Fatal Power

Waikato Times, Volume 104, Issue 17485, 20 August 1928, Page 3

Fatal Power

(Copyright)

("Author of “ The Kaiser’s Beautiful The woman sighed, and in that sigh all the misery of her fea - stricken heart was wrapped up An Terie. What of Terle? Did nnd her 9 ” siie lowered her proud head as though an answer to her question w to be found in the translucent red ot the wine upon which her gaze wa. sot ~ /•Yes, ml’lady, She is In London. ’“Where?” . “In lodgings in Canonbury, and is engaged to that scoundrel. ~ "Who? The man called Brandon “The same, mi’lady.” , The stem of the glass snapped octween Lady Osmond's tense nngcr», and n red pool widened on the cioin. “She must never marry him. must prevent it, at any cost. Same, why did you not tell me this before. “Because, Lady Osmond, there i*> no hurry. The marriage won't take place yet. She's made up her mind io keap him waiting three months. H ‘-e moved before then, I should move faster. I think you can safely leave Mr Charles Brandop in my hands. “But Lois —I want her back fmre. She is a good girl, in spite of all her wilfulness. I promised her mother when first she came to the Grange 1 would look after her, watch over her and protect her. I do not wish i. sain that I have failed in my duty, be sides, what will Sir Raymond say when lie teams that Terle has inn awav after such a man?” “I don’t think Sir Raymond wdi ever know.” A strange gleam shot strange into the woman’s slumbrous '••yes. “You mean he will never get belie’. “That's my humble opinion. Lady Osmond. To speak quite plainly, the accident which spoilt Master John s Army career .on his way back fiom Wilby Royal, was also the master s death warrant. Take my word ior ii-, t he'll never recover his reason or the use of his limbs. Death would come as a merciful release to him.” “Poor Raymond!” The words broke from her in an involuntary whisper. I’ve been with him, Sarne, for more than a week in the nursing home; he could not recognise me. H was a sad sight. Yet I have not al.ogelher lost hope.” Same turned to the buffet again. “Mi’lady should look io the future. The past and the present hold nothing: the future everything.” She whitened as she ralign the meaning of his words. “1 want terle back,” she repealed, persistently. “The Grange isn’t the same without her. I miss her every hour. Mr Sarne, you will serve me best by ieying to induce her lo return here. A smile dickered across llic butlers face. “It's not for want of trying mi'ladv. f told her no proceedings would" InT taken; that she would lie exonerated of ail complicity in the theft from the safe. But the man seems lo have cast a spell over her. She's mazed on him; and so soon after Trcw's death, too! Scandalous, I call it.” “Oh, bother Trcw! He wasn t half good enough for Terle. Open the windows, pleasi : the air is stillingly hot. Sarne flung the windows wide, and, standing on the threshold, stared out. “A storm brewing mi lady. I hear it moaning over the hills. It s coming over the Grange.” “Never mind. Leave the windows. Bring another claret glass, please.” Sarne came towards the sideboard, and the bulbs under the pink candle shades flickered and the lights went out. The man smothered a curse. “The wires have fused, 1 suppose.” He waited a moment, hoping the light would come on again. Her ladyship felt the first cool •breath of Hie storm, and drew a sigh of relief. “Send Baynes down lo the enginehouse, and bring some candles if there is trouble with the wires.” The door closed, and Lady Osmond wiped her moist brow. The rain was already beginning to patter on the stones of the terrace, and a sighing rose up from the park. It died down, however, but left a fresh sound in the room Her hands gripped the sides of the chair, and site leant forward in an attitude of listening.

There was something other than the hushed silence now—a low rising and falling, like the wash and receding of an ebb tide on a far-off shore, The woman sprang up, every nerve quivering. “Who Is there? Quick.! Answer me! Ah! I can see someone." Her voice was on tho up-rise to a shriek; it dropped to a smothered cry as a deep answer rolled out of the darkness.

“Better for us to bo alone. I’ve come hack after all these years—-to remind you of your sin and silence." “Heavens! Arthur!" “Yes, Arthur 1 I’ll close the windows, Dorothy, and draw the curtains. You’ve got to help me.” “Oh, 1 cannot —J cannot! Please go away,” she whispered, in distracted tones. “Why have you come? What will be said if you arc found here.” An oath broke from the man. “I neither know nor care. You must shelter me.”

A match grated on the side of a box, and a little point of red tire blazed up. In the tiny glow she saw the horrible dress of a convict, and above it the haggard face of ttie unhappy man who had borne the burden of her sin in silence. She cowered back, staring at him terrorstricken. “You have escaped from prison?” she said, in a hoarse whisper. The convict drew a step closer, and trampled the glowing match-end into the carpet. “Thank Heaven, yes, and free 1 mean to stay. 1 dare you, Dot mind, I dare you—-to give me up. For five days and nights I’ve made northward over rough, inhospitable country, with warders hot on my trail all the time. The Grange lias been my objective. But it isn’t you alone I’yc come to see; you, the fine lady in this great house, where you’ve reigned a queen, white I've languished in the place where you should have been. Listen, and stop that moaning. Any minute the warders rnay be here.” He crossed to the window and stared out. A light glimmered for a moment on the slope of the hilt. “They’re up there, searching for me. They may come here. If they do, they may pick up my track as far as the park. Perhaps they’ll expect me to come here to steal clothes. If they do, you’ve got to hide me. See?” “Oh, I daren’t!” the woman said, unhappily. "Daren’t!” A laugh came from the shadows by the window. “Daren’t do anything for a half-dead man w'ho has kept his lips scaled half a lifetime that you might go scot free? D’you think new’s hasn’t filtered through to me over all the years—how you’ve queened it hero as Sir Raymond Osmond’s wife, while ail the time you rightly belonged to mo.” *

A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.

BY CECIL HENRY BULLIVANT.

Spy,” “ Tho Heel of Achilles." “I thought you were dead, Arthur. As Heaven is my witness that is the truth. I heard of your escape years ago, of your dead body being found. The papers said it was you. I thought I was free—and married again. Oh, be merciful, and save me!” “Don’t lie." The convict's hand fastened on her bare shoulder. “You heard, soon after the finding of the dead body, of my rc-caplurc by warders, of the fight, in which I accidentally killed one of them, and of my going back to penal servitude for life again. You knew all that, and yet you never told your husband.” “I daren't. Sir Raymond would cast me out. I had my position to think of —and his children, who loved me." He laughed bitterly. “You can guess, I suppose, why'l have come?" A shiver ran through her. “For money?” she suggested. “A half-dead man, with little longer to live, doesn’t want money—except, perhaps, enough to keep body and soul together. No. What I want is ” He bent his lips close to her ear, and at the whispered words a wild sob left her. “Yes! Yes! I admit it, Arthur,” she moaned. “Whoever told you spoke the truth. Something shall be done. But not now. 1 can do nothing tonight. To-rnorrow, yes, to-morrow “You mustn’t fail me.” “As Ilcavcn is my witness, 1 won’t. Hark!” Footsteps sounded without; the door opened, and revealed Sarne on the threshold, holding a branched stick of flaring wax candles. Their light fell on the face of the convict, and Sarne stepped instinctively back. Lady Osmond saw his surprise, and motioned him into the room. “Sarne, close the door please. I rely on you to be discreet.” tier white hand trembled as she indicated the convict. “This—is —a friend of mine. We must hide him here.” The butler set down the candlestick. “M’lady, I saw lights, men carrying lanterns, coming up the drive,” he said. The convict sprang up. “Dot, it’s now or never,” lie cried. “Give me clothes. I’ve got io get away.’” The woman's wils were Hie quickest. “Mr Sarne, go to your room. Arthur, follow him. Sarne will go to bed. He will be indisposed. You must slip into bis clothes, and hurry down to wait on me. W*s! They are coming. That's the way—where the butler is going.” She opened the door leading' into the library, for furtive steps were moving about the terrace. With l'aslheating heart, she sat down at the tabic again, and waited for H'o ring at the front-door bell. Minutes passed, and the convict was back again in the dining-room, standing like a statue behind her chair, halt' hidden in the deep shadows, by Ihe time the loud peal rang through the house. (To he continued to-morrow.)