CHAPTER XII. "SO CLOSE WE ARE, AND YET SO FAR APART."

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 13 November 1914, Page 3

CHAPTER XII. "SO CLOSE WE ARE, AND YET SO FAR APART."

Unnoticed, the music in the corner ceased, and Bebe slipped from the room. On the terrace, strewn with rugs and easy-chairs, she paused and picked up a big-brimmed hat, on which a wreath of honeysuckle nodded. "They're gossiping there ; they won't miss me. I simply can't stay quiet any longer," sfie thought, as^.she ran down the steps to the shelving stretches of grass that glimmered far away under the rows of apple trees like richly-toned velvet. It was now on the verge of the summer twilight—a magical hour. Far away there was a suggestion of the smoke from the great city against a sky of glowing crimson, dotted here and there by the white light of an early star. But around Applethorpe there was the coolness and silence of the country. Far. up in the pale-blue above Bebe's head hung the wan ghost of a young moon ; the breeze softly stirred ; the trees rustled their leaves in soft whisperings. How still and inviting the long, green aisles were between the apple trees ! How the white road gleamed beyond the lodge gates ! How dim and mysterious the woods on the other side looked, stretching away, far away ! Bebe hurried on lightly. Her young heart was aflame with its burden of love. It was delicious to flutter along the white road in the deepening sunset and think that Felix would come to-morrow, that there was some reasonable explanation for his continued absence. Descending a hilly Yoad that led down to low, marshy land, Bebe found herself in the loneliest spot she had ever seen. A small river wound along like a silver snake between long, reedy grasses, and the only house in sight was a low, square building, closely shuttered, the garden a riot of rank weeds. "Ugh !It looks haunted, that house by the river. I wonder who lives there !It seems the very place for a murder, or one of those dreadful houses where wicked people throw poor insane relatives to die, unknown and uncared for," she thought, preparing to turn her back upon it, when suddenly she stopped, interested. Surely she knew that figure coming so guardedly and stealthily down the path ! She waited until the man came within a few steps of her, then she stepped from the shadow of the tree where she had been idly leaning, and faced him in her uncompromising, schoolgirl fashion. "What were you doing in that house ? You don't live there, do you ?" she asked, sternly. Yes, Bebe had not been mistaken. She was looking straight into the apologetic, restless eyes of the new valet. •' Oh, mademoiselle, you startle me !" he gasped, removing his hat from his oiled hair, his moustache curving upward in a craven smile. "What have you been doing down there ? Were you not told to wait in the servants' quarters for Mr. Raritan^?" she demanded ; for Bebe had been accustomed to authority all her spoiled life, and could look as cool and commanding as a young princess upon occasions. "True, mademoiselle," shrugged the new servant. "But ze maison was ver' hot. I went to take a walk ; I remembered zat ol' pless zare. Once a fren' of mine—a poor, sickly young Englishman—leeve zare. I strolled up ze wajk, for ze remembrance sake of ze time when we used to smoke in ze leetle garden."' "H'm ! You must have lived a

L long time in this country," sniffed [ Bebe, suspiciously. "That must ; have been years and years ago." "Only two years, mademoiseUe—. ; tw"o short years since my fren' live' j zare, poor feUow ! Ze house ees i damp ; eet kill him I know eet. ; But advice he would not take." s! "Well, you'd better x go back, Mr. 1 : Raritan won't like to be kept waits , rig;"' and her clear, proud eyes wat- ; ched him half-contemptuously as he j minced out of sight. ■ "There's something uncanny about , that little Frenchman. . He's like a s monkey. I hope Sid will send him about his business," she thought ; and then without another look at the house by the river, that was del stined to play such a strange part in the fortunes of her life she turned down another road. Her dislike would have sprung to s open antagonism could she have seen the valet pause as he reached ! a green, shaded spot, well out of s sight. He stretched out his arms and yawned, while a very masculine, for- ! cible chuckle quite unlike the Frenchi man's squeaky voice, broke from his l lips. "That was a rum go ! I must be more careful. That girl has sharp eyes ; a temper, too, by Jove ! I'm glad it wasn't Raritan who saw , me. It would have looked strange ,to be seen coming out of that . spooky hole ; but the girl will pro- . bably forget all about it." i After another yawn he doubled himself up again and stepped into the road, hurrying with small, quick steps, like the proverbial dancingmaster's, towards Applethorpe. Etienne Oudry, the Frenchman, he was now, beyond all doubt ; and yet it surely was the gruff voice of Theodore Griggs, the detective that had spoken those last words ! Theodore Griggs, the lynx-eyed, the - smooth-tongued, the tireless ; Theo- * dore Griggs, the link between the family at stately old Applethorpe, almost hidden in its beautiful, clustering, orchard, and the lonely figure who lived through days of stagnant horror in the eerie, cheerless riverside house, the master who paid him well, but whose face he had never seen. His presence under Sidney's roof meant that one more strand was added: to the web that Destiny, the blind goddess, was slowly and surely weaving. Yes ; Theodore Griggs and Etienne Oudry were the same. The light faded in the purpling west, and now the moon, no longer pale and shadowy, but a yellow sickle, that touched the top branches of the trees with silver light, shone down on Bebe's loitering figure as she turned her face towards Applethorpe again. She had wandered : farther through the fragrant land than . she knew. She was fully half a mile from home. "I'll just have time to dress for dinner," she thought, as she let , down the bars of a pretty vine- : wreathed stile that barred a meadow running near the grounds . round Applethorpe. It was public land, bare of trees, and looking like a green, pulseless sea, very enticing and mysterious under the light of the moon. When she came to put up the bars again, however, she found that the delicate lace 021 her skirt was surely and firmly wedged between a maddening split in the wood. Tug—tug —tug—went the white, slender fingers, but nothing could move it. , Yet what a pity it would be to tear it ! —the gown was new, so - pretty, too ; in fact, a 'avourite of hers. "Oh, dear, dear, dear, was there ever such a plaguy old thing ! People ought to mend their stiles," she said aloud. "May I help you ?" Down went the bar of wood, and wide open Bebe's soft, . rosy mouth. She knew that voice ! Knew it ? It sent her blood dancing, thrilling into her cheeks, up to the very roots of her hair. She turned her saucy profile, and saw before her, like dream-figures risen from the moon-mist, Felix Love with his hand on his horse'f bridle. "Oh, it's you ?" she said, coolly, quite forgetting all about the imprisoned skirt. "Good evening." "I happen to be here just in time, I see." And, oh, how eagerly Felix's hungry glance took in all the details of that arch, lovely face, the girlish, lissome figure ! He loved her so ! He would have given a good many years of his , unspent life to be able to tell her j so, to take her in his arms that ! very second, and know the rapture of pressing his lips to those dimpled, laughing ones that were slightly curled in a daints' scorn. And to think that he never coul<f tell her—never ! To know deep down in his heart that it was th< act of a madman to seek her pre sence even on the public roads, tc bask in the light of her blue, ap» ! pealing eyes ! '' (To be Continued.) 1 "Oh, Mrs. Smith, do you know that your son Billy has been run over by a train ?" '"Oh, dear, dear ! My poor boy ! , Whatever shall Ido ? Where did It happen ?" 1 " Underneath the railway arch. Billy's standing there now." "You have made this Cupid with a revolver," said the editor to his artist. "Isn't it customary to arm the god of lovers with a bow and arrows ?" " Yes, sir," replied the artist. "Bat art must keep up with the times." 142 3.