The Temptation of Mary Lister.

Waikato Times, Volume 104, Issue 17587, 17 December 1928, Page 12

The Temptation of Mary Lister.

BY E. EVERETT-GREEN. Author of "Adventurous Anne," "A Queen of Hearts," "Defiant Diana," "The Lady of the Bungalow," etc, etc.

(Published by Special Arrangement.)

CHAPTER XVI. (Continued.) "So you were going to charge yourself with her future, Mary?" "I thought of our being together at Hartshill. But you sec it came to nothing. And she had no friends over here whom she was going to. That was the sad part of it. There was nobody to write to or to tell." "That seems unusual, docs it not?" "I think not quite so much for a girl coming out from the Antipodes. Her parents had cut adrift from old ties, and her father had failed, and her mother had died long before. She had been a waif and stray even over there, but thoughtt perhaps she might And a niche over here. However " "Perhaps that was a happy solution," said Giles, who was watching her face with some attention; "but it was a sad thing for you, Mary. It must have laid a burden upon your life." "A burden!" she repeated, a little startled. "Perhaps I should have said a shadow," was his composed reply. "You had planned something different, and this death of hers disconcerted everything-" Mary flicked her horse with her whip, and they started at a brisk canter. She felt gripped by an extraordinary fear. It was as though Giles were reading her guarded secret as from the page of an open book. She dared not let him see her face. She kept a little ahead till she felt she could control her features, and when they drew to a walk and were level again, he made no farther allusion to the Mary Lister who had died and had been buried at sea. With Lady Lucy, however, all Mary's anxieties and fears abated. She was" sweetness itself, and made perpetual claims upon her guest, whom she insisted upon treating rather as a daughter than as a mere visitor to her bouse. Mary was shown everything upstairs and down. Mary's opinion was asked, her taste consulted She could not be too much at Lady Lucy s beck and call. Giles, coming from Lime to time in search of them, would stand watching the pahvhis hands in his pockets, a pleasant if slightly ironic light in his eyes. "Giles " his mohter would say, I am finding how delightful it is to have a daughter all my own. \ou men things are wonderful creatures in your own way; but a woman wants one of her own kind about. And Mary makes an ideal daughter. Your old mother is having the time of her

lif For she was displaying old brocades and family heirlooms and \nd she claimed the right to dress Mary up in some of these delicate fabrics and bring her down to dinner liking a\ though she had stepped out of some old master's canvas And she loved to watch Giles's face as he made his grave inspection For It began to be borne in upon her mother Seart that, after all, she was going f 'achieve the desire. of her heart, and that her boy was going to fall in love with Mary Lister. "Darling,' she said one soft, hot evening as they paced the terrace together after dinner, "I simply shall St Sow how to let you go when the ball is over. Mary, dear, when will you come to me again? ' "Dear Aunt Lucy, 1 simply love being here lam much happier than at Hartsh 11; but I suppose my place is here lam learning how to look after things, and Giles is so kind m helping me. I have learnt a great Seal from him these last days, and I hope he will let me come to him for ad he will. That is what men and brothers and cousins are for. near me'—lf I had that big place. I Siould be inclined to sell it, I do think Burthen? I don't know anyiUn* about vmsinpss I have always had a nus S" and a" son to do UUW.[»» £■ You will want a husband Man dear Sd°^^y^^s^t L w?th iJope, darling, that when you find a husband he will be m true and good a man as I have in my 11 'was to be the last evening r„!n 6 aeW%/ S '»'^/S ™ thp morrow of which Mai} s wllk Zlu™Z As th=V Passed.lndoors through the window, Ladi Lucy suu d «St of letters I meant Sing things that you could tell me about them. I wonder, now-wheie have I kept them all this while? "Dear Aunt Lucy, what letters arc after her marriage, before our r-nn-esnondencc dwindled and cuta. °laseSem somewhere, though I have not thought of them for years. But I am sure there were photographs o persons and places that you would know about, and you could tell me a lot of interesting little things one always wants to know. Perhaps there would be a snapshot of you, Mary, as a little girl. There is no knowing. I must get them out, and we will o° through them together. Why have I forgotten all this while?" "Well do not trouble to-night, Aunt Lucy for I am getting sleepy, and I can see you do not remember where the letters arc. Let us wait till altu the ball, when things will be qiuet again " , , "Ah yes, and you shall come and spend' another week with me quite soon, and I will find those papers, and then we will have a cosy talk over them together." Mary went up to her room, but almost she felt as though her heart had sLopped beating. A packet of old letters and papers, full of allusions, doubtless, many of which she would be expected to understand and explain. And perhaps Giles would be there, too, his eyes upon her as she hesitated, pretending to be searching her memory, contradicting herself, perhaps, or saying things suspiciously inaccurate.

Mary's hand went up to her throat, pulling at the laces around it. "I must get those papers. I must go through them first alone. I dare not meet his eyes—her questions—unprepared. By hook or by crook I must have those papers—if i have to burgle for them. But where are they? And how can I get them?

(To be continued to-morrow.)

CHAPTER XVII. "Those Papers!" Mary's sleep thai night was troubled and broken. Dreams came to her from which she woke suddenly with a sense almost of horror. She seemed lo seen angry, accusing eyes staring at her. through ' the soft darkness—the eyes of Giles Lorimcr, the upright man.

Or they would be sad, reproachful eY es—the eyes of Lady Lucy, mutely asking of her, "How could you do this thing?" And Mary began to ask this same question of herself. How could she do it? And having done it, how could she come to the house of the persons she had wronged, sit at their table, accept their hospitalities, their friendship, their love, knowing all the while that she was defrauding Giles Lorimer of his rights, beginning to feel a creeping apprehension that already he suspected something, might soon be on the track of discovery? Mary turned and tossed upon her bed. Had she herself put the clue into his hands? Why had she let out about that other Mary Lister ? Had that been a grievous error in judgment? Sometimes it seemed wisest to her to be frank as possible about her affairs. Then some qualm would overcome her, and she would find herself cowering and almost sweating with terror. But suppose Giles were to find captain or purser or ship's doctor some day after the vessel, now far away and getting further every hour, had returned to port, would he not learn confirmation of her story from them? No one would be likely to be in the least clear as to which of the girls was which. The stewardess, who knew most had told her that she was going to leave the boat to be married and go off to Canada at once. Probably she was on her way there now. Mary felt that she had only to "sit tight" and quietly claim to be Joshua Hart's grand-daughter, and nobody could prove her anything else. But she needed to take every reasonable precaution. She must not be taken by surprise. What about those papers that Lady Lucy had spoken of? Was it possible that she might be puzzled, contused, confounded even by something which they might contain?

"if only I could get at those papers, look them through, destroy anything which might be dangerous, be ready with all answers to questions—then I should have nothing to fear. Those papers! How can I get at them? By book or oy crook I must have them, if possible!" And at least there could be no talk of them to-day. There was hurry and bustle and excitement in the hous-e. The men had come to polish the floor of the long gun-room, which was to be used for dancing purposes. The guns and trophies were to be takeu from the walls, and on the morrow these would be decked with flowers. Resounding blows from many hammers told her the dais for the musicians was being set up at one end, and Lady Lucy's household was all busy pulling out cushions and draperies from stores in far-away attics to drape and make comfortable the rout seats against the walls for spectators of the dancing and the dancers themselves.