“TWO LOVERS ”

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 453, 7 September 1928, Page 5

“TWO LOVERS ”

A NOVELETTE

By

ALICE D. G. MILLER.

From her photoplay “Two Lovers,” produced by Samuel Goldwyn and presenting Eonald Colman and Vilma Banky. Based on the Novel “Leatherface,” by Baroness Orezy.

CHAPTER 111. She leapt out of bed. Throwing a light robe about her she took the candle and opened the door. The sound seemed now to be coming from fhe main hall below. Carefully shading the candle, Lenora tip-toed to the stairway. Nervously she peered over the balustrade. She was just in time to see the »°rtly figure of the high bailiff disappearing through the wall, before a secret door swung back in place. All Was still again. Frightened, but resolved to solve the mystery Lenora stole down the stairway. Eagerly she examined the Jail through which the bailiff had disappeared. Now she noticed for the hrst time an ivory button at the base of a long panel. She pressed it quickly.

The door moved slowly round until cam e to rest at right angles to the Lenora found herself conhonting a flight of crude stone stairs, "juffing her candle, and with another frightened look behind her she alked hesitantly through the gap. e door closed behind her. k ot many Paces had she gone when a bend in the stairs brought her witht Warning upon a scene so unexpected that she could scarcely check cr y. She shrank back quickly into e shadow’s and surveyed the scene below her. The stairway terminated in a crude “ e cellar. Around a rough table ear 6 50 burghers were gathered in sh Q k St con versa tion. Incredulously, thp in the centre of the group familiar countenance of William, L . nce of Orange. So the Flemish hon c Ce was sheltered in her very un i Se ’ tlle tu Sitive for whom her conlH Scourecl the countryside. Lenora a scarcely believe her eyes, father side of the prince stood D . high bailiff and his wife. The *2** "as speaking. this,” he said, holding up a

document with crimson seal, “this ' bears the names of the sons of Ghent, two thousand strong, who .at a moment’s notice will rise with me to rid our country of this Spanish tyranny. Soon the call will be sent to them. The high bailiff had loosened one of the big stone slabs that dined the cellar He received tl*e outstretched document from the prince and laid it with reverent hands into the hiding place. Then he replaced the stone. Lenora waited to see no more. Evidentlv the meeting was breaking up. The secret door yielded easily to the pressure of her hand. She ■withdrew into the deep recess of the window. Hardly had she done so when the wall moved once more and the bailiff and his wife stepped into the room. Closing the door carefully behind them they tip-toed up the stairW Lenora waited five minutes It seemed au eternity. She could hear no sound. Cautiously she lelighted her candle and retraced her steps to the cellar. It was empty. To dislodge the stone and gam the document was but the work of a minute Hiding the parchment m the folds of her robe another minute found her, triumphant, but with a fluttering heart, on the stairway again that led to-her room. . , “What are you doing heie, MaLenora started violently as the nuiet voice of her husband fell upon her ears. Mark stepped out of the shadows-tkought j heard somebody walking about,” replied Lenora. Her voice trembled in spite of herself. “You are very brave, Madonna, replied her husband, gently. How much had he seen? How much did he know? Lenora shivered. “You tremble,” said Mark solicitously “What is troubling you? Do j you fear me when I love you so? | Lenora took a sudden resolve . “If it is true that you love me, she ;

replied, looking at him steadily, “then let me go to Brussels. I want to get permission from my uncle to return to Spain.” Mark’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he said nothing. Then he bowed. “It shall be as you wish, Madonna,” he said, “a coach will be waiting for you at sunrise.” Lenora’s heart beat quickly as she re-entered her room, and made fast the door. She sat down at the writing table. Dipping her quill into the ink she began to write hastily:

“Orange and Leatherface are in Ghent,” traced the quill. “I leave in the morning to join you in Brussels. I have the names of those who are disloyal to our country.” For a long while she stared in silence at the words. The tramp of nearing footsteps sounded on the cobbles beneath. “One o’clock—all’s well,” came the chant of the crier through the night. Hastily Lenora tied the letter in her handkerchief. She crossed to the window and opened it. The crier had halted directly beneath. His lan-

tern swung rythmically to and fro, “All’s well,” he repeated more significantly. His right hand was ready to receive the little pellet as it fell from the window. Lenora closed the window again with a sigh of relief. Had she waited but an instant longer, however, her relief might not have been so complete. For barely had she withdrawn when two leather-covered hands reached from the shadows in the doorway and closed mercilessly around the throat of the crier. Before he could utter a single cry the wretch was fiat on his back, grim hands choking the life out of his helpless body. “Leatherface,” his lips formed the word feebly. “Spy” hissed his assailant contemptuously through his leather helmet. The figure lay still. Quickly Leatherface unlocked the fingers that still clutched the note. He rose to his feet, and blew a kiss lightly in the direction of the darkened window above. . “And now, my beautiful one,” he said, placing the handkerchief and its message carefully in his wallet. “Now we shall see.” CHAPTER IV. The coach rattled over the cobbles on the road to Brussels. Outside, the rain streamed down and the roar of thunder deafened the two passengers from time to time. Lenora shrank nearer Mark. She longed to lay her head on that indifferent shoulder and to feel the protective power of that strong arm around her. “It must have been a great inconvenience for you,” she whispered softly, “to take me to Brussels.” “It was.” Mark’s reply was as brief as it was unexpected. Lenora drew back and hid her mortification beneath lowered lashes. A burst of lightning follow-ed almost immediately by a terrible roar of thunder, indicated that the storm was almost overhead. It wanted still several miles to Brussels and the storm showed no signs of abating. Crash! Suddenly, with a terrific jolt, the coach lurched over to one side, throwing the occupants violently to the floor. The voice of the coachman could be heard above the din of the storm trying to quiet the horses. Mark, disentangling an arm, managed to open the door. He fell, rather than

stepped out. Gently he rajsed the terrified Lenora to her feet. “You are not hurt?” he inquired with concern. She shook her head. “What has happened?” she asked, trembling. “A wheel • has come off,” replied Mark, observing the wreck ruefully, “I fear we must proceed on horseback.” By this time the coachman had unharnessed the two horses. Mark vaulted lightly on to the glistening, raindrenched back of one. “Come,” he said, holding out his arms to Lenora. She hesitated but an instant. The next, her cloak drawn around her, she was sitting before him on the roan. Mark’s arm slipped around her tenderly. With a little sob, she hid her face against him, conscious, despite the fury of the storm, of a sudden sense of security and peace. In half an hour they had reached an inn. A comfortable room was

promptly forthcoming with a fire burning brightly in the grate. “You need have no fear. Madonna,” ! said Mark, moving toward the door, “you will be safe here.” Lenora looked at him suddenly. There was an expression in those velvet eyes that he had never seen there before. “Don't go, Mark,” she faltered, “I—l—.” Her lip trembled. Three strides and Mark had crossed to her side. In another moment they j were in each other’s arms. “Beloved,” whispered Mark, as he j drew her gently beside him on the '< couch. For a while they sat thus. j neither saying a word, each fearing to break the beauty of the moment. Suddenly Lenora roused herself. She was aware of something warm trick-1 ling down her hand. She looked | down, and shivered involuntarily. Now for the first time she saw that the left sleeve of her husband’s tunic was dark and discoloured. A stream of blood was oozing through the velvet, dropping on to her hand. She rose in concern. "You art hurt!” she said. “Why did l

you not tell me? I will bind It for you.” Protestations notwithstanding she began peeling the sleeve from his forearm. Carefully she unwound the rough, stained binding. Two bleeding, angry gashes were visible in Mark’s forearm. A dagger wound! Like—like—no—it could not be! (To be concluded.)