A SCARLET SIN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume III, Issue 160, 31 May 1909, Page 3

A SCARLET SIN.

a powkri-tl story.

<ali, w-nn > iii:<i-:ti\ i .i< •

By Al.rf'F. ar.l (T.\i m; ASKEW, Authors of ."The Si- il.uuit"." "Ar oa of the plain-." *.•;., &.c t

SECOND INSTALMENT. "1 am." he answered, steadily, "for you see. there haw hern no Idea on my part that any one had the least knowledge of the true value o« the Metherly liclds except ni> mother ami myself. nn<l we have lieen building dream palno-s. for yean«. wailing fiat ient ly for Mel her ly to come, into the market, thinking no one would seriously bid against us at the auction. m»r uffiT anything like, the price we w«-re willing to give. Hut how wrong we were !'* He laughed, but rather bitterly, tin though at »ome hard j»*st. "Think of it." he milled, "four fieople bidding in thoiisand* for seemingly worthless land ! Hut who was the man who came in late, t wonder, and that strange old rhnfi who finally out-bid us all ?" lie nskeri the question as much to himself as in his companion, bill I'amels glnm-ed up thoughtfully. '"I wonder, 100. Well. fH-rhaps wo shall know -iMiie day." She turned her head ami Mured wistfully <>ut of the window, gn/.ing into the dark night. Sparks were flying from the engine in a red. glittering stream, everything weird ami mysterious, and the heavy grind of the train as it thundered along mode her think of the savnge roor of some Ih'Osl hungry for prey.

"Vou look tired." murmured Hnsjl .struck by Pamela's delicate fragility of appearance. "Couldn't you try nnd gel to sleep ?" he went on. "Von must have been* travel ling all lasf night, too." "I am tired." she confessed, with .-» .-tgh. leoning back against the . uthion* of the carriage and closing her eyes. "Perhaps it would do lite good to doze a.little. And you must In* sleepy also." lb* smiled lo him-elf. He might Im* sbvpy. I»iii h* preferred to watch the oval of her fate to any dreams that were to In* courted. Also he must form some plans about the future. He had no suspicion as to who the man might l«* who had purchased Metherly. I.ul he fell Mire thai treachery bad lw*en at work—ldack trearhery and he cl-mh-d his strong voting hands. A secret had lieen l»e----trayed—a seer, i which he thought known only to a pale woman and to •iim.-eb.

CHIPTEIt 111

PAMELA LF.AHNS THE Till TH

Pamela woke up with a start. She had l»een u-leep for over Iwo hours—tile s|ee|. of Weltry. e\hlOl-lei| VOIIth —and she had had a wild, unpleasant ilnam. » dream that connected itself iii some si rang., way with Ihe Meilicrr* . inl- Now -he rubl-d h-r eyes and glum ■>l at Ikisil with a frightened expression. She looked like a startled child.

"I have had a i.*«iriu| dream." she imintrirrd. I thought that* you and I. my father, and a host of other |»<>>pie were ii!l iPgging in n li-ld. Himiirg up the «aiih with spades, nit.l 0 was a li*ld on the M-ilterly pro;»rCy

She pan--d. h-r bps Ireinblefl. and .she hail grow n very pate. ■">«■-.."" niisvt.i-.il Hu-d. '*« very mil oral »lr» am

■ .No." she «-. |.i; «t. ••an awful one : foi. listen. Mr Farraday • the earth grew red as we turu.fl it up. and the field l»f» tl held of blood." A lo.>k of horror •am»* into her pxryt. "The smell of blood was in my nos-

tril-.'" she couiimiil. *"lh<* taiin on my hands. Oh. it was a horrible dre;|Fll '."

Forget tt."" |».- answered. soothici'rf; Look out oil the window. The. .fa wi i- about to break. the dear. u am out dawn *A a new day : for-C-l lb. evil vi-ions of the night. tt.iiih 'lie sunrise. 11 will shine on the hills in a moment and gild the world—the glorious, splendid sun." He said the words with a dash of p.-. try. for ll«sil loved all that was i..-)i and l>eauiiful. ami hi- face lit up a- he s,K»|,e, Pamelu glanced out of the window. ff..T» a In He «ry of intense ndmira-

it.mi broke iriiin her pah' lips. i»nt ••! an opal sky the sun was ri-o.g. strong ami lusty, and the <*-' -\ mi'.t thai had dro|*«*d the .r.eping li>-M* ami drowsy hills was fading quietly away, leaving the gr»-en of the meadows dimly perccivtd.'e ami the rich, brown tinting of the autumn woods.

The world appeared bathed in a t reum of light.

H..rt l»-uutifij!." muttered Pnm•in t»h. lam glad I woke up to se»: ifiis •'■

tobmi flushed her cheeks : nho oiiobil huppdy. ui the path of gold leading from the sun." whispered Basil—"the wonderful golden path." He iTioughl as he s|Hike of the golden stairs that only lovers may climb, and he glnnc-d at Pamela, and iron-rien-d what the future held for both. "I am glad we have seen the dawn break together." he went on—"very glad Will you let me come and see \„>, in l.«.ndon ? May I call niyscTi *,«.ur fri.-nd ?" ■••he ilu-h-d So one came to sec h>r in ihe old Kensington house. Ihe doors were shut against the world by her father's strict orders, ami i.-i it would be good to see Farraday again. "I will ask my father if you may call on us." r*hc answered softly.

"and I ho|n? he will say. yes. Hut we live very quietly. Sometimes an old friend comes to sec my father. I've no friends myself. I often wish I had though." She gave a tiny wistful sigh. "I'm rather lonely." "I»car little lonely princess"—his voice was very tender—"l'll be your friend—your knight : I'll storm the castle and get in somehow. We have not met to part." He spoke with decision.

* Not met to part * " She repcateo the words, slowly then raised her .......* timidly to hi*, to drop them in ,u.ew and troubled confusion, for rh-re was a look on Basil Far- , adrt.v 's Insr that belonged to youth 11 I dawn and the flame of new kinV.->\ love • • • * C»«orc** Martimial*- tos-wvl uneasily

in his bed. and kept, on drawing hi; wnirh from under the pillow an<

. . !>-.iili in*.' i' ri*cklessly II- had been a« ak" pretty well all the night, v-ai-ying for the hours to pas-1-miring for Pamela to return ; but now it was close upon ten o'clock, so he knew that his daughter would Im- with him shortly, and able lo set his mind at rest by telling him that Metherly was his own proi»erty. He had hated to his pretty, dainty Pamela alone lo Sutherlandshire to bid nt o rough Scotch roup. Still he could trust no one else with the mission, and n sudden attack of pleurisy, from which he was slowly recovering, had put it out of the man's power to go himself. So there had lieen nothing for it but to let Pamela take the long journey though she was the most precious thing in life to her father, his pride and hi.*; joy. Not that the girl realized this, for Martindale was a silent and very reticent man, ami rarely betrayed ettfotion, even to his •hi bl.

He was extremely good-looking, though his eyes had a curious expression in their black depths as of restless dread : also he was painfully thin lie was tall, and held himself well, his hair was as white as the driven snow, unci his face ami hftnds always looked bloodless. His features wen- very regular, and he hod a singularly beautiful voice.. but then- was something about the man which set him apart from his fellows —a strange sadness, a heavy melancholy.

"Father—dear father !" Pamela threw open til'* bedroom door and ran ni. Sh.- ha<l jusi got <>u( of the hansom which had «-onve\vd her safely from King'- Cross, ami had flown up thi* steep old-i"u*-hioneil .-lair.- of lite liuli* Kensington house, eager to tell her news, nud not keep the patient in siis'icnse • -but the si rained expression which came over CJoorge Martindule's fare directly he caught sight of her in the doorway tilled the girl with a vague alarm. For whydid her father look so livid ? Was he so set on riches —he who affected to despise money ami whose requirements wen* so simple ? "Well ?" The invalid snt up in Is-d as he asked the question and lixed his black, blazing eyes on Pamela. He was trembling, and his agitation fearful and painful to liehold. "Tell me that all went right." he muttered. "You outbid the crofter folk at the roup? Metherly is mine?" His face was twitching in every muscle. In-ads 01" sweat ran down his forehead.

"I'm -o sorry—so sorry." Pamela iH'gnn. nervously. She clasped and unclasped her hands. "Father darling. I couldn't help it." she went on. in low. frightened tones, "but I was outbid—outbid in thousands."

•"My fJod '." fJeorge Martindale raised his arms high above his head. His eyes were full of terror and his lips had turn.-d blue. "Von allowed yourself to Im* outbid"*" he cried, in a voice of passionate reproach. "Do von mean to tell me that Metherly has passed into another man's keeping? Speak. Pamela, speak !"-

She noddi*d lu*r head silently. Her In-ari was- l-enting wildly: she felt afraid to look nt her father. "iNin'l Is* so worried, dear," she murmured niter a .second's pans". "What do«*s it matter if we have lost Metherly ? Let it go."

"Ah. let it go." re|M*ati-d f.'eorge Man indole. vv ilh a low. terrible laugh, "and my life with it : for Metherly soil holds thai within its how-Is -hat might doom me to the hangman if discovered. The Held I wanted yon to buy is a held of blood. Pamela—a field of blood !"

He grip|>ed at the bedclothes wi«h tn-mlding lingers as In* spoke, his glittering eyes fixed on his daughter", face : then with a cry hardly human in its anguish he fell back, a limp heap, against the pillows, his ftu->- as white os ihe linen sheets. Pamela shuddered and rememliered her dream, then ran to her father and threw her arms about him, calling hitn vainly by name.

CHAPTEi: IV

THE FLItHIT

"What do you mean, father? For pity's sake, what do yon mean?" The words broke passionately from Pamela's pale, trembling lips, and she ga/.cd at her father with dilated eves.

How whit.* his face looked—whiter even 1 ban his hair—nml what an expression of indescribable horror and dismay hud spread over his countenance ! .The girl shivered as she remembered the wibl and terrible words he had uttered—words which could s-niiiingly have only oik* interpret at ion. "I/*ave the room. Pamela."

tJeorge Martindale raised himsell on one elbow ami gazed fixedly at hi> daughter. He apjwarcd to Is* recovering from the stupor and dismay which had come ov-r him. and to lie once more strong and self-assertive. "I want to lie left alone—l want to think." he muttered —"lo ponder over what is Ik*hl to lie done." His black eyes glittered with strange fire as he spoke, and he gripped the lied clothes around him. His Impatience to lie left alone was verv evident.

"Hut 'you don't intend sending nuaway without giving me some explanation of what you have just said?" the girl asked, pitifully. "That would be too cruel, too unkind."

"What terrible secret is hidden in the Metherly fields ?" she asked, lowering her voice, a strange expression coming into her blue eyes. "Oh tell me the whole truth ! Ikm't keep me in this dreadful suspense '." Her agitation was pitiful to witness, and her face had lost its look of dreamy Innocence. It was the face of a woman who was in mortal terror owr one she loved—a face a cross which a heavy shadow had lieen suddenly thrown. "i was talking nonsense—l was talking madly." George Martindale frowned as ho said toe words, and clenched hi: lean hands under the sheets. Hut he fett Sn his own heart that Pamela would not believe his words, lie could hardly expect her to. He blamed himself intensely fur haviDg allowed them to pass his lips. H* should have kept a tM-ttcr guard over himself, for he did not want his daughter to anticipate the evil day ahead a-s he wmld have to, nnrl \r wait in ai-i , a''<i th<* slow .week.-. !n:j;'i; Urina.

He loved Pane-la -<>. .-Mi" meant all the world ti> him. 'his slight, fair-haired girl, y.-i now he must play a seemingly harsh and brutal pari, and not allow h-r pl-'adint eloquence to wrest th" inuii 'mm him.

"You said your life was in 'lai)g'"i'. Pamela's lips <|uiv<-T<--,j. "h. d<>n t you understand tha' 1 M ;a ;; torture myself with a thousand \ain surmises till you ha\e <>j"-n"d your heart to in" '.'" hlie went on passionately. •'Father, this is the refinement of cruel n . Pout you rcaJi« that sus|>ense is worse than anything •Isc in the world—su.h terrible suspense a-s I am suffering imw '.'" She moved away from the Itedside ami began to walk rapidly up and down the room. Hit soft silk-lined skirts made a pleasant rustle of sound, and she looked very young and fair, despite the deadly pallor o( her face.

f.corge Martindale made no answer, only shut his lips obstinately, lint the longing was on the man to confess to a sin of the past. *nd to Ik? judged and acquitted by Para•la.

She took another turn up (ho room, then came back to her fathers side, n look of intense resolution on her little face, her eyes soft and shining.

"Listen, there is something 1 want to say.'' she exclaimed, holding up her hands. I want you to understand that whatever happens, I shall love vou. and always slick to you. I do not care what this secret is. I don't mind even if you have been guilty of some terrible crime, or mixed tip in some fearful tragedy. You are my "ather. and nothing ran alter that nothing can lessen my Jove for you.* Iler pale fare flamed with bright .•oloiir as she spoke, and there was -omethiug very due in the way she -aid the words.

"J.ove. such love as I give you,"*hc continued, "can forgive anything for I am quite certain that vou are ;t good man. J nm not afraid of what you may Ik- going to tell me. I am -sure that whatever you did iu the past you were able, to justify to vour own conscience. So trust mc with your secret, father, trust me."

She sank on Iter knees by the bedside, and would have clasped the sick man in her arms, but he pushed nor roughly away. "Don't go on talking like this, Pamela, but go down stairs at once, '■real heavens, why do you keep on worrying me with your questions ? Haven't I enough to liear as it is ?"- There was a note of almost savage pain in his voice.

"Very well father." Pamela rose to her feet. "I will not worry you with any more questions," she went :»n, gently ; "but there is something 1 want to t«ll you."

She paused, and a Utile flush of .•olour tinted her cheeks, and made her look like a piece of dainty pink and white apple bloom. She intended to tell her father all about her meeting with Musi I l'arraday, and the sudden friendship she had formed—the friendship that in her own gentle heart she hoped might ri|«Mi into something deeper and warmer. Only before she could go on with her story <!eorge Martindale had raised a shaking hand and pointed to the door.

"tJo," he cried hoarsely. . "or 1 shall have to turn you out of the room by main force. 1 am not in the mood to listen to anything." The frightened girl made her way io the door. She had never seen her father in such a passion lief ore, nor had he ever addressed her so roughly in all her life. ||e was a firm, silent man ordinarily : l»it in dealing with Pamela h«* always displayed a curi;»iis gentleness evidently foreign to ni> nature.

Hmi now—now his ryvx flashed wrathfully as he addressed her. and -i«* realized with a slow sinking <>f li«-r heart that he had no intention ■ji confiding his secret to her. He was denying her his confidence and trust —driving Iht from him. Pamela closed the door gently behind her. and lingered for a second inside the passage, in case George Martlndale might call her hack : but the man did nothing of the sort. Instead she heard him give a deep sigh as of intense* relief when the door closed behind her, and then she caught the sound oi a muffled sob—the sob which a strong man gives when his heart is well-nigh breaking.

•'Oh, father, father !" She muttered thi- words softly to herself, two big tears stealing down her ch«fks, longing with all her soul to go in ami comfort him. Then the girl turned away with reluctant feet, and walked slowly down the narrow, old-fashioned staircase of the little Kensington house. -•Mhr opened the door of the drawing room and i»eeped in. It was a pleasant room. The furniture was upholstered in chintz, whose pivstine brightness had begun to fade a little, and to give place to. the softer tints of age. There were some cabinets full of Ix-autiful old china. and plenty of books and some great bowls of flowers about, for Pamela loved flowers. It was her only extravagence.

She thought for a second of coiling herself up in a heap on the draw-ing-room sofa and sobbing herself to s|iH-p. for she felt weary and languid after her long railway journey. Then a sudden yearning for a little fresh air came upon her, and she decided she would make her way to the garden at the back of tho house.

II would be pleasant there in the Minshine, and the cool, autumnal breeze might do her headache e-° r "' i . for she was conscious of racking neuralgia. Also .she reflected tliat she might Ik; able to think over Ihings lietter out of doors, for she frit so horribly vague and bewildered ehe could hardly collect her thoughts. It was cold and pleasant enough in the garden—a wonderful garden for a lAMidon house, for a high p-d----brick wall screened it on each side and there were one or two fine irees and some hardy lilacs and laburnum trees around. There were also some vew bushes, cut into fantastic shapes, and a brave border of .-turdy old-fashioned flowers.

She stretched out her hand- to the flowers as if they were old friends, as indeed she fait them to be. "Oh. I am so unhappy, s" miserabb'.'- sle- muttered. ■Why. when there is .o much beauty in the world, mus'. there be s.j much sorT'e.V '.'- j,, be c'ontinued.