Bilious child suffers agony.

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 613, 15 March 1929, Page 5

Bilious child suffers agony.

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though for the most part- they may be hidden.” The startled look in Margaret’s eyes grew more pronounced. “What do you mean?” she asked quickly. “Please speak plainly, Mr. Carston.”

Carston considered a moment, then he said: “Understand, I should have held my tongue if it had not been that that very clever young man beyond the stile there, was obviously in iove with you. Any man may be tempted, and in a weak moment may yield, and I am by nature charitable.” He gave an abrupt laugh as he made the statement, then he asked: “Tell me, have I got the facts right? If Noel Mayhew had lived he would have been the master of Mayhew Court?” "Yes,” answered Margaret, staring at him with burning eyes. “And his death being presumed, Donald takes the spoil?” “If you mean that he has inherited the estate. Yes!” "I do mean that,” said Carston, “and I take off my hat to that clever young man over there, who has managed the thing so nicely.” “Managed ” “Mis Margaret, you were interested in Noel Mayhew, I know, your father being my informant. Do you know how he died ?” “I know what was reported,” answered Margaret, in a low voice. “That he was out. with with party of native levies, in German East Africa, that the party was ambushed and died to a man, but that Noel’s body was never found, which encouraged me to hope that —that———” “That he was alive? A vain hope, Miss Margaret. You do not know the African bush, or you would not entertain the hope for a single moment, f do not think there is any question of Noel Mayhew’s death, but there is—er —well some question of the way in which he died.” Margaret looked at him in wonder, and then looked beyond him to where, on the other side of the hedge, Don aid Mayhew was pacing to and fro. Carston noted the direction of her glance, and then frowned a little. “I know something of what happened,” he continued, “for I was in German East Africa myself, and I was one of the particular party which, setting out to help Noel Mayhew, arrived only in time to drive away the jackals from the dead. But we found something which made some of us wonder; and (hat was certain messages which had been sent out by heliograph asking for relief to be sent speedily. Others besides ourselves had had those messages, Donald Mayhew, for instance." “Donald!”

“Yes, he was at least half a day’s march nearer than we were. He had got the message—and sent a reply. It was all found there. But he never came ”

“He never came! You mean he left Noel to die?” “Well, there was a court-martial at which he managed to exonerate himself, but he concealed material facts, as, for instance, that he was the heir to Mayhew Court, in the event of his brother's death. The members of the court-martial never knew that. If they had —” “Oh, shame!—shame!” cried the

girl. “You suggest that Donald left his brother to die, virtually murdered him! I will never believe it, never!” As Margaret Melford made her passionate declaration of belief in Donald Mayhew’s innocence, a swift look of comprehension came on Carston’s strong face.

“Ah!” he said slowly, in a tone that made the girl look at him questioningly. “What do you mean?” she demanded, her face aflame. Carston smiled, hut made no direct reply to the question. “You will never believe? he asked carelessly. “Never!” cried Margaret, with conviction. Carston looked at her, then he

glanced at Donald Mayhew pacing to and fro at the further side of the hedge. He thought he understood the situation very well. The girl had transferred her affection from one brother to the other, a quite. natural proceeding, apart from the lure of Mayhew Court; and as he saw Margaret's face flush, he was shaken by a spasm of jealous anger. “You will not believe?” he said sharply. “Then ask Mayhew what, happened. Ask him why he did not reveal the fact of his succession at the court martial? I think you will find that he will have some difficulty in explaining that interesting omission.” Margaret was stung by the tone in which he addressed her, and replied indignantly, “I shall ask him nothing, but I shall tell him what vile charge you make against him, that he may be forewarned against ” “Do!” broke in Carston. w'ith a laugh. “And note the effect when he hears what men who have a suspicion of the truth are saying about him. I think you will find the result of your observations pretty convincing.”

“I do not think so,” answered Margaret, though she was a little shaken by Carston’s apparent confidence. ‘‘And I cannot think why you should say these things to me. If you have a charge to make against Donald Mayhew ”

“1 say these things to. you that you may know the kind of man Mayhew is, and the—er—er—questionable means by which he has made himself master of Mayhew Court. I have no intention whatever of letting you go blindly into marriage with ” “Into marriage!” As she cried the words Margaret Melford’s face was scarlet with indignation. “What—how “Yes—into marriage with Donald Mayhew,” retorted Carston with a hard laugh. “You need not pretend that that is a matter outside consideration. That young man’s attitude as I came up the field betrayed a good deal to observant eyes, and I am not blind.”

“Apparently not!” retorted the girl, a flash of scorn in her eyes. “But may I remind you that the relations between Donald Mayhew and myself are no concern of yours; that your interference is a gross impertinence, and that ”

“Steady, Miss Margaret,” interrupted Carston sharply. “It will be better not to say things that you will presently regret. And you are very much misfaken in the assertion that the relations between Mayhew and yourself do not concern me. The direct contrary is true. They are of the deepest concern to me.” “I do not see why." said the girl, austerely.

“No? Then I will tell you,” replied Carston with a sudden change of voice. “It is because I love you, because I am resolved that you shall marry no one but me.” He lifted a protesting hand as Margaret was about to reply. “No!” he said passionately. “Hear me out. I know you will think my words a presumption, but, after all, I have some claim on your gratitude—on your love. I hate to remind you of it; but nevertheless, it is the fact that but for me you would not have been here at this moment. You would have been drifting up and down with the tides of Argyle, or as a mere battered piece of flotsam in the Race of Corrievrechau. You know it and you do owe me some consideration; and for that consideration I plead. I love you as man never loved woman before. I am aflame for you, and —and, well, I will not be denied. I will win you in spite of Donold Mayhew, who let his brother die, I will win you in spite of yourself. You shall love me—you shall give yourself to me ”

“Never!" interrupted Margaret, appalled by the surge of his passion. “7 ” He laughed scornfully. “You are very confident,” he said, “but you do not know me yet. 1 am accustomed to winning things I set my heart on, and do you think I will be turned aside from the supreme desire of my life? 1 echo your own word—never! I will fight for you, win you, set you aflame “Oh!” cried the girl. “You are insufferable. I will not listen any longer. I shall leave you. You had a message for my father, you said. Tell me what it is, that I may go.” Carston, checked in his passionate utterance, gave a sudden, sharp laugh. “You are afraid to listen,” he said, “I will not keep you here against your will, no, but another time, when you have asked Donald Mayhew how his brother came to die, you will listen to me. You ” “The message?” said the girl, coldly. “The message—oh, yes!” Carston laughed again. “It is a very short one. Please tell your father that I withdraw what I said on the morning after the wreck; and that I trump with Freedlam.”

“You trump with—with ” “Freedlam! F-r-e-e-d-l-a-m! Mr. Melford will understand.”

“I will convey your message,” answered Margaret, then without another word turned on her heel and began to walk toward the stile. As she did so Donald Mayhew hurried to join her, and as he helped her over the stile saw signs of agitation in her face. “What is the matter, Margaret?” he asked quickly. “Has Carston been annoying you?” “Yes,” she answered frankly, “he has annoyed me very much.” “In what way, Margaret? He’s a fellow I don’t like.”

“And you have cause for your dislike,” replied the girl. "More cause than you are aware of, I fancy.” “Indeed?” asked Mayhew, struck by a certain significance in her tones. “What do you mean, Margaret? Please be explicit. Has the bounder been saying things about me?” “Yes! Dreadful things—things so shocking that I scarcely like to repeat them.”

“But you must, Margaret. Or I must follow -Carston and force him to tell me. I can see from your face that I have cause to know what he has said. If you won’t tell me I will follow him and choke the truth out of him.”

Margaret hesitated, stopped, and looked back. The tall figure of Carston was receding across the field, and the sun shone on something which re fleeted its brightness, dazzlingly. It was, as she guessed, the butt of the gun, and as she saw it a panic feeling surged in her heart. If Donald followed the man; if he forced him tc speak there would be trouble; and in the heat of the moment wild things might be done. At all costs she must prevent them meeting at this moment, and avert the possibilities imminent in the situation. Swiftly she turned to her companion, her mind made up.

“It was in reference to Noel,” sbe began, hesitated, and then added, halt-

ingly, “and—and—to the way he died.” As she spoke she saw Donald May bew’s face grow suddenly scarlet, then almost as swiftly the blood receded leaving it ghastly pale. “Yes?” he cried, hoarsely. "Yes?” For a moment the girl did not speak. She was appalled by the ex pression on his face by the sudden look of apprehension which had come into his eyes. The suspicion which Carston had sown quickened to strong life, and when she broke the brief silence her attitude toward Donald Mayhew had suffered a swift change: and there was an almost accusing note in her voice. “He said that you were in the neighbourhood when Noel was ambushed ; that you knew of his desperate situa tion, and that—that you left him to die, knowing that you would inherit Mayhew Court.” “It is a damnable lie!” cried the young man, adding stormily. “I will make Carston eat those words, or I will wring his vile neck. The scoundrel ” He checked himself sharply. and then cried appealingly, “But you do not believe him. Margaret? You cannot believe me guilty of so vile a thing?” The girl remembered the look she had seen on his face, the undisguised apprehension in his eyes. “I do rot know what to believe,” she said. “It seems too horrible even to think of. But —-but ” she broke off, and a sudden, sharp distress shook her. “Oh!” she cried, “I loved Noel! If you were in the neighbourhood why did you not go to his help?” She did not know it, but again the note of accusation was in her voice: and the man was painfully conscious of it. His face flushed, and a hard look come on it. “Listen,” he said “and I wMI explain. It is a scoun drelly thing that Carston should have raked up this charge, without telling you that the thing had already been : investigated and that I was fully ex I onerated by a court-martial at the ] time.” j “But he did tell me,” cried Mar I garet. I “Then why should he repeat the I vile charge? Why should he tell you j of it, when he knows that my utter 1 innocence was established? Wh> should you believe the blackguard J Margaret?” “I have not said that I believe him.” anstvered Margaret. “I ” (To be Continued.!