[All Rights Reserved.] THE WOMAN WITHIN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XX, 14 November 1903, Page 7

[All Rights Reserved.] THE WOMAN WITHIN.

By

ATHOL FORBES.

Author of “Cassock and Comedy/’ “A Son of Rimmon,” Etc

CHAPTER XXXIV. Immediately his wife was seated. Mr. Langthorne spoke. “My task would have been easier. Margaret, had I been eandid with you when I asked you to be my wife. You may not believe it now, nor for the years to come, but it was always my intention to tell you before our marriage day. what I am about to disclose to you now. Somehow, the opportunity, the right opportunity, never seemed to come. Time slipped away, and there was always the temptation to put off a disagreeable duty. Besides, 1 though the chapter in my life was closed for ever. I do not wish to shift the blame or divide the responsibility, but my greatest friend, who knows all, strongly urged me not tell you.” “When I was at college, I married a woman of inferior social position to myself. At the time, I was infatuated with her. Unfortunately her faults were not merely those of inferior status: she drank, and that was not all. In a few weeks we separated, and 1 learnt some time afterwards that she was dead. Then I met you, and in you I found my ideal mate, and we have been very happy. A week ago, the woman, whom I thought dead, called upon me at the office.” "Oh. John, is she alive?” She had resolved to sit quietly to hear the confession, but tlhe horror of another wife living struck her like a whip, for what was she? “Hear me out,” and he laid his hand upon hers, and she suffered it to remain: "This woman became violent. I offered her money to go away, but she was determined to wreck everything, to come to this house to you and Edith, and claim her right as my legal wife. Sh<would not listen to reason. Her object was revenge, and for what? my God!—T treated her well enough so long as she needed help ” “Go on. go on!” gasped his wife. “Well, the woman goaded me into madness. My brain seemed to catch fire: her language, her taunts, her threats became more than I could bear. In desperation, I seized her by the throat, my mad fury had complete mastery, and before I could think of anything, the woman was dead, Margaret, and I was the murderer! That is the terrible secret that has made my life a hell for the past week, and that secret is possessed by Barking and explains his Ihold over me.”

•‘lt is all too terrible to realise; but. John, you did not mean to kill the woman?” “1 don’t know what I intended, when I had my hands upon her throat.” “Oh, John, how you must have suffered! Why did you not tell/me before ?” She put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. His face softened as his eyes looked into hers. “I did not think you would take it like this,” he said. “Ah, John. If I judged you at all, I should judge you gently. I cannot blame you, and I cannot be jealous of your infatuation for a woman who came into your life before I did. That would be unreasonable. 1 feel it; that is natural; but, John, dear, what are you going to do?” “Barking must be bribed.” “To keep the secret? I understand ” she said, and she drew closer to him: “but you will have me by your side whatever happens.” “Does Edith know anything?” “No.” Would it not be well to consult your solicitor in regard to Barking? He is not a man to be trusted.” “1 am afraid the man is a scoundrel, who will drag out of me the full value of his silence.” •‘But about his complicity?” “Complicity? How do you mean, my dear?” ‘‘He knows of—of what you have done. He accepts money to keep silence. Is not that being an accessory after the fact ? 1 don’t know much about law, but I have read of such things in criminal cases.” “T suppose it is; my own stake in this is greater than his, and he might easily say that I used my position to compel him to keep silence. I do not see what a solicitor could do in the way of helping me.” “He is a man that I instinctively dislike, that is one reason why 1 refused to comply with your request to send him an invitation, but there are other reasons.” “But you will do as I wish now?” “Yes; I will do anything. Tf we have to face disgrace, you will not find me t: r from your side. 1 thought it was something else. This is dreadful enough, but it is no sin against me, that is what makes it easier for me in a way. I sup-

pose. We can think now together, cannot we?” She put her hand to her head. “Of course when this woman was alive I was not really your wife?” "She could have disputed your right, hut had 1 given it a thought, my course was simple. I had ample evidence for a divorce.” “Did you know much of her first life when you married her?” “Not much.” “We won’t talk about that. It is the future we must look to, and the present. Have you thought of Edith—l mean her position? It will be terrible for her, for Chetwynd ought to be told. We could not allow them to marry with this hanging over our heads. It would be wrong, would it not?” “Yes, you are quite right, dear. I cannot think: I seem to have lost all power. I sometimes seem to lose the sense of right and wrong. Talk to me: your voice soothes me. Would to God I had confided in you sooner!” “So many thoughts come into ones head.” she went on. "I seem suddenly to he in another world.” “You are very brave over it, dearest, very brave. Heaven bless you for it!” Her calmness astonished him, as it astonished herself. It seemed to have a steadying effect upon her now that she knew all. Before, she had been hysterical; now, there was no sign of weakness. Her husband’s danger, her daughter’s happiness, their own future, these pressed upon her and compelled her to think, and the effort to do so gave her courage. “But you must be brave, too. dear heart,” she said. "You know, John. I was ever considered a coward. A mouse was always thought sufficient to annihilate my courage.” She smiled through her tears. “Ah! darling: my courage cannot compare with yours now, for yours is the courage of innocence—mine nothing but the brand of guilt, and it. is no use pretending to be brave.” CHAPTER XXXV. ’ ll events we can be resolute,” was his wife’s reply, as Mr. Langthorne told her of his terrible dilemma. “I men tioned young Chetwynd just now. Whnt is to be done in regard to him?” “You think he should be told?” “He must be told something. The en-

gagement cannot go on at present. To tell him everything would be to put yourself in another man’s hands, but he must be given plainly to understand that for the present all thoughts of marriage must be put aside.” “Poor Edith." he murmured. “Yes, it will he hard for her; hard for both of them, for it is really a love match; but, John, we must be just: our duty is plain.” “It is, and costly. I wish I could pay all that cost myself.” “I know that. John,” she said, softly, “but the \ll Wise One has ordained that all shall partake of sorrow, not necessarily of their own making. It is an essential part of our education here: now is the time to show what our faith is forth.” “You are a brave woman.” "I slhall try to be. Now about Chetwynd? He will be Killing sometime today. When he comes, you must see him and tell him firmly, that the engagement foir the present must be considered as a matter for future consideration. You will put it gently?” “I shall have every consideration for him.” "Then about this young black-mail er ” There was a strong tone of bit tc-rness in her voice. "Of course I will do what you wisih. but do you not think that an ordinary invitation to dine with the family would serve the purpose?" “For the present it might, but he will not. I fear, be content with that for long.” “Well, sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. At all events we shall gain time; a severe trial awaits us when we have to introduce that man to our friends.” “He is certainly a common youth.” “Worse than that, he is vulgar. Com ' o-wo-ss can be overcome: vulgarity never.” “Yet he risked something—in fact, he risked a great deal in order to save me.” "That is his story. I wonder how much of it is true? Do you know I can not understand that man risking anything—Oh. John,” she broke off suddenly, “did you really kill this woman? Are you sure she did not merely faint? surely some stir would have been made before now.” “Barking showed me the paper— the body was found where he placed it.” “How dreadful! But, how do you know it was the same woman? Murders

are ecommitted, alas, in London daily That might have been a coincidence.” He shook his head sadly: “I wish I could think otherwise. I wish there were the faintest gleam of hope.” “There is one thing. I do not wish to worry you too much. dear, but it is better that 1 should know all now. You spoke of bribing him—what is his price ?” “He demands a partnership.” She drew in her breath; it was as if hot iron had come into contact with her delicate flesh. “This is drinking the dregs of bitter ness, indeed,” she said. He was afraid to tell her the rest: of the further demand for their daughter’s hand. A servant entered, and presented a card to Mr. Langthorne. “Ask Mr. Barking to wait in the library,” he said. The footman bowed and withdrew. As a matter of fact Barking had been waiting a considerable time in the hall already until the man in livery had thought fit to take up his card. He descended the stairs very leisurely, stopped in full view of Barking to stare out of the window at nothing in particular, then plucking a speck of dust from his coat, said, “Come this way, young man.” Barking ground his teeth and fol lowed. But the footman was not finished. He was a past master in the art of annoyance, so he stopped to engage a parlour-maid in conversation before he opened the library door. Then in a casual way he said, “Step inside here.” To show his utter indifference he ■whistled in a low key. Barking understood what it meant only too well. It was to let him see that his presence in that house was regarded by the servants as an intrusion. For a few seconds after the servant had left the room, husband and wife were silent. “I suppose I must see him,” said Mr. Langthorne. wearily, getting up from his chair bv his wife’s side.

“No, John; I’ll see him.” “You?” he ejaculated in surprise. ■Why not?” "But why should you? No, dear; there is no need for you to be burdened with my sorrow more than can be avoided. It is hateful enough for me to see him; it would be worse for you.” “I want you to give me my own way for once, just because 1 want to try to help you. Sometimes our troubles blind our eyes, and somehow 1 feel that you are not managing this with the grip of things with which you handle business matters. Forgive me, dear; you know what 1 mean. Sometimes a wonurn’s intuitions enable her to do what a man’s cannot. It will surprise lor to find that I know all.” "You have >OOI6 scheme, then?” His eyes brightened as he put the question. "No,” she replied sadly, "I have not, I ec—. ss, but 1 do want to help you, and i want to satisfy myself as to whether Barking is to ue trusted, if the worst bi true. Sometimes, too, a man betrays himself to a woman. The task is distasteful enough, 1 admit, but when a woman loves a man as I love you, John, she cannot do too much for him.” "You have lost none of your old sweetr.t ss, Margaret.” "And none of my love,” she answered simply. "I don’t understand why this great sorrow has come upon us, but it will draw us closer together. 1 feel that already.” His eyes were wet as iie kissed her, and he seemed to read hope from her quiet air of resolution. "If he is rude, dear, you will order him out of the house at once.” “I shall be guided by circumstances. Do not worry about me.” "It seems like cowardice letting you go-” "Do not come, unless I send for you,” she said, with her hand on the door. “You promise that?” "I promise.” With a nod and a smile she passed out

of the room; “I will send Edith up to you.” CHAPTER XXXVI. Her heart rather failed her as she •vent downstairs. She had answered truly when she said she had no plan. But her husband's danger braced her up to an effort. She realised that he was unnerved, and therefore unfit to face a daring. unscrupulous man as she believed Barking to be. “After all I cannot do much harm,” she thought. Barking was standing on the hearthrug fuming, determined that someone should pay for his casual reception, and for the indignity to which he was sure he had been subjected in being required to wait so long. He had consoled himself by promising to put the screw, as he termed it, upon his master. He was somewhat surprised when Mrs. Langthorne entered the room. The speech he had prepared was useless. However, he put a bold face on his disappointment, re solving that he would demand to see Mr. .angthorne as soon as Mrs. langthorne had made th? expected apologies for him. “You wished to see my husband,” she said coldly, in reply to bis elaborate bow. “Yes, I should like to set Mr. Langthorne.” “He will not be able to see von today.” “Not unwell. I hope?’ he ventured, wondering what excuses she would make. “Not at all. He is quite well. I can take any message you wish to be con reyed to him.” Barking began to show signs of discomposure at her manner, and he took refuge in bluff. “Excuse me.” with another elaborate bow, “but the matter is confidential.” “I am quite sure Mr. Langthorne would not confide anything to you. Mr.

Barking, which might not be told to me.” “Well, it would be better that you did not know this business. You would be very sorry if you did. If you will pardon me saying so.” “Indeed! Perhaps I know the nature of your business as you eall it.” “I don’t think so. I wish to see Mr. Langthorne, and it will be better for all parties concerned if you let him know that I am here without delay.” He sat down with a decisive jerk of the head, just to show that he would stand no nonsense. “Mr. Langthorne knows you are here. He will not see you. Unless you can give your message to me, you had better go back to the office, until he cares to make an appointment.’ “Well, over this matter, madame, it is for me to say when I can see him. An angry light shot into his eyes. “Perhaps you do not know that your husband is in my power. Perhaps you don’t know ” “Pardon me, sir. I know everything, and until my husband has seen his solicitors, I do not think he will see you again.” Barking started. The manner suggestive of the house belonging to him, disappeared; he was alarmed, and Mrs. Langthorne saw it. Drawing her own conclusions she continued: “You are playing a very dangerous game.” “I have played it to save Mr. Langthorne.” "To save yourself, too.” “I did not commit the murder,” he blurted out. “Was there a murder?” What prompted her to ask the question she knew not, but from a certain look of guilt on his part, she saw there was something hanging to this query. “Of course there was a murder—a

shocking murder. It was all in the papers. Mr. Langthorne has a copy. If I told what I know to the police, well, there would be a hanging business.” “Where are you living now, Mr. Barking?* Again he reddened. This woman was too cool for him. A guilty conscience is always the. victim of fancied fears, and it struck him tliat his questioner knew something. “I don’t see what that has to do with the matter. Of course, if Mr. Langthorne eannot sec me eto-day, I suppose I must wait until he ean; but I am very disappointed. I hope you will tell him so." He waited, but no answer came from her. She looked him steadily in the face, and she knew he flinched. Something told her that with a secret like this in his possession he could have been more resolute in his determination to see her husband. Her silenee made him very uncomfortable. To him there was the uncertainty of the position. How much did she know? Had anything been found out? He fumbled with his hat: “You know Mr. Langthorne promised me a sum of money?” “What, to-day?” she asked, sharply. “There was no time mentioned, but there was a promise.” “Had you not better write and ask him for the money?” Again he eyes her narrowly. Is this a plant ?” he asked himself. “Why does she want me to write it?” He moved towards the door. Each time he faced the calm, grey eyes he flinched. There was a lurking suspicion that she was playing with him, and that she knew more than she cared to let him see. “You do not. think it would be possible for Mr. Langthorne to see me?” “No, and you may go and inform the police of that fact, and anything else you may care to add.” She trembled at her own audacity. Had he assented to her daring proposition; had he attempted to take her at iher word, she would have been a suppliant at his feet. How her heart beat at the moment as she waited for the effect upon him of her words. She put her hand on the table to steady herself, “would he never speak ?” It seemed an eternity, and so much was hanging in the balance as it were. “I do not wish to do Mr. Langthorno any harm.” “I should hope not. My husband has been a good friend to you.” Barking was anxious to leave the house, but he lingered in the hope of learning something. If the game were up, it was time for him to bolt. Thebe ■, front of the woman made him more and more suspicious. It might come to an appeal to his master’s mercy, if so it would be as well to have as few enemies as possible. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Langthorne.” Without replying, she rang the bell, and Barking, with mixed feelings raging in his heart, passed out, conscious that he had got the worst of the interview. His enemy the footman waited for him in the hall with a supercilious, but malicious smile on his face. Barking slipped on the newly waxed floor, and the footman made no attempt to conceal his amusement. He took care tnat the door was not jammed upon him this time by a sharp exit. He walked down the garden path. There was a whist’s. He turned back in obedience to a wave of the Land from the powdered flunkey. “Ah! She has thought better of it,” and he smiled. “This game is not finished yet.” ‘•Young man, be good enough, ahem! to close the gate after you,” was the salutation from his tormentor. With a half suppressed oath, he strode out ot the grounds, slamming the gate after him. “My God! I ought to have taken the money down when he offered it. That woman is a fiend. She either knows something, or she doesn’t care a ham sandwich what becomes of her husband. Meditating upon her unwlfely conduct, he hailed a ’bus going in the direction of the Strand. His castles in Spain were giving way at their foundations. (To be Continued.)