THE LUCK OF THE LINDSAYS

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12614, 26 November 1926, Page 4

THE LUCK OF THE LINDSAYS

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.)

BY

MARGARET TYNDALE.

[COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER XX.—Continued. Captain Conyngham was therefore accommodated with pens and paper to write his somewhat difficult epistle to Julia’s father, while Donald also sat down to fulfil the same task. Dear Father (he wrote), —1 am sending this under cover of the letter from Captain Conyngham, in order that you may be more sure of getting it. Captain Conyugham’s letter will, X think, explain itself, but my letter to you is to take the form of a confession. Father, X have been a coward, and what is more a thief. Donald wrote the word firmly, lor the time had come when the fear of Roger Alain war mg no longer obsessed him; yet somehow after that he could not go on, and sat biting the end of his pen with much indecision. Oh, how base and cowardly his action had been! he told himeslf. H© had not realised it so poignantly until that moment, for until then he had never had the moral courage to face the tribunal of his own judgment, much less his father’s. But somehow this strong-faced man, whom ho had met tor tho first time but an hour ago, filled Donald with a sense of the responsibilities of his own sins, and he blamed without mercy for being the cause of all tho unhappiness in his home. And He was generous enough to make excuses for .'uiia, since she was young and in- ■ \perienced, and in no way to be held i.sponsible for her indiscreet mari mge. He set his lips together in a ! itraight, determined line, dipped j once more in the ink, and began to write:— X cannot excuse myself, but I can make an explanation to show you that I did not iu the beginning willingly deceive you. I owed a man some money and could not pay it. You had given me A cheque for eight pounds, and in a moment of fierce temptation I altered it to eighty. The next moment I had repented ol my action, and X asked Uncle Roger to get you to sign another in its place, so that 1 might destroy the one I had altered. He refused, and threatened to expose me, because he was angry with me for having decided to give up betting and drinking. He reminded me of the. debt I owed, and said the man would moke a bother if I didn’t pay up. He also promised that he would manage so that you didn’t see the cheque or notice the entry m your pass-book, and at last I consented; but the thing has been like a millstone round my neck ever since, holding me back when X would have told you of Mainwaring’s duplicity and his hatred of my stepmothei. __ The unfortunate inciuent on the day of your home-coming was entirely my own fault, but it was untrue that my. uncle knew nothing of it—he it was who had encouraged me to drink. Of Julia’s meetings with Gordon X knew nothing, hut I have since heard from her that they were entirely due to my late tutor’s ingenuity, as also the arrangements for her runaway marriage. On the night when X saw Mainwaring coming out of your study, Julia says that he had been there to signal to the waiting car in the grounds that everything was ready, and that Julia and Gordon were coming at once. I do not know why Mamwaring blamed me for the injury to his. hand, since he must have known quite well that it was Gordon who shot him, not I; but I was so cowed by him that I waa ready to admit anything, rather than that you should learn of the sin X had committed, which he threatened to expose if I did not retract what I had said. This is my confession. There is ono point, however, that I am sure you do not know, since Miss Gunning has told me that you made no reply to her urgent summons to return—a state of things I can only put down to the fact that Mainwaring must have intercepted her letters and prevented you from receiving them. In this case my stepmother’s illness will come | as a shock to you, and I can only j urge upon you the necessity of re- j turning to her as soon as possible, j for she was guiltless of any crime bit her great desire to help both Julia and me out of our troubles. j I cannot expect you to overlook j my sins, but I implore you to come home as soon as you can. Donald. This letter Donald put into an envelope and addressed to his father. Then he turned to Edward Conyngham and said with « quiet smile; “Your letter is finished, I see,

but my letter will explain many matters to my father about which he has been greatly deceived. On your part, I am sure he will accept your thoughtfulness for my sister’s welfare in the proper spirit, and feel even more grateful than Ido for your kindness.” “I think,” said Conynham, waving aside Donald’s expression of thanks, “I think it would hie as well if we both went to tackle that bank manager personally, instead of writing to him or sending the letter under his care. We will hammer into him the fact that we are not going away until he gives 1 us the address, and if he remains firm, well, then we can only insist upon his dispatching the letter to your father at once, and registering it in order to bo assured that he receives it.” A few moments later they left the house, and, signalling a passing taxicab, drove at once to the Lindsay’s bankers. Here they represented tho urgency of tho need for direct communication with Lindsay to the manager, and in spite of his unwillingness to do so, in view of the orders he had been given by Roger Mainwaring, he at length consented to give them the required address. “Air Lindsay was to leave San Francisco to-day, I believe,” he said. “This was the next address at which he intended staying—Hotel European, Tokio. I understood that he was to spend three months in Japan, but, of course, the communication you may wish to make may alter his deI cision and cause him to return earlier j than he expected.” I Captain Conyngham therefore dis- | patched his letter to Alec Lindsay, hav- | ing sealed and registered it most care- ! (ully, and there was nothing more for him to do but to await a reply with ; what patience he could muster, for his heart craved to know that Julia’s future might be in more responsible hands than those of her husband, with regard to whom there were some very evil rumours floating about the town. But the sudden and unexpected death of his father. Sir Jasper Convnghnm, led his thoughts for a time into other channels, so that for a couple of months or more he had no opportunity of calling at the Gordons’ flat. But at last one day he met Julia unexpectedly in the park. She was looking thin and pale, he thought, and so utterly unlike the girl he had met in the summer, that he ventured to remark upon her changed appearance. ‘I have been, ill,” she said hastily, “and the winter has been so trying. How is Lady Violet?” “Very well —quite recovered, thanks, and is where you ought to be, Mrs Gordon—in Egypt.” ' She shook her head sadly. “Aly husband would call it needless extravagance, I’m afraid, if I dared ! to mention the word,” she said, trying to speak gaily. “Besides, here in London I am on tho spot if ever mv father takes it into his head to return. although I am beginning to think he never will.” “How is Mrs Lindsay,” he asked, not looking at Julia as he spoke, for 1 the girl’s sad face made him long to console her, to tell her that he could not bear to see her so unhappy, and it was only by a supreme effort of will-power that he refrained from doing so. “Donald heard the other day that she is much better and hopes to go back to the Priory soon. But oh 1 it makes me so unhappy when I think of all the suffering i have been the means of causing her.” He endeavoured to comfort her as far as their respective positions would permit, and accompanied her for some little distance on her way. As she wished him goodbye, he instantly noticed that she offered him her left hand, a fact he had remarked when he had greeted her, and was about to ask the reason when she unexpectedly anticipated his question. “I hurt it the other day,” she explained, a trifle too hastily to satisfy him. Her words fell to silence as she caught the look in his eyes; for in that moment Edward Conyngham “saw red,” and a dark suspicion of the true nature of her hurt suddenly flashed upon him —a suspicion which was confirmed by the sight of Julia’s embarrassment in meeting his glance. “Mrs Gordon,” he said verv quietly, "you will never forget your promise to me—will you ?” But Julia did not answer, for she realised in that one moment the full reaping of the bitter fruit which had been the outcome of her disregard of her step-mother’s warning. (To he continued.)