Fatal Power

Waikato Times, Volume 104, Issue 17493, 29 August 1928, Page 3

Fatal Power

(Copyright.)

A romance of real life.

BY CSCIL HENHY BULLIVANT. (Author of " The Kaiser's Beautiful Spy," " Tha Heel of <2.6j>'

CHAPTER XXI. — (Continued.)

A burst of mocking' laughter rang through the room. “Don't be a fool. Lois. Of course I shall do nothing of t.he kind. As Sir Raymond's widow I am entitled to my position here, and I mean to keep it.” “But not entitled to otter me as a bribe something which lawfully belongs to them. Mother, how could you? They have gone away—Tohn who was always so good to you; Irene, always so sweet and kind - when this should be a place of shelter and protection for both of them against the, world. Oh, you can laugh. I am not the Lois Tcrlc who ran away because a bad man had snared her by his fatal power. A different spirit, a different heart beats within me to-day, and if I have tasted suffering, and must drink of it to the last, is is because of my sincere wish to wipe out the past, and to redeem a life blasted by my selfishness and my sin.”

terness had won. and all along retained, her only love.

The other arched her pencilled brows. “And what real wrong have

you done, pray?” A sad tenderness crept into the girl's voice, now exquisitely sweet. “1 threw away the most precious gift that Heaven can give to woman —a good man’s love—bartered it to chase a gilded shadow, and brought the giver to shame and death. Tom slew my husband because of his great love for me, because Charles Brandon had wronged me beyond forgiveness. The guilt; of his mad, insensate act lies at my door, and for my wickedness he will pay the penalty.” “More fool he to have done such a thing,” retorted the other, unfeelingly. “I admit you ought to feel grateful to him for ridding you .of your scoundrelly husband, but I sec no reason why you should repine.” “We shall not sec eye to eye, you and I, on this or other matters," the girl answered. “I wish to Heavens we could. You are my mother and that perhaps means more to me, will mean more to me, than I now realise. When I was your maid, your servant, you were often kind to me, so kind that tears would come to my eyes, and I would look at you wistfully, and wish that every' hour you would be the same. Was it your mother love calling to me? I believe so, and one day, maybe, the mother love will call again.” “Love is akin to duty, Lois. Your duty now is to shield me, to make my way clear and secure,” the other replied petulantly “For that I offer a full reward. Instead, you would sell me to misery and shame.” Lois’ eyes softened. “If my hope is dean my heart is not. You are my mother, and what comfort I can be I will. But you must deal fairly with John and Irene.” "How can 1? Y'ou ask me to do everything against my deepest instincts. All that 1 have I hold in trust for you. I cannot, will not, give it away.”

But if all other joy were denied her she experienced more than a passing meed of consolation in her quickening devotion to her mother. That, indeed, was all she had to live for now—the love that bound her to !hc one whose life-breath was her own. If Lady Osmond were aware of this, she gave but little outward sign. Sometimes, when selfishness palled, and the loneliness of her position came upon her, sweeping much of her cold reserve away, she would show to the waiting girl a side of her nature not yet wholly dead to softer influences, and for that Lois was more than grateful. But to win her over, even as she herself had been sharply won by a cruel circumstance, away from the snares and the shallowness of the world, was the longing that lay nearest to the girl’s heart, and she set herself to the task with a subjugation of self and a r'esolve which she meant should break every barrier down.

“Love—her love, is what I must and will win,” she determined, and from winning that love no power on earth should restrain her.

■Nor was her purpose lost on watchful eyes. In a hundred different ways the knowledge was borne in on Julius Same.

It was one evening in early'autumn, as Lois sat sewing in her own room overlooking the garden, that Same broke in, without apology, on her rereflections.

He paid no heed to her rebuke lhat it was customary for those who entered her room to knock first, but coolly seated himself in the window seat, and remained there, silently regarding her with tensely admiring eyes.

Very soon Lois began to feel uncomfortable, and, rising, would have left him alone had not a sharp word from him detained her.

“Lois, you’ll never again get the chance I’m going to give you tonight,” he said, rising suddenly and intercepting her half-way lo the door. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—nor do I wish to," she replied. “Will you kindly leave me, or let me go.” “Certainly, if I thought my keeping silence any longer would be for your good. But as it won’t be, my dear, and as your happiness is mine also, I prefer to speak out now."

There was something disconcerting in his face—the look of a man who has triumphed over all obstacles, and who no longer means to brook denial. Instinctively, Lois realised that Same’s long and studious avoidance of her—ever since, in fact, the first night of her return to the Grange—was not without its purpose.

"And I refuse to touch it.” “You really mean that?” A flash of the old decision showed in lady Osmond’s question. “Of course,” Lois answered. “Then go your way, and I will go mine.” Lois took the other's dead-cold hand in hers. “You are my mother,” she said, looking up entreatingly into the cold, impassive face. “I want to be near you, to see you do what is right. Fetch Sir Raymond's children back; let them remain here. And I—l will stay too, not as your child, but as your maid. Yest, I will keep silence. Ho one shall ever dream of the bond between you and me."

“Well, what is it?” she asked, quaveringly. “Please say what you have lo—and get it over.” “When you’ve moved away from Lhc door. That's better. Now sit down and listen to me.” He fixed her with a deadly, glittering glance. “Her Ladyship won't be back before ten. It’s now half-past seven. Wc have just two hours and a-half, Lois, in which to the fate of three lives.”

“Three lives? Whose?” she asked, in a half-frightened whisper.

“You will really do that?” The triumph of selfishness rang in Lady Osmond's voice. “Willingly—gladly. I have no wish for anything but to atone for the past and see justice done.” “Then I accept your sacrifice.” Lady Osmond rose and paced the room with slow deliberation. “But, mind you, child, there must he no going hack, no repining. I’ll be fair to you. What you offer in the full flush of heart-felt repentance will seem a heavy price in after days."

Lois’ eyes were shining with a wondrous light. “1 have weighed everything. There can be no going back for me.” The woman looked at her curiously. “Lois, why do you promise this?” For answer she went up lo the woman and wound her arms softly about her neck. Then her fair hair drooped to the breast that had once suffered her, and the cry went up from a broken, contrite, but still loving heart:

'Because you are my mother.” CHAPTER XXII.

Life was changing, bringing a new meaning, a deeper knowledge of her own sinful folly, to the girl on whom suffering and remorse began to set its seal on the night of her husband's tragic death. Willi each day the fatal consequences of succumbing to Brandon’s fascinations drew inevitably nearer, as tiic lime fixed for Tom's trial approached. And overshadowed as Lois felt herself by dark clouds of despair, she could Uriel only one ray of hope, one single promise of earthly peace, in Uie Jove which she bore for her mother.

With the reading of the papers it iiad come to her in an overwhelming Hood of conviction—her relationship in the woman who, for selilsli ends, had denied her so Jong. Sir Hayrnond s wife was her mother, blood of her blood, bone of her bone, and her heart went out in infinite yearning for Jove ami guidance on her trembling way. That her mother stilt kept locked the Hood-gales of iove in no wise diminished Lois’ growing affection; quietly, more than a little sharnedly, she slipped back to her own place in Uie great bouse, striving by devoted service to wipe out something of Lhc past. Willi a deeper satisfaction than she had hitherto experienced, she remained silently in lhc background, while Lady Osmond took prompt steps to keep her part of Uie bargain. Botli John and Irene returned to (he Grange, to learn that in their absence the lawyers had been busy, under their stepmother’s direclions, righting the injustice of their dead father’s will .

At tier Ladyship’s death the estate, the great housfr, the invested money-—-everything would be theirs, and in the knowledge, secretly communicated to Lois by her mother, the girl found real satisfaction. “J shall iove and honour you always for that," John had said, with tears in her eyes. “Oh, what wouldn’t J give if only I could make such restitution for Tom !" But fate is inexorable, and as day succeeded day, j(, became more and more apparent that sacrifice, the subduing of self, l.be giving up of ail that was dear to Lhc worldly side of her nature, was an inevitable part of the price sb,e must pay. There was nothing else could she do, nothing to help the man whom she knew during this time of heart-searching trial and bit-

Same closed the window with a bang. “Yours, my dear, mine, and that of Lady Osmond —your mother.” Lois rose slowly, a look of horror spreading over her troubled face. “What do you know about— my mother.” Everything that you do—and a great deal more. Don’t alarm yourself. This is a time to keep cool. You'll need all your nerve before I’ve done, because this is the time of your great decision.’ “Who said Lady Osmond is my mother?” she breathed, faintly. (To be continued to-morrow.) - - r= o