[COPYRIGHT STORY.] THE BLACK MOTOR CAR.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIII, Issue XVI, 15 October 1904, Page 6

[COPYRIGHT STORY.] THE BLACK MOTOR CAR.

By

J. B. HARRIS BORLAND,

Author of “ Dacobra,” “ The Unspeakable Thing,” Etc., Etc.

bINUI’SIS. C’IiAiTERS I. TO ill. 1 Ue blury upeus iu the huuse of Mrs de la MuLUe, yuuug, uf raie and exceeding beauty, clever and utterly unscrupulous. She describes hex self as a widow, but there is aoiue mystery concerning her late husband, and some doubt if be is dead, or if there ever was such a person. The latest victim to tier charms arrives to call. Jack Porteous, a brilliantly successful young bank manager. When they are alone Jack hands over £SUUU which he has embezzled from the bank,iu addition to £6355 which he previously abstracted for her. She gives it back to be changed into gold or smaller notes, and tells him she has booked a berth for him for Buenos Ayres, on a steamer leaving at once, and she will follow him. Thinking for a second of his little sou and his wife, with whom he has lived unhappily, Jack hesitates, but is quickly overcome. He spends the evening at the Empire, and on returning home, having drunk heavily, is horrified to find his wife dead of syncope. The shock pulls him up, and though he must ily because of his embezzlement, he feels he cannot now marry the temptress, Mrs de la Mothe. He calls to tell her this, and the woman who has loved for once, pleads with him, but la scorned. Her love turns to hate, and as he leaves her she murmurs, “He shall suffer for this. My God, how he shall suffer.’’ CHAPTER IV. —Madame de la Mothe is not long in seeking vengeance on her quondam lover. Porteous had perfected arrangements for getting away undiscovered, and was in the act of saying farewell to his little son, to whom he is most devotedly attached, when he is arrested, notice of his defalcations having been given to the bank authorities by an anonymous letter in a woman's handwriting. Porteous is sentenced to 14 years’ penal servitude. CHAPTER V. —Twenty years elapse since the last chapter, and readers are introduced to some new characters. The Earl of Heatherstoue, an enormously wealthy and inordinately proud peer, is giving a political garden party, to introduce to the electors of the “right colour’’ Lord Harry yuy, a young and handsome nobleman standing in the Conservative interest. Lord Harry is a Hue fellow, a thorough sportsman, and is iu love with the Hari s daughter, Agnes, who does not, however, as yet suspect his passion. The two, who are old playmates, meet at the party, and Lord Harry admits he would not be afraid of his antagonist, oue Stacey Clarke, but for the popularity of his agent, a certain Mr Holme, who is a fine yachtsman, aud who has captured the affections of the sailors. With the idea of breaking the state of his affections of his sweetheart, Harry asks Lady Agnes to meet him after the speeches, and after some demur she gives a halfpromise to do so. CHAPTER VI. —Lord Harry’s avowal is interrupted by a runaway, in trying to stop which he is tin own into a creek and saved by Arthur Holme. CHAPTER VII. Introduces the reader once more to Porteous, who, under the name of William Jordison, takes the Red House in the neighbourhood of Heatherstone Hall. Porteous had gone into the prison a man who had Indeed lost his honour, but who still retained many admirable tiaits of a fine and gentlemanly nature. He came out of It a wild and ravening beast, insensible, save for the love he still bore his son, to every passion and emotion but revenge. A callous, cold-hearted ruffian, a monomaniac, who wanted only one thing in the world, and whose brain would never rest until he had found It. He learns on coming out that both Mr and Mrs Behang are dead, and that his son had run away to sea. Poiteous joins a motor car firm, makes a fortune, and returns to England, bringing with him a 50 horse power motor, his one idea being to find his long lost son. CHAPTER Vlll.—Porteous, alias William Jordison, has but two objects in life —to find his son and to revenge himself on Mrs de la Mothe. He has spent much on both pursuits and. as yet, fruitlessly. A chance meeting with Arthur Holme, the electioneering agent, who has a passion for yachting, results in Jordison questioning Holme

— who has been at sea—if he ever knew a lad named Richard Behag—under which name his son passed. Holme announces that Behag is dead, but his manner satisfies Jordison that he knows more about the matter than he cares to say. Meanwhile, he instructs his agents to make all inquiries and to spare no expense. CHAPTER IX. —Lord Harry Quy, who wins bis election, proposes to Lady Agnes and Is refused. A friendship springs up between the Earl and Holme, and a love affair commences to kindle between him ami Lady Agnes. CHAPTERS X. AND XI. -After months of thought and study, Jordison invents a wonderful new motor ear. On returning from the trial trip there is a terrific explosion of some dynamite in the engine house, which shakes the Red House to its

foundations, aud leads to the discovery of large subterranean chambers under the cellar with a long passage leading in an easterly direction. At this juncture, Jordison received word of the failure of the motor firm from which he has drawn his wealth.

CHAPTER XII. —To replenish his depleted cotters, Jordison, with the help of some of his gaolbird servants, takes up the role of burglar, in which he is greatly aided by his phenomenally swift motor car. Heatherstone Hall is the scene of Jordison's first essay, aud the incident leads to the murder of Lord Overcliffe, heir of Heatherstone Hall, who surprises the marauders ami falls a victim to Lipp, one of Jordison's servants. CHAPTER XIII. takes the reader back to Jordison's boy. Inquiries made by the father's agents elicit the fact that the sou, under the name of Behag, had passed some wild years of his life in Valparaiso, where lie was iu the employ of a wealthy firm. One day he and Sterlous, sou of the senior partner in the firm, go out in a yacht ana are never seen again. It is then discovered that they have robbed the firm of many thousands. Some time afterwards the yachts dingey ami a body are washed ashore north of Valparaiso. The body is apparently that of Behag, and appearances point to his murder by young Sterious, “a tall, broad-shouldered young fellow with fair hair and grey eyes.” Strangely enough the firm subsequently receives from London a package containing valuable securities which had been taken away in the yacht. CHAPTER XIV WHAT JERMY FOUND IN THE CREEK Lipp was right in his conjectures. Two weeks after the murder of young Lord Overcliffe a bill was posted throughout the length and breadth of the county proclaiming that Lord Heatherstone'would give £5OOO reward to anyone who would give such information as would lead to the detection of the murderer. The keenest professional inquiry agents in England gathered to that part of the world, as vultures to a carcase; the police moved on in their own silent, methodical way; and the number of men who left their legitimate business and assumed the role of amateur detective was so considerable that it amounted to a serious disorganisation of labour in the Eastern counties. It seemed, however, as though the murderers had left no trace behind them. Lipp anB Jordison feared only one danger, and that was within their own house. It came home to them at last. One morning Lipp, half-dressed, saw a figure far down the road that led to Gorehaven. At first he thought it was t he postman, then, noticing that it was moving away from the house, he rushed downstairs, and found that Susanson was missing. Half an hour later, Jordison was driving his motor furiously along the road between the creeks, and Lipp was sitting in the tonneau behind with a pair of field glasses in his horny hands. Jermy, bound band and foot, was lying on his back in a locked room, and contemplating a patch of dull grey sky through a barred window. He felt it to be an indignity, but he realised the necessity of the precaution. Hour after hour he spluttered horrible oaths through the gag that had been fastened in his mouth, cursing Jordison, cursing Lipp, and cursing most of all Susanson. the dirty little Jew, who had forestalled him in his treachery. He pictured to himself Susanson squandering his £5OOO on diamond rings and fat little Jewesses with black, greasy locks But the sense of fury and disappointment in Jenny’s mind soon gave way to an overwhelming terror. He knew that he had not many hours to live. He realised that his death would be a most desirable event in the eyes of Lipp and Jordison, and that neither of them were likely to have any scruples about taking his life. If Susanson had reached the police

station at Gorehaven, Lipp and Jordison would have all their work cut out to save themselves, and probably they would not even return to the house. If, on the other hand, they overtook Susanson, it was quite certain that the poor little Jew would never have another chance of betraying them. In which case Jermy would be the sole possessor of the secret and it would be almost necessary for them to ensure his silence.

In either case Jermy realised that he must free himself from his bonds. He would either be left to starve to death, or else he would be murdered, or else he would himself fall into the hands of the police, an event which, though preferable to the other two alternatives, would be by no means a thing to be desired.

All through the day his mind had been trying to evolve some method of loosening his bonds, but he was as heip less as a man with a broken spine. Not only was he bound hand and foot, but several separate ropes had been pissed round his body, till he was swathed like an ESgyptian mummy. As an addition security a rope had been passed round his neck and fastened to the leg of a heavy iron bedstead. Lipp had lone his work well. The prisoner could not even roll over on the floor. Jermy knew that he must free his hands, but it seemed almost an impossibility. The wrists were lashed tightly together, and his arms were bound close to his body. Even if he could have raised his wrist to his mouth he would have been no nearer to freedom, for the gag effectually prevented him from doing anything with his teeth. All through the day he lay like a log, hungry, thirsty, half choked, and aching with the pressure of his bonds. And yet all the time forgetting physical discomfort and pain in the agony of terrible suspense, with ears strained to catch the sound of voices outside the window and the tramp of footsteps on the stairs.

It was not until the sunlight had died from the sky that a humble friend came to Jermy’s assistance. Shortly after the clock in the hall had chimed five, he heard the patter of tiny feet on the floor of his bedroom. He knew at once that it was a rat. The house was literally over-run with them. His mind at once travelled back to stories he had read—thrilling stories, where a kindly rodent had nibbled through the

bonds of the hero. He glanced at the ropes. They looked unappetising, and he remembered that the hero had generally managed to rub them over with oil or fat. However, he lay still and hoped, for it is wonderful what straws a drowning man will dutch it.

The rat moved round and round in search of something to eat. Once it came within a yard of Jermy’s head, and looked at him with beady eyes. Perhaps it recognised a brother, for it was the animal of which Jermy was the human type —the unclean ravenous thing that man stamps under foot and exterminates. Jermy held his breath and wondered what it would do next. He recalled unpleasant tales of men being eaten alive by rats, and the sound of others in the wainscotting by no means reassured him. The rat, however, did not seem to care for a closer acquaintance with the lump of silent flesh on the floor, and, turning round, it ran up the bed clothes, and made its way up a bell rope to a long dealshelf, some eight feet above the ground. The shelf was covered with tins, jars and bottles, and Jermy heard the clink of glass as the animal crept along on its tour of inspection. Then the rat did a thing which, if it had occurred in the middle ages, would have earned it a place of honour on the Jermy coat of arms. It discovered a large jar half full of axle grease, and in its efforts to taste this rich dainty, it sent the whole thing crashing to the ground. The bottom half, with its jagged edge of thick earthenware rolled to Jermy’s side.

In less than a quarter of an hour Jermy had sawed through the rope that bound his wrists and arms. The broken edge of the jar was as keen as a razor. Rolling his body from side to side, he worked carefully and with enormous difficulty. His hands stream ed with blood, but the loss of a finger would not have stopped him.

With hands and arms unbound the rest was easy. He cut through all the ropes in five minutes, and, rising to his feet, moved painfully across the room to a cupboard, where he found a bottle of brandy. A deep draught of the fiery liquid put fresh life into his aching limbs and body. He went hurriedly to a dirty old cigar-box full of papers, and drew out a purse with twenty-five sovereigns in it. Then he glanced at the window and door, and decided on the latter, and burst it open with the heavy iron fender. Then he made his way downstairs, crammed half a loaf and a chunk of bacon into his pocket, and slipped out into the road. There was no one in sight, but he could not see far in any direction. A white mist was rising from the marshes, and the road disappeared from view three hundred yards from the Red House. The sun had set, but the sky was clear, and not yet dark. The full moon showed large and yellow on the horizon through a bank of sea fog. Jermy stood a moment at the gate and listened. The silence was complete and unbroken. He wondered what lay beyond the wall of mist; whether Jordison and Lipp were tearing at full speed to the nearest seaport, or whether Susan-

son had been captured. The motor was so silent that it might Hash upou him at any moment out of the mist. Any other machine would have given warning of its approach, and the low throb of the engines would have been heard two miles away. But this blaek monster moved like a ghost, and till its lights Hashed suddenly out of the darkness, no man could know how near it was to him.

Jenny had, however, to take his chance, and he set off along the road to Gorehaven. It was the only route opeu to him. In all directions he was cut off by winding creeks, full almost to the banks, for a spring tide was running up from the sea, and it was nearly high water. On either side of the road lay two tall banks; beyond them were two strips of marsh land intersected by a thousand tiny channels and gullies. At low tide these were merely 7 narrow ravines of mud, some more than six feet in depth, and some but shallow little gutters, tapering off into a point, losing themselves in thick masses of purple sea lavender. But on this night they were full to the brim with water.

Jenny decided that the open road was too pen.ous for Ins purpose, so he climbed a steep bank on the left and descended to the marsh land on the other side of it. A rude pathway ran at the foot. In some places it was overgrown with glasswort, now turning to a mass of crimson spears, in others it was a narrow stretch of mud littered with corks, bottles, scraps of wood and sticks, reeds, and a thousand ami one pieces of debris that had drifted up the creek with the tide. The bank was over six feet high. and lie was well screened from observation, but the walking was difficult, and he moved slowly on his journey. Every now and then he crawled cautiously to the top of the bank, and peering over the edge looked up and down the road.

A faint wind had risen from the southwest, and the mist was gradually being scattered before it. In half an hour’s time lie could see nearly a mile in every direction. At the end of an hour he had travelled little more than three miles, but his limbs were still stiff from the ropes that hail cut into his liesh and muscles, and he was beginning to be tired of his journey. He lay 7 down on the bank io rest, so that his eyes could scan the long road beyond. The bank was wet with a heavy dew, and so steep that he stood almost upright as he leant against it. But it afforded a certain degree of comfort after his weary tramp on the slippery and overgrown path. He pulled out the bread and bacon and ate heartily; then he filled a short clay pipe with black shag and smoked till a sense of peace crept over him, and he saw himself the owner of £5OOO. He had no doubt that the stupid little Susanson was dead. His happy 7 meditations were interrupted by a yellow glow in the mist, where the road vanished from sight. A lew seconds later three bright sparks glittered in the distance like stars, and every second they increased in size, till I e could see the black ear behind them. In less than a minute they had Hashed past him, and the fan of light receded farther and farther till it died away in the mist beyond. lie sprang to his feet and continued his journey. He had noted that there were only two people in the ear. It was quite evident that Susanson had been effectually disposed of, for it was hardly likely that the two men would have returned to the Red House if the little Jew had made good his escape. The reward was in Jenny’s hands, if he could only get off the marshland into the open country.

At present, he was bound up among the creeks and inlets on either side of the road, that he could only escape by hiding. He knew well enough that before long the motor would come tearing back along the road, and that the occupants would organise a systematic search on either side of it.

He sprang to his feet and continued his journey. He had nearly three miles to go before he eould take to the fields, and strike across country to Gorehaven. He had a few miles start, but this, even with the time that they would occupy tn discovering his absence, was not much for a man in a race with a motor that eould run 100 miles in the hour. The wind had cleared away the last remnant of the fog, and the full moon shone clear over the country. The marsh land was riehly veined with silver where the light fell on the thousand ereeks and gullies. It was a singularly beautiful sight, but Jermy cursed it with a foul mouth. He would have liked a fog so

deuse that a man could not see Ins own reel. in ten iuruui.es time ue peepeu over the edge ol me uaux, aud again saw ruiee urigut, eyes iu uie distance, aud a biuieii ol UlacK on me loug wline road, tie uasleued on uis way, ueudiug down a mtie in case tney suould eaten some gumpse ol linn from tue passing car. VV ueu at last He Heard tue swisU of

mud, Ue lay nat on uie giouud among some tall uiarsU weed, tue ear passed, and he lose to his feet, lie Knew well enough Uie method ot ms pursuers. They would go to the end ol tue marshes where tue road jo.ued the old Roman causeway, aud then tney would beat backwards on loot, one ou either side of the road, in the bright moonlight n would scarcely be possible lor him to escape their notice. A pair of night glasses would detect a moving figure ou that Hat surface tor miles around. He stopped aud hesitated whether to go forward or return. If he proceeded on his way, he would be bound to meet them. If he went back, he would perhaps eccape them for the moment, but he was only running further into a trap, and further from safety. If he had been armed, he would have stood his ground and fought, but Jordison had taken good care that there should be only one revolver at the Red House.

He finally decided to go back. He crept as near to the bank as he could, and m a few minutes crossed it, and kept close to it on the other side. If his estimate of his pursuers were correct, he would be hidden from their view.

For a quarter of an hour he trudged homewards. Every now and then he turned back and saw the distant twinkle of the Bleriot lamps, motionless at the far end of the road. Then, as he looked, they seemed larger, and a minute later he realised that the motor was movin' 7 rapidly towards him. He saw now what had happened. He was discovered.

He crawled over the edge of the bank again and leant against it, sweating at every 7 pore. Once, twice, three times he saw a figure stand on the edge of the bank, and each time nearer to him. They were reconnoitering as they proceeded along the road. \V hen the figures had disappeared for the third time he turned swiftly aside towards the ereek, and looked sharply 7 round for some place of concealment. The water was Hush to the edge, and the banks afforded no shelter. He was unable to swim, and dared not risk the crossing.

Then a few yards away ne saw that one of the little gulleys narrowed up till it almost disappeared under the tall weeds on either side. He did not hesitate for a moment, but Hung himself into it. Front its narrowness he had estimated its depth at about two feet, but to his surprise he sank down and down until his head was under water and he felt the soft mud banks press into his shoulders. With a stupendous effort he dug his feet and hands into the mud and raised himself up to the surface, spluttering and gasping for breath. One of his hands had caught something hard, and he brought it up with him. As he held it above the water in the moonlight he saw 7 that it was a gold watch and chain. He thrust it into his pocket. Il represented an additional item in his small exchequer. He found he could just touch the bottom with his feet, and his head was concealed by a bunch of weeds overhead. As he felt himself sinking into the mud, he moved up a little towards the road in the hope of finding a better footing. His feet encountered something firm, but elastic, like a pillowstuffed with straw. He put one toe under it and gave it a lift.

And then a horrible thing happened. He felt the object rise from the bed of the gulley, and a few seconds later a white face rose from the water. He moved aside the weeds and let the moon fall on it. It was ghastly, distorted, and streaming with black mud. A sm.ill crab was hanging to one of the cars. It was the face of Susanson.

Jermy forgot ail caution in his terror and shrieked aloud. And looking up at that moment he saw two figures on the bank against the sky. He knew he was discovered for they had deseended and came hurriedly towards him. He struggled out of the gulley and was on his feet to meet them before they reached the spot. He was a powerful man, and had no intention of dying like a rat in a sewer. As he rose from the water the white face of Susanson sank slowly back into its muddy resting place.

The two men came to within five feet of him, and he saw that Jordison held

a revolver ru iiia baud. luej Liu u flopped. ** i* lull are )ou doing here, Jeiiuj : Jordiaou asKed m a quiet voice. lue inau aid uut answer, but biuccn everj muscle in ui» DoUy. ne bad an urea tuat Jordison wuuiu uol inc, anu UiaL it would come to a physical com bat. “Well," Jordison repealed. “ler bloomiu siiuiiKi' Lipp icu, •yer thought yer’d got the XoOUU, en i and be laugned horribly. Jordison raised ms revolver, uUL L»pp laid a band on nis arm and inuitercu ni ins ear. lire next second they were upon tueir victim, and me uiree rolled over on the spongy ground, The con test was short but decisive. Jeniq drove ins lists into -Lipp s lace with such iorce that nail ui me laner s iroiu teeth went down ms throat, aud the next second he had bitten a piece out ol Jordison's ear. But he was ed, aud Lipp began Lo choke the me uut ol him, while Jordison held down Ins legs and arms. With a stupendous elfort he freed one of his bands, and thrust it into his pocket. He had a contused idea that there was a weapon there. Quick as thought Jordison gripped his wrist, and as he inserted his hand into the pocket, the lingers touched the gold watch. He drew it out. .Now Jordison knew tiiat Jermy had no gold watch, and he gave a quick glance of curiosity at it, before Hinging it aside. In that brief moment he caught sight of a name engraved on the back of the case, and for the time being he forgot everything else, lie loosed Jermy, and slipping the watch into his pocket, sprung to his feet. “Let the man go, Lipp,” he cried. “1 want to speak to him. 1 can shoot him if he runs.” Lipp loosed the throat, but stood over the fellow like a cat watching a mouse. Jermy did not move. He was nearly black in the face, and struggling to get his breath. “Where did you get this watch?” asked Jordison. A faint hope flickered in Jenny’s breast. He noted the look on his master’s face as he asked the question. Here was something that was required of him, and he knew that no answer could be got out of a dead man. He regained his wits —the wits of a professional scoundrel. “I’ll tell yer if ye’ll take me ’ome,” he replied, gasping for breath, “and swear you won’t try this game again.” “If you’ll swear you won’t peach on us, and tell me what I want,” Jordison replied, “I’ll give you my word of honour as a gentleman, that we will not harm you.” Jermy swore the oath in picturesque language, and Jordison gave him the required assurance. Then Jordison and Lipp grasped the man by the arms and led him to the motor car. In a few minutes they were in the Red House. Then over a substantial supper Jermy told his comrades how he had found the gold watch, but he said nothing of the body in the mud. Jordison’s face fell, and there was an ugly look on it, but he remembered his promise. He felt that he had been tricked, for the news was quite valueless. Yet that night in his bedroom he turned the watch over and over in his hand, looking at it as though he expected it to speak to him. But it only

spoke the five words engraved on the back of it: “Arthur Sterious, from his mother.’ CHARTER XV. LOVES BITTERNESS. Arthur Holmes was dining at Ilea therstone Hall the night that young laird Overcliffe was killed. This fact, unimportant in itself, formed a close bond between him and the grief stricken family. It was he who carried the dead boy from the garden to the smoking room. He saw Lady Agnes turn white as death, stagger, and fall in a heap to the ground. He heard the shrieks of the distracted mother crying out foi vengeance on the murderers of her only son. He accompanied Lord Heather stone in the midnight hunt, and through all the vain hue and cry of that wild night, he and Lord Harry Quy support ed the old man in his Hour of sorrow. To be with people in an hour like this counts for many days of ordinary intercourse, and so it came to pass that Arthur Holmes became very intimate with the Heatherstone folk, and found his way 7 into the heart of at least one person in the family. Before a month had elapsed from the death of Overcliffe. Arthur Holme

found himself fighting against the dictates of his own heart. His whole nature cried out for love, and lie knew that Lady Agnes loved him. No word of it had passed between them, no look betrayed it, and the clasp of the hand, when they met and parted, gave no sign of it. But some subtle and undefined instinct told each of them the truth. If anything, the knowledge made them over careful and over reserved in each other’s company. A stranger seeing them together would have said that the relations between them were strained, and that only common courtesy obliged them to have anything to do with each other.

Arthur Holme fought a terrible battle with himself, but he conquered. He was a strong man, and in his own rough way, an honourable man. He knew that Lady Agnes loved him, and he knew that she probably would be awax in his hands, and that nothing would keep her from him, if he chose to storm the stronghold of her own family pride and her father’s displea sure. But he knew also t hat to marry her would be to drag her from her high estate. And he knew’ also that he would take her from Lord Harry Quy. a man who was not only his friend, but who would be a more suitable husband in every way for this sensitive and high-born girl. It has been said that love conquers all. But though a strong man cannot conquer love, he can put it down till it only cries out faintly from his own soul. He can bind it, and stifle it, and stamp on it, till its existence is as unknown to the outer world as that of one of the prisoners in the old dun geons of Venice. Arthur Holme resolved to deal with his heart in his own way. He knew the limitations of human nature, and decided to break of! all communication with the people at Heatherstone Hall. His only home was in the fifteen ton boat that lay in the Essex creeks. H ■ had no ties. There was no question of changing house or shifting furniture. He had but to set sail, and move into another part of the country. Save for Lady Agnes, he did not care a straw for the ultra civilisation ot Heathcrstone Hall. His friend, Lord Harry Quy. was up in town contributing a solid vote and golden silence to the conservative cause. Dress clothes and a footman at bis elbow did not appeal to Arthur .Holme. He was only really happy when lie was hanging on to the tiller with his feet pressed against tiie bulwarks, and the frothy

water was sweeping past him like a mill race. To break oil all conuection with the Heath erst ones would only mean the luss oi Lady Agnes. And that would be all for her good. And so the young man resolved to ily from temptation. It was no act oi weakness, tor a man must be super human to be lung with the woman he loves and be silent. It was rather, from a man’s point of view, an act of strength, a sacrifice for the good of the woman. Yet it is pitiful to learn how small a thing will shatter all the resolutions of a brave man. Arthur Holme sprung his news on the Heatherstone household at dinner one night. lie longed, so he said, for a breath of the sea. He had work to do, work that Lord lleatherstone did not approve of. but still, work that had to be done. His heart was with the toilers on the deep, and he had resolved to take the “Rover"’ to Yarmouth, and, if possible, adjust a dispute between the smack owners and the men, which threatened the livelihood of thousands. Lord lleatherstone received his news with genuine regret. The other guests murmured various commonplaces. One lady said she had worked woollen comforters for the North Sea fishermen. Lady Agnes was silent, but a close observer might have noted the tremor of her hand as she lifted a glass of water to her lips. Arthur Holme did not dare to look at her face. He felt the cruelty of this sudden and public announcement. But he had resolved that there should be no farewell scene between them, and that the girl he loved should both receive the news of his departure in the presence of her family, and be finally included in a formal leavetaking. It was therefore the irony of fate that "brought these two together after they had said good-bye in the presence of a dozen other people. A few minutes before midnight Arthur Holme and Lord lleatherstone sat alone in the smoking room. The guests had departed, and Lord and Lady Gainbridge, who were staying in the house, had gone to bed. I’he noble Earl was expounding his views on labour and capital, a subject introduced by Holme’s projected visit to the scene of a great labour dispute. He quoted copiously from the speeches ot men long dead, and from the words of authors who were deservedly forgotten. He was a man of accurate memory for unimportant details, and referred to fifty works that Holme had never heard of. In one case, however, his memory

failed him. It was necessary to refer to the book. Holme protested that he would accept the quotation without reference. But Lord Heatherstone would have none of this. It would be better, he said, to refer to the book. He was not quite sure if he had the book, but be fancied it was in the library. If it was in the house, it was in section H. shelf 7. Holme rose to his feet. “I will look for it, Lord Heatb-rstone.” he said, perhaps a trifle wearily. It was getting late, and he did not care a rap for 'the authority in question. But he was anxious to humour a man from whom he had received much kindness and whom he might never see again. As he made his way across the hall to the library he was surprised to see the door open, and noticed that there was a faint glow in the room, as though a single light had been switched on at the far end of it. It was an enormous apartment, nearly 200 feet in length. The bookshelves covered the walls to the height of eight feet from the ground, and ran out in wings to the centre of the room. He entered qjuietly, and his footsteps made no sound on the thick pile carpet. He knew that section II was halt way down the side opposite the door, and making his way round one of the projecting walls of books, he walked down the centre aisle. As he did so, he heard a faint sound at the far end of the room, the sound of books being re placed in their shelves. He walked rapidly past section H and then paused, for another sound came to his ears, the heartbreaking sobs of a woman, low, stilled, but distinct in the silence. An expression of pain crossed his face, and he stood irresolute, trembling in every limb. He knew well who it was that wept. And then in a single moment his whole being went out to the woman he was deserting, the woman who loved him. Prudence, honour, the knowledge of what was best for both of them, were all swept to the four winds of Heaven. His love and his pity rode triumphant over everything. And yet for a moment he paused. He had pur-

posely avoided a farewell scene. Here it lay, ready made to his hand. He was a strong man, but he paused only for a few seconds. In that time he prayed that the sobbing might cease. But it did not cease, and the sound of it made him a poor weak thing. He clenched his hands in despair, and strode rapidly to the end of the room. He purposely made a noise before he came to the last wing of books, and when he passed it, Lady Agnes ClifTe was looking diligently at the shelves as though in search of something. She half turned towards him with a faint smile on her flushed face. “Mi - Holme,” she said in surprise, “whatever ” “Your father sent me to find a book,” he broke in hurriedly. “I wondered who had turned on the light, I ” “Section H,” she said, with a laugh. “Father only favours that particular part of the library. It is his armoury for political purposes. This is N—pure fiction. My stepmother is unwell, and wants something to send her to sleep.” Holme did not answer, but coming close to her side, glanced at the title of the book she held in her hand. It was Beatrice Harraden’s “Ships that pass in the Night.” He wondered if this was a mere coincidence. “Ships that Pass in the Night,” he said slowly, and then he laughed bitterly. She looked up at his face, and the next moment she was sobbing in his arms. It was all very sudden, and very unmaidenly, but the look on his face compelled it. For the moment her reason had left her, and she had acted as her heart commanded. But a second later, she broke away from his clasp, and burying her face in her hands, cried as though her heart would break. He came to her side again. “ Agnes,” he said, softly. “ I implore you, dear Agnes—oh God. what have 1 done ? Don’t cry, dearest : don't cry like that.” Again he took her in his arms, and this time she did not try to free herself from his embrace. But she looked up at him with pleading eyes. He bent down his face and kissed her tenderlv

on the forvhcad. His wliole nature fried Out for the touch of her lips, but he was man enough to subdue the passion that burnt within him.

She looked into his face again, and lie saw that glad light of love shine through the tears in her eyes. But still she did not speak.

“Agnes, clearest," he said in a low Voice, “ I have something to say to you, and I must say it quickly. 1 would liave left without saying it, but it must be said now —after what has happened.” She turned her eyes away from his face, and he drew her closer to him. He could feel her slim body tremble in liis arms.

“ Agnes," he said simply, ** I love you; It sounds weak to say you are the only woman 1 have ever loved. It is a stock phrase ; the ridicule of cynics ; in most cases a lie, that no intelligent woman believes. But ill my case it is the real truth. Yet to-night 1 must leave you, and never see you again. 1 will not drag you down to my level. But for a moment of weakness, but for the prank that chance, has played us, I should have left without telling you this, Now that 1 have told it, 1 must go.”

“ Arthur,” she murmured, but so faintly that the sound hardly came to his ears. It was the firslb word she had spoken, and alt the love of her heart was concentrated in the softly breathed inline. An appeal, a despairing cry, a prayer for him to stay. It was all these blended together by love iu tt single word.

“ Yes, I must leave you, Agnes,” he Continued, “ I am no tit husband for you. It is not only that you are a great lady, and lam a poor man. Were I but the son of a farmer on your father’s estate, I could look you honestly in the face and ask you to be my wife. Slut being what I am, 1 could not drag you down to my level. 1 see you for the last time, Agnes. I must go now.” “ Yes, I think it is time that Air, Arthur Holme went,” said a stern cold voice behind them.

They sprang apart and turning round Confronted the Earl of Heatherstone. His heavy handsome face was flushed with anger, but he controlled himself with the skill of the trained diplo’maf. Lady Agnes hid her crimson face In her hands. Arthur Holme clenched his right fist, and said a word that .would not look well in print. “Mr. Arthur Holme is going, Lord Heatherstone," he said. “ How long have you been here?" He snapped the last half dozen words out so savagely that Lord Heatherstone shrank back a pace. But he recovered his composure in a moment.

“Agnes,” he said quietly, “go up to your bedroom at once. Air. Holme, 1 will have a word with you before you

Lady Agnes went up to her infurt'hted father and kissed him meekly on the cheek. “Good night.” she said in a low voice. He did not answer, but turned his back on her. She held out lier hand timidly to Arthur Holme, “Good-bye,” she said in a whisper.

F Holme looked at her father, and the devil rose in his heart. He stepped forward to clasp her in his arms and kiss her passionately on the lips. But his finer nature prevailed. He stopped suddenly and held out his hand. “Good-bye,” tie said hoarsely, “and Cod bless you.” .She took liis hand, and looked for s moment into his eyes, and fled. He turned lo the great Earl of Heatherstone. “Well, my lord,” he said sharply, “what have you to say for yourself?”' It was characteristic of the man that he assumed the attitude of a judge at the time when his proper place was in the dock. “It is for you to speak, Air. Holme,*’ Lord Heatherstone replied; “but. let us return to the smoking room. It is cold in here.”

The two men went back to the smoking iroom. Lord Heatherstone flung himself in an easy chair by the fire. Holme remained standing, Lor a while neither of them spoke.

“Well, sir,” said Lord Ilea liters tone, after a pause. “As you have been listening, my lord, I think you know everything. It is possibly clear to you that I love your daughter. It is equally clear, if you heard lightly, that I shall not see her again.”

“You damned scoundrel!” cried Lord ITcat horst one, rising to his feet, “what light have you to speak of love to my daughter! Who are you, you damned ad-

venturer? Don’t you know your place, confound you? Do you think that because we ” “That’ll do, Lord Heatherstone,” tho young man replied; “I know my place quite well. And it is because I know it that I have resolved never to enter this house again. I will wish you good-bye, my lord.” “Stay, Mr. Holme; you cannot go yet. How long has this been going on?” “It commenced five minutes before yon came into the room. It ended when your daughter left it. But I shall answer no more questions. I wish you good-night,” and he turned to go. Lord Heatherstone laughed. “When I was your age,” he said in an insolent tone, “I had more pluck. I would not have broken the heart of the woman 1 loved for all the social distinctions in the world. Bah! I thought there was more fight in you. Ido not think Agnes has lost much.” Arthur Holme turned sharply round, and his face paled for all the bronze that the sea and winds had given it. “There’s plenty of fight in me, Lord Heatherstone,” he replied in a strained voice. “And. by God, if you rouse it. you will bring the devil into your household. I am man enough to retire without wrecking your home. Even if I thought that your own ease had made you lenient to us both, even if I thought that your second marriage with a woman whom you dragged up from obscurity had made you less punctilious about the alliances of your house, I would not offer myself as a suitor for your daughter’s hand.” “You have no money,” said Lord Heatherstone. “It would, of course, be an impossible match. We do not even know who you are."

“I know this,” Holme replied gravely, “that I am no fit husband for any woman. But, mark you, Lord Heatherstone, if you rouse the devil in me, I may cast all scruples to the winds. I am a strong man, and I care little for your lands and your titles. If I did resolve to follow my desires, Lord Heatherstone, I would indeed, ‘leave your house unto you desolate.’ ” Lord Heatherstone sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Arthur Holme had struck hard, and struck deep. It was but a month since J .ord Overclitfe had died. Holme was disgusted with the brutality of his own words. He stepped over to Lord Heatherstone and laid one hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry. Lord Heatherstone,” lie said quietly, “1 did not mean to hurt you. You would forgive me much if you knew what this brief glimpse of love has been to me. Good-night and —good-bye.” (To he continued.)