THE WHITE ROOK.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 7, 13 May 1893, Page 13

THE WHITE ROOK.

(From Harper’s Weekly. Chapter V. After tlx at dismal 14 th of November there was weeping, wailing’, and gnashing of teeth. Imogene cried openly. Mr Barton raged secretly, and the Willoughby’s, mother and daughter, expecting little or nothing, alone in the house were serene. For them, Imogene, who had about as much altruism as a Bengal tiger, professed deep sympathy and sorrow. Mr Jack Harding’s visits to the Willoughby’s mansion became, the while, less and less frequent. It was not convenient for him to marry without money. But Richard Barton meant to marry with the money. That it existed, he was sure. But where ? His keen wits were soon bustling incessantly io get at the clue. One day, early in December,, he spoke to Imogene about the will.

“ Might not a copy be in the bouse ?” he asked. She spoke, as with surprise, “ Sux-ely the lawj-ers would have that. In point of fact, she had rummaged the house fi'om cellar to garret in search of it. Nay, more, she had opened boxes, bureaus, and bookcases -that had been cax-efully locked by the executors. Still further, Jason Willoughby’s private desk, where he kept papers and other sacred articles, she had carefully x-ansacked. Years before, she had contrived to get a pair of keys which opened the top of this desk and the drawers below. After a time Barton, continuing his show of gentle sjmpathy, and dwelling with emphasis on the chance that the desk might hold the secret, Miss Gray ventured to impart to him that she had by accident found two keys that might be duplicates, and so might open the desk. The sequel is easily fox-seen. The wily Richard got possession of the keys. He knew perfectly well that his fair chaxmer had already searched the desk ; but he also knew that women, however artful, are not invariably up to everything. His assumption was that her seareh had been superficial, and be knew Jason Willoughby well enough to be sure that axxy obvious thing be was unlikely to do. Thus it was that Barton went straight to his quarx-y. That afternoon Imogene had a caller, a particular friend, Mrs Van Whey Curdle. This gentlewoman had written a volume full of insipidities mixed with outrageous eroticism, and so was by way of being reckoned a great author-. She was a pronounced blonde, and hence liked to drive or sit at the opera with Imogene, whose dark beauty set her off in effective contx-ast.

Richard having the keys, seized this chance to nse them alone. With the prescience of genius, he went straight to the bottom drawer, pulled it entirely out, and found, in the space below, the “Last will and Testament of Jason Willoughby ” executed three years before —and the White Rook. When Imogene and Richnrd met again, he shook his head sadly, and gave back her keys. She too well understood his eloquent silence. His search, like her own, had ended in nothing. She had expected it, and yet there had been a grain of hope. This gone, she wept again, and again Richard consoled her. “ All is not lost yet,” he urged. “Ho news is good news ; and have I not said that, in any case, you might be provided for ?” She gazed at him inquiringly, her beautiful eyes swimming in tears. You know what Byron sings of such a situation. Barton took her hand. He did more. He kissed it with a kind of gloating. The lovely eyes questioned him still. But he was too prudent to go further just then. The young woman was not without sagacity, and might suspect, so he made what Willoughby w'ould have called “ a waiting move.” “ Mr Jack Harding,” he remarked, “ comes seldom now.” “ The rats,” she answered, venomously, “ forsake a fallen house. That odious cigarette is at least spared us.”

“ How a man favoured like Harding,” said Richard, with gallant commonplace, “ can eschew the society of one so charming, passes comprehension. But so many disprize what they possess, and yearn —who is it that says it ? —-for the unattainable.” “ Possess !” retorted the beauty, with scorn. “ You do not suppose —” “ Why, it has been announced, has it not, that you and Mr Harding are engaged P Mr Willoughby himself thus understood. He told me so.” “ Circumstances alter cases,” said Imogene tritely. “ I have not supposed myself to be irrevocably fated, nor, you may now easily guess, does he.” “ I am very glad.” “ Glad ?” “ He is not worthy of you. Well enough, maybe, as young men go, but shallow and self-indulgent, A woman

like you wants a man to think not of indulging himself, but of indulging her. There was irony in this, but he did not fear. Intense selfishness blinds people even in cases more fragrant than this. So, with more flattery, and the reception, by way of reward, of more intoxicating glances, Richard took his leave' But he very soon came again. He was not alarmed about the falling house, and. hence was not one of the rats to forsake it. Jack Harding’s visits, however, grew rarer and rarer, and finally his tight gloves, his little cane, his baggy white overcoat, and his too shiny hat were seen and his cigarette was smelt in the Willoughby house no more. But Imogene had consolation, for as one lover grew colder, the other grew warmer.

Imogene had met her match—and worse. She was crafty enough to flatter, but not crafty enough to know when she was being flattered. Her talent in the way of bewitching and misleading had been freely used with Jason Willoughby, and, as she hoped, with good effect. But that self-re-strained and keen sighted old man was never misled. To him her wiles were as transparent as were those of Richard Barton; and if he denied himself in both cases the comfort of saying so, his acts were the legitimate and characteristic fruit of his knowledge. Imogene, on her lower plane, went her way in total ignorance that her uncle not only saw through and through her, in a general sense, but was aware of her proceedings in detail—such as spying into his papers and intriguing busily to find out the state of his affairs. Being' entirely the slave of her self-love, she failed to see how readily a person sufficiently able and unscrupulous could govern her through it; and this is what happened in the case of Richard Barton.

Horn knew better tban lie that yonng women are prone to value highly the attentions of clever men much older than themselves. Such attentions are grateful to their vanity; since, they argue, if men who have seen so much and are so discerning are moved by their charms, the latter must be illnring indeed. Richard did mot flinch from dwelling on this very point. “'I am much too old for you, dear girl,” he confessed; “but I know how to appreciate you —not your physical loveliness only, incomparable as that is, but the beauty of your mind and character.” Again the intoxicating glances, and Richard, he had got to that at last — kissed her rapturously. “ Of course, I cannot pretend to be inch in the sense Willoughby was,” lie explained; “but there is enough. You can have your carriage—a modest ■ brougham, truly, but stylish—your seat at the opera—” “ And Delmonico’s when I like ?” “AndDelmonico’satyourwill. And, come now, at least one Worth gown each season. “ All this,” she proceeded, for her part, “is supposing that Uncle Jason has alienated his property.” “ If he had any to alienate,” put in Richard quickly. “ You remember ihe lawyers and executors only know of a small sum.” “ But if more turns up P” she persisted.” “ If more turns up,” quoth Richard, “ and you get any of it, why, so much ihe better.” This ingenius gentleman was in a fair way with fortune. He saw before ■ liim a glorious triumph, a sublime rrevenge. He would possess not only the heiress, but the wealth of the man lie hated —hated with a passionate hatred, because of the everlasting humiliation of his forgiveness. "On the first day of February Miss Imogene Gray became Mrs Richard Barton. (To be c»ntinued.)