CHAPTER XII. DWIGHT POLLARD.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 155, 22 May 1886, Page 3

CHAPTER XII. DWIGHT POLLARD.

Oh, 'Us tio true ! how smart A lash that tpeech doth give my conscience!— Hamlet. He was standing with his back to me, and to all appearance was unconscious that he was under the surveillance of any eye. I had thus a moment in which to collect my energies and subduo my emotions ; and I availed myself of it to such good purpose that by the time he had put the board back into its place I was ready to face him. He did not turn round, however ; so, after a moment of silent suspense, I mounted the last stair, and thinking of nothing, hoping for nothing, wishing for nothing, stood waiting, with my eyes fixed on the domino he was now rapidly folding into smaller compaes. And thus I stood, like a pallid automaton, when the instant came for him to I change hia position, and he saw me. The cry that rose to his lips but did not escape them, the reel which his figure gave before it stiffened into marble, testified to the shock he had received, and also to the sense of unreality with which my appearance in this wise must have impressed him. Hie look, his attitude, were those of a man gazing upon a spectre, and as I mbt his glance with mine, I was conscious of a feeling of unreality myself, as if the whole occurrence were a dream, and he and I but shadows which another moment would dissolve. But alas ! this was no more a dream than were the other strange and tragic events which had gone before ; and in an instant we both knew it, arid were standing face to face with wretched inquiry in the looks we fixedi tVpbn each other across the domino whicty-'had 1 fallen from his hands. He was the 'first to opeaki ' «'MifiB Sterling!" he exclaimed, 1 ins a light tone, cruelly belied by the trembling

lips from which it issued, "by what fortunate chance do I see you again, and in a place I should have though* to ba the last you would be likely to visit ?" "By the same chance," I rejoined, "wkich appears to have brought you here' The desire to make sure if what I heard about the mill having been used as a secret ing place for certain mysteiious articles was true." And I pointed to the mask and domino lying at my feet. His eye, which had followed the direction of my finger, grew dark and troubled. "Then it was your hand—" he impetuosity began. •• Which disturbed these garments before you ? Yes. And I shall make no apology for the action," I continued, "since it was done in the hope of proving false certain in sinuationa which had been made to me in your regard." "Insinuations?" be repeated. " Yes," I declared, in an agony between my longing to bear hin vindicate h'onself and the desire to be true to the obligations I was under to Ada Reynolds. " Insinuations of the worst, the most terrible character." Then, as I saw him fall back, stricken in something more than his pride, I hastened to inquire : " Have you an enemy in town Mr Pollard ?" He composed himself with a start, looked at me fixedly, and replied in what struck me as a strange tone even for such an occasion as this "Perhaps. ' "One who out of revenge," I proceeded, " might be induced to attach your name to suspicions calculated to rob you of honour if not life ?" " Perhaps," he again returned ; but this time with a fierceness that almost made me recoil, though I knew it was directed against someone besides myself. " Then ib may be," I said, " that you have biit to speak to relieve my mind of the heaviest weight that has ever fallen upon it. These articles," I pursued, "have they, or have they not, any connection with the tragedy which makes the place in which we stand memorable?" "I cannot answer you, Miss Sterling." •' Cannot answer me ?" "Cannot answer you," he reiterated, turning haggard about the eyes and lipa. "Then," 1 brokenly rejoined, "I had better leave thfs place ; Ido not see what more I have to do or say here." •' O God !" ho cried, detaining me with a gesture full of agony and doubt. "Do not leave me so ; let me think Let me weigh the situation and see where I stand, in your eyes at least. Tell me what my enemy has said !" he demanded, his fare, his very form, flashing with a territ^e rage that seemed to have as much indignation as fear in it. tl Your enemy," I replied, in the steady voice of despair, "accuses you in so many words — of murder." I expected to see him recoil, burst forth into cursing or frenzied declamation, by which men betray their inward consternation and remoree ; but he did none of these things. Instead of that he laughed ; a hideous laugh tl p,u seemed to shake the rafters above us, a«d echoed in and out of the caverned recesse3 beneath. "Accuses me?" he muttered; and it ie not in language to express the scorn he infused into the words. Stunned, and scarcely knowing what to think, I gazed at him helplessly. He seemed to feel my glance, for, after a moment's contemplation of my face, his manner suddenly changed, and bowiDg with a grim politeness full of sarcasm, he aaked : " And when did you ccc my enomy an 1 hold this precious conversation in which I was accused of murder ?' " Yesterday afternoon," I answered. "During the time of your mother's funeral," I subjoined, startled by the look of stupefaction which crossed his face at my word?. " I don't understand you," he murmured, sweeping his hand in a dazed way over his brow. " You &aw him then ? Spoke to him ? Impossible !" " It is not a man to whom I allude," I returned, nlmost as much agitated a3 himself. "Itis a woman who is your accuser, a woman who seems to feel ?he has a right to make you suffer, possibly because she has suffered so much herself." "A woman V was all he said ; " a woman !" turning pale enough now, God knows. "Have you no enemies among the women ? 'I aaked, wearied to the soul with the position in which my cruel fate had forced me. "1 begin to think I have," he answered, giving me a look that somehow broke down the barriers of ice between us and made my next words come in a faltering tone " And could you stop to beatow a thought upon a man while a woman held your secret? Did you think our sex was so longsuffering or this special woman sc generous " 1 did uot go on, for he had leaped the gap which separated v?, and had me gently but firmly by the arm. "Of whem are you speaking?" he demanded. " What woman has my secret— if secret I have? Let me hear her name, now, at once." "Is it possible," I murmured," "that you do not know ?" "The name ! the name !" he reiterated, his eyes ablaze, his hand shaking where it grasped my arm. "Bhoda Colwell," I returned, looking him steadily in the eye. " Impossible !" his lips seemed to breathe, and his clasp slowly unloosed from my arm like a rinar of ice which melts away. " Rhoda Colwell ! Good God !" he exclaimed, and staggered back with evergrowing wonder and alarm till half the room lay between us, "I am not surprised at your emotion," I paid ; " she is a dangerous woman." He looked at me with dull eyes ; he did not seem to hear what I paid. "How can it be?" he muttered; and bis glance took a furtive aspect as it travelled slowly round the room and finally settled upon the mask and domino at my feet. •' Was it she who told you where to look for those ?" he suddenly queried in an almost violent tone. 1 bowed : I had no wish to speak. " She is an imp, a witch, an emissary of the Evil One," he vehemently declared ; and turned away, murmuring, ns it seemed to me, those eacred words of Scripture, "Be sure your sins will find you out." I felt the sobs rise in my throat. I could bear but little more. To recover myself, I looked away from him, even passed to a window and gazed out. Anything but the sight of this humiliation in one who could easily have been an idol. I was therefore standing with my back to him when he finally approached, and touching me with the tip of his finger, calmly remarked : "I did not know you were acquainted with Miss Colwell." " Nor was I till yesterday," I rejoined. "Fate made us know each other at one interview, if one could be said to ever know such a woman as she is." " Fate is to blame for much ; is it also to blame for the fact that you sought her? Or did she seek you ?" "I sought her," I said ; and, not seeing any better road to a proper explanation of my conduct than the truth, I told him in a few words of the notice I had seen posted upon the mill, and of how I had afterwards surprised Rhoda Cclwell there, and what the conolusiona were whioh' l had thereby drawn? though, from some motive of

delicacy I do not yeb undei stand, I re- . framed from saying anything about her . disguise, and left him to infer tliat it was in her own proper person I bad seen her. He seemed to be both wonder-stricken and moved by (he recital, and did not rest tiU he had won from me the double fact that Rhoda Colwell evidently knew much more than ehe rovea'ed, while I on the contrary, knew much less. Tbe'latfor' discovery eeemed to greatly gratify him, and while hi 9 brow lost none of the look of heavy anxiety which tad sett'ed upon ib with the introduction of this woman's name into our colloquy, I noticed that his voice was lighter, and that he surveyed me with less distrust and poseibly with less fear. His next words showed the direction hi 3 thoughts were taking. •' You have shown an interest in my fate, Miss Sterling, in spite of the many reasons you had for tbinkiug it a degraded one, and for this I thank you with all .my heart. Will you prove your womanliness - still further by clinging to the belief which I have endeavoured to force upon you, that notwithstanding all you have heard and seen, I stand no wise amenable to the law ; neither have I uttered, in your hearing at least, aught bub the truth in regard to thia whole matter ?" "And you can swear this to me?"' I he uttered, joyfully. 11 By my lather's grave, if you desire it," returned. A flood of hope rushed through my heart. I was but a weak woman, and hia voice and look at that monent would have affected the coldest nature. "lam bound to believe you," I said; "though there is much Ido not understand — much which you ought to explain if you wish to disabuse my mind of all doubt in your regard. I would be laying claim to a cynicism I do not possess if I did not trust your worda j ist so far as you will aUow me. But " And I must have assumed an air of severity, for J saw hia head droop lower and lower as I gazed at him and forbore to finish my sentence. "But you believe I am a villain," he stammered. " I would fain believe you to be, the best and noblest of men," I answered pointedly. He lifted his head, and a flush of a new emotion swept over his face. 11 Why did I not meet you two years ago?" he cried. The tone was so bitter, the regret expressed so unutterable, I could not help my heart sinking again with the weight of fro3h doubt it brought. "W v ->uld it have been better for me if you had ?' I inquired. "la the integrity which is dependent upon one's happiness, or the sympathy of friends, one that a woman can trust to under all circumstances or temptations of trial ?" "I do not know," he muttered. "I think it would t-tand firm with you for ita safeguard and shield." Then, as he saw me diaw back with an assumption of coldness 1 was far from feeling, added gently : " But it was not you, but Rhoda Uolwell, I met two years ago, and I know you too well, appreciate you too well, to lay aught but my eincerest homage at you feet, in the hope that, u hatever I may have been in the past, the future shall prove me to be not j unworthy of your sympathy, and possibly of your regard." And, as if he felt the stress of the interview becoming almost too great for even his stiength, he turned away from me and began gathering up the toggery that lay upon the floor. "These must not remain here," he ob served, bitterly. But I, drawn this way and that by the most contradictory emotions, felt that all had not been said which should be in thia important and possibly final interview. Accordingly, smothering personal feeling and steeling myself to look only at my duty, I advanced to his side, and, indicating with a gesture the garments he was now rolling up into a compact mass, remarked : " This may or may not involve you in some unpleasantness. Rhoda Colwells who evidently attaches much importance to her discoveries, is not the woman to keep silent in their regard. If she speaks and forces me to speak. I must own the truth. Mr Pollard. Neither sympathy nor regaia could hold me back ; for my honour is pledged to the cause of Mr Barrows, and not even the wreck of my own happiness could deter [me from revealing anything that would explain his death or exonerate hia memory. I wish you to understand this. God grant I may never be called upon to speak !" It was a threat, a warning, or a danger for which he was wholly unprepared. He stared at me for a moment lrom his lowly position on the floor, then slowly roee and mechanically put his hand to hia thioat, as if he felt himself choking. "I thank you for your frankness," he murmured, in almost inaudible tones. "It is no more than I ought to have expected ; and yet " He turned abruptly away. " I am evidently in a worse situation than I imagined," be continued, after a momentary pacing of the floor. "I thought only my position in your eyes was assailed ; I pee now that I may have to defend myself before the world." And, with a sudden change that was almost alarming, he asked if Rhoda Colwell had intimated in any way the source of whatever information she professed to have. I told him no, and felt my heart grow cold with new and undefined fears as he turned his face toward the front of the building, and cried, in a suppressed tone, full of ire and menace : " It could have come but in one way ; I am to be made a victim if " He turned upon me with a wild look in which there was something personal. " Are you worth the penalty which my good name must suffer?" he violently cried. "For I swear that to you and you ouly 1 owe the position in which I now stand j"" "God help me then!" I murmured, dazed and confounded by thia unexpected reproach. "Had you been less beautiful, les3 alluring in your dignity and grace, my brother " He paused and bit his lip. "Enough!" he cried. "I had well-nigh forgotten that generosity and forbearance aie to actuate my movements in the future. I beg your pardon— and his !" he added, with deep anci bitter sarcasm, under hia breath. This allusion to Guy, unpleasant and shocking as it was, gave me a peculiar sensation that" was not unlike that of relief, while at the fame moment the glimpse of something, which I was fain to call a revelation, visited my mind and led me impetuously to say : {To be Continued.)

To thb Public. -I, the undersigned, do this flay make the following statement, in hopes that others who have gone through a similar affliction may profit thcroby ;— For ninny months have I been sick ; so bad that life was a burden, lhe mental depression and physical prostration wore something thar, cannot be described. Doctors and patent medicines t have tried without any relief, but getting wor3o all the timo. As a forlorn hope I called on Dr. Specr, Palmerston Buildings, Quocn-streot. He examined me. and without asking a ques'ion, gave me every symptom T had. Said he would treat mo. From the first tcaspoonful of his mediciho I folt relief, and havo boon constantly getting better ever since. Words cannot express my gratitudo. The above statement T mako without any solicitation, and I am willing to verify the same before a J.P.— ltoupootfully yours, R, APAAMW vuarlotte-street, Edon Tdrraco.