“THE EVIL THAT MEN DO”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 15 September 1936, Page 7

“THE EVIL THAT MEN DO”

CHAPTER XYI (Continued). Wilson saw now that the secret was out, and that it were worse than folly to try and conceal the truth longer; but still he determined to put the best face he could on the matter. “I don’t know how you have gained your information,” he observed, "bur you have got hold of rather a jumbled story. Now, let me tell you this, young fellow; it will perhaps be better for all concerned if you calm yourself and listen to reason.” Walter looked dangerous; his blood within him; he felt as if he could nou possibly control himself, but must fly at Wilson and do him an injury. “ Treacherous villain!” he cried. ‘ ‘ Who am I, and where do I come from?” “Well, you are a nobody. Your father was a drunken scoundrel, who had. neither trade nor profession, but kept a dirty huckster’s shop in one of the lowest parts of Glasgow; so you see that you have little to gain by denouncing yourself or me. You are in possession here. The real heir is dead, and the man does not live who can turn you out. Why not keep what you have now, and enjoy yourself? That’s my 'counsel. ’ ’ Walter experienced such a sense of utter disgust that he felt as if he could not speak to this cool, calculating scoundrel, who unblushingly counselled him to continue the cruel fraud. He was overwhelmed with shame, sorrow, and humiliation, and it seemed to him as, if never again would lie be able to hold up his head. Before he could make Wilson any answer the door opened and Emily, his wife, confronted them. The newcomer saw at once, as soon as she stood in the presence of the two men, that something was wrong between them. “What is the matter?” she asked in alarm. She turned an inquiring glance on Walter, who stood irresolute, and looked as if lie were suffering great mental distress, which was in reality’the case; for there was nothing of cowardice in his nature, and he knew that this woman after all was his wife, and the marriage was of Ms own seeking. “Emily,” he said, ‘‘it is better that I should not tell you now. I am in great distress; I am driven almost mad, in fact, and I must have time to think. ’ ’

Wilson smiled imperceptibly. He felt that, for the present at least, the revelation of his guilt would be avoided. But he had reckoned without liis daughter.

Emily moved to her husband, and laying her hand on his arm, and looking up into his troubled face, she said gently, “Peter, tell me, dear!” “Do not call me Peter,” lie cried despairingly. “It is not my name. I am simply an outcast, a nameless beggar. ’ ’ She recoiled as if she had been shot; all the colour fled from her face, for liis words and his tone startled her into a deadly fear. She turned her tearful eyes from the one face to the other, as if mutely asking to be relieved from the crushing suspense.

“Emily,” said Walter Maclaren sadly, “ something dreadful has. happened. I stand before you as an impostor, unwittingly so on my own part, Heaven knows, but still an impostor.” “Who are you, then?” she gasped.

“Alas, I do not know. Ask your father, who has brought all this evil upon us.” She turned to Wilson, who looked as bloodless as a statue.

‘‘Suspend your judgment, Emily, ’’ he pleaded. “Remember, there are two ■sides to a story.”

“Oh, don’t try to gloss the matter over,” Walter exclaimed. “Better that the worst should be known at once. Emily, we have both been cruelly and terribly deceived. 1 am not what you believed me to be, what I believed myself to be. I am not Peter Maxwell, the heir, and I have no shadow of a claim upon this property. ’ ’ The wretched girl pressed her hands to her face, and sank into a chair with a moan of pain. Driven to desperation, Wilson recovered himself a little, for he shrank horrified from the idea of appearing in all his villainy before his only child. The instincts of the father had at least survived his lust for worldly gain. “Emily, what your husband has told you is true. He is not the heir to this property; he is not, Peter Maxwell, but Walter Maclaren, but there is palliation to be found for my fault.. The real heir was stolen when a mere child, and, as I believe, killed, or died a natural death. I confess that I was moved by ambitious motives, but I was also desirous of saving Miss Maxwell—whom I had served for years —pain and distress, and, not estimating the magnitude of my offence, I substituted your husband for the real heir, to whom he bore a strange resemblance, and was of the same age. In urging you to marry him I was actuated by a desire to secure to you a position and a competency, never dreaming that after all this time the truth would ever be revealed, in our day at least.” “Oh, heavens, this is terrible, terrible,” Emily moaned, as she moved to and-fro with the agony of her mental distress. Walter felt as if his brain was on fire, and that he could not, dare not, trust himself to speak. “I must go out—l must get away and tlii.uk it all out. I will see you by and by.” Emily made no response, no effort to stop him, but continued to rock herself and moan, and so he went forth with the great load of sorrow torturing him cruelly. For a few minutes Wilson paced up and down the room in nervous agitation. Then, stopping before his daughter, he said, “Emily, look up and talk to me. The worst is known, and the past cannot be recalled. ‘ You are my flesh and blood; surely you will have pity.”

BY R. DONOVAN.

(To be Continued.)

“Pity!” she cried. “Have you had pity for me?” “Yes,” he answered, “I have, and ■still have. Point out to me any means by which I can mitigate the painfulness of your position, and I will do so, even if you demand the instant sacrifice of my wretched life.” He spoke with such apparent sincerity:—and it was only apparent —that she was touched. “I don’t wish you to sacrifice your life for me,” she answered, in piteous accents. “I would rather save you from the penalty of your crime.” He shuddered, for at heart he was a coward, and the bare idea of arrest and punishment turned him cold. “There is a way to avoid that,” he said breathlessly. “How?” she asked. “By flight.” She hid her face again with her hands, and burst into a fresh torrent of tears. “Emily,” he said, after a long pause,. and betraying by his tone how great was his anxiety, “Emily, there is yet time to avoid the consequences of my folly, and live for the repentance you speak of. I have ample means in my possession, and before the news, becomes public property we will seek safety in flight.” “We!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” he went on pleadingly. “Give me at least the consolation of your company, and we will seek a home in a foreign land, and whatever of life is left to me shall be devoted to promoting your happiness and to repenting my own sins.” “No, I shall not go,” she answered sobbingly. “What will you do, then?” “Alas! I know not,” she answered with a fresh outburst of sobs. Then after a pause she added, with the energy of desperation, “I will kill myself!” He looked at her sternly, and a bitter smile wreathed itself round his thin, trembling lips. “That would be sensible indeed!” he sneered. “One person would be deeply gratified, and that person your husband. ’ ’

Emily rose with a passionate gesture. • “You villain!” she cried. “You have brought me to this strait, and now you tell me that my husband -would rejoice in my death. If you knew that he did not love me, how did you dare to encourage me to marry him?” ’ This outburst seemed to exhaust her, and she sank back into her chair again,, burying her face.in her hands. “I did it for the best,” he answered, “and with an earnest desire to secure your future. My plan has failed. It cannot be helped, but again I remind you that you are my own flesh and blood, my child, and I ask whether you will stand quietly by and see me given to the common hangman?” She shuddered, and, without looking at him, murmured, “No. No word of mine shall betray you.” ‘ ‘ And surely you will not desert me. If you remain here there is only ruin for you. If you fly with me we will seek a country where rve shall be safe. Say, will you go?” She did not speak for a long time. Then, dashing the tears from her burniny face, which was filled with awful despair, she said, “Yes, I will go with you. ’ ’

The shock to Miss Maxwell produced by tlie discovery of the wicked deceit that had been played upon her was terribly severe, and had she not been endowed with a very powerful constitution there is little doubt the blow would have proved fatal. For the time being, however, it seemed to give her new energy and she despatched a messenger post haste for her lawyer. Mr Sutherland, and, that done, she insisted on getting, up, so that she might inquire into matters for herself.

Sutherland lost no time in complying with the urgent message, and proceeded at once to the Red House, and guessing that something had occurred to cause him to be summoned so hastily he was not taken by surprise when his client told what she had learnt. He listened patiently, and when she had finished he in turn told her of the strange recovery of the deeds, and that he had been waiting his time until he had got such evidence as would justify him in taking steps to bring the guilt home to the right parties. “X have reason to think that your nephew was not murdered, Miss Maxwell, ’ ’ said the lawyer, * 1 but that he lives still, and what is more, I am not without hope that we shall recover him. ’ ’

“Oh, do it—do it at once,” she cried in great distress. “Let me look upon him once more before I die.” The lawyer knew that delay in isucli a case "would be dangerous, as she might die at any moment, and so he proposed, that a will should be drawn up at once ■-■—a proposal which she at once fell in with. It was therefore necessary to send for Maclaren so that they might ascertain if he knew his true name. When he came he told them what he had learnt from Wilson, who had in-, formed him that his real name was Walter Maelaren; so Sutherland at once proceeded to draft a will, very briefly indeed, for everything she died possessed of was to go to her real nephew or his heirs, except a sufficient amount of capital which, in being funded, would produce Walter Maclaren seven-ty-five pounds a year for life.