’s you, Lorie! Well, well, come in, my dear. We haven’t seen you for a long time.” He looked up at her with eyes full of sad inquiry as she gently closed the door behind her. They had made him comfortabblc with rugs and cushions in the old leather chair, and he had been amusing himself with a jig-saw puzzle.

Loraine sat down on a stool at his feet and rested lief head against his knees. “Dad, I want you to forgive me,” she said abruptly. “I want you to me and love me as much as you used to. T —l can’t bear you not to care for me.” , ' “Why, Lorie! Look at me, my dear —it’s you who have to forgive me." J should have told you.” “Oh, dad—dad!” “Then say we forgive each other, as we hope God will forgive all of us our sins,” he said gravely. “Tt was what* I had done to you. Lorie, that hurt me. I deserve vour reproaches; I wiys a wicked scheming old man, and it was God who punished me. But my greatest punishment is to know that you’re unhappy. And. of course, you can’t be othqrwi.se. Oh!—it was monstrous, Lorie. I see it very clearly now. 1 sinned against the light—for the sake of the flesh-pots.” (To be Continued.)