SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 38, 25 May 1910, Page 6

SERIAL STORY

A ROYAL WARD. By PERCY BREBNER. (Published by arrangement with Cassell and Company, Ltd., publishers, of London and Melbourne,, tile proprietors of the Copyright)." CHAPTER XXX. (continued). They came to the road, which was deserted, but as they were about to cross it, Deborah stopped them. "Here we part, for the present at least," she said. "The way to Dartmouth is clear, and no one would interfere wim such an unimportantperson as I am." "Nonsense, Deborah. We haven't time for folly now ,' 1 said Hetty. "It's"not folly; it's good, common sense. Old Mrs. Bates will take me in until I can get back to London. The Duke and Duchess of Petersham must be told everything; others must be told, too. Many things must happen before it will be safe tor you to return, and someone must be at hand to see that they happen satisfactorily. You're in disgrace in this country at present, Betty; and it's not safe for you just now. Mr. Dubuisson —or Marquis, I should say. I've done a good deal of harm, but I'm going to do something to ; repair it. Give me a Isjss of forgiveness, Betty, and don't trouble. If the old Abbots Chase is burning', we shall build ■a new one, and, never fear, its mistress shall come to her own again." The kiss was given, and as they kissed a tear or two were mingled; Deborah even kissed Mary, and asked not to remember what a disagreeable person she could be. "I shall hope to thank you better some day," said Dubuisson, '"but I do not like your going alone." "You won't leave Betty to come with me, Mary must go with her mistress, and Mr. Baxter won't leave Mary, so I do not see bow my going alone is to be avoided." "I've bad some hard thoughts of you, ma'am," said Baxter. "I'm very sorry they ever came into my head." 'Deborah smiled, and then she turned almost fiercely to Dubuisson. "You've won the fairest woman in this country; mate her happy; and God keep you all." She turned abruptly and walked away in the direction of Dartmouth, and after watching her for ia few moments they crossed the road and hurried to tile shelter of tihe woods, through which somewere there descended a fortuitous path to the creek. It was not easy to find; once or twice Dubuisson almost despaired of finding it at all, so well was it hidden. The afternoon had deepened into evening, and in the -woods it was almost dark. "Had not Captain Hyde, growing anxious, come a little way up the path from the strip of shingle, Dubuisson migiht not have found it that night. Hyde stopped, recognising Dubuisson and Baxter. Betty held' out the ring. "Where is Sir Rupert?" the captain asked, bending to see the ring clearly. "You are to put to sea with us, at once. Sir Rupert is not eoming. He has found a better way." quietly," he said. "There were men on the hill-sides a little while back. The boat was not on the strip of slhingl-e; it was too large to be beached there, but lay at the mouth of the creek, hidden equally from sea and land by a cleft in the bluff of rock which sheltered these quiet waters. '•There are still men on the hill-sides" said Hyde, as his passengers stepped aboard. As the boat caught the first putt' of wind in her sails and revealed 'herself as she slipped out towards the open sea, there was a shout from the hill-side, and an answer to it which might have been an echo. "Oan that be Sir Rupert?" said Betty. "No," Hyde answered. "His would be a call like that of ia storm-bird's. There would be no mistaking it. You'll be the lady that escaped from the inn. Sir Rupert said it might be you who would bring the message." "Then he .had arranged it all before he came to Abbots Chase ?" "Abbots Chase!" said Hyde. "Yes. I am Lady Betty Walmisley.'' "I don't understand. Will you tell me what has happened yonder?" and he pointed towards the receding shore. It was impossible to tell exactly where the mouth of the creek toy; the whole stretch of coast looked rocky and precipitous walls of bare cliff with never a foothold when a man might cling. In ■one place a flat green slope came down to the very edge of the cliff. From this distance it looked so smooth and at such angle that a stone might easily roll across it. and coming to the knife-like edwe, spring outwards in a sheer drop to the wave-washed rocks three hundred feet or more below. It was Lady Betty who told the story, letting her hand rest in Victor's the while. It was gently told, only enough said! of Sir Rupert's enmity to explain why they had delayed to take his advice until too late. She made much of his riding out to face the mob, an action which had enabled them to escape after all. This evening, with her lover beside (her, with the music of the water at the bows, telling of danger being left farther and farther behind, it was easy to forgive. "So he's found a better way," Hyde murmured; "he has a new scheme; I would sooner have had him here with us. But they'll never catch the mare, my lady, you may reckon on that. I'd been on the look-out for Sir Rupert, when the coatfh broke down. It was a ease of cutting cables and getting searoom. I knew he'd have to do it, and had ridden his own favorite mare to the inn. Why, there isn't an animal from ■Exeter to Dartmouth who could get a head in front of her." If Captain Hyde were satisfied, his face remained grave, and lie looked back

at the land as if there were regret at leaving it. They were silent when the story was told. There, was something of sadness •in the quiet evening;, and reaction had come. Betty's eyes were fixed upon the shore, receding so rapidly, fixed upon that smooth sweep above the cliff, for somewhere not far behind it ky Aobots Chase, the home of her fathers, the home she loved; and Abbots Chase was burning. Victor understood and did not interrupt Jier reverie for a long time. Then he pointed to a star, the only one as yet visible in the evening sky. •'A star of hope, dearest," he whispered. The tears came into her eyes, but she pressed closer to him. Inland, the great glow lit up the evening sky. The flames had got hold of one part of the house at least, and in the other parts there was hardly an unbroken window, and the contents o; many rdoms had been reduced to rubbish. The crowd about the blazing building had thinned; little knots of men had withdrawn at intervals. Some had gone to join in wrecking Sir Rupert's manor at Ringswear, others had followed in the hunt after Sir Rupert, for the cnase had become exciting. If Sir Rupert's only idea had been to draw a portion 01 the crowd away from Abbots Chase to facilitate Lady Betty's escape, he had succeeded admirably. She should escape if he could manage it, even at the sacrifice of his awn life. Why she had suddenly become an object of such tender solicitude he did not stop to decide definitely. He hid hated all that .belonged to her, therefore he hated her. There was little reason in many of his fierce antagonisms. The world and circumstances had made a hard and angry man of him; his daring and courage found outlet in fighting the world, its society, its laws, and its order, m every possibile way and with every tool that came to Ihis hand. Such a career with its plotting, its necessary secrecy, and its consequent dangers, had become a passion with him. He would be the instigator, the fashioner of red ruin, and he might have succeeded if the men he had trained' lor rebellion had not suddenly doubted him and taken matters int% their own hands. Revengeful as he was, he had moments of generosity, moments when his finer nature Was irresistibly appealed to. Lady Betty's splendid pluck when the coach was smashed had appealed to him, .and from that moment her safety was the uppermost idea in his mind. And with this determination came the knowledge that he had suddenly lost his power even in Devon. The immense difficulty before him only braced him the more to the effort, and hej had succeeded. To give, the fugitives ample time he had doubled upon his course half a dozen times, leading the rioters away from the road which led to the creek. He was quite prepared to I sacrifice himself if necessary; it had al-1 most been his intention to do so as lie ■ had galloped from the stables at Abbots Chase, but now the full glow of life was in his veins, he had accomplished what he had meant to do—why should he die ? He pulled up the mare on a rising pie«e of ground, .and looked oack. Far away Abbots Chase was blazing, great tongues of flame licking upwards into the air. The crowd, tired, but resolute, were still streaming after him, as if they knew that Death and Sir Rupert rode in company to-night. "Fools, to thinik they can catch you. my beauty," he said, patting the mare's neck, and she whinnied at his touch. "We'll cheat them and live."

The mare broke into >a canter across the green sward, and in front of him a part of the crowd had cut him off. He turned aside, and again in the distance were men running towards him, . Escape was not to be so easy, after all. "How can they have got round me?" he said aloud. Two circumstances were against the rider. The'crowd that had commenced the destruction of Abbots Chase was only a part of the mob which intended to have a -hand in its demolition. The other parts were arriving and from different directions. Then soldiers were coming fast from Exeter, and the rioters were, driven westward. Sir Rupert had not betrayed the men of Devon, but rumor said he 'had, and rumor was believed. There was nothing but death to be expected from the crowd. He spurred back to the rising ground that he might have a wide view for a moment. Even in these few moments the crowd he had hoped to leave behind had come much closer. One way wemed clear. It was a good way to take. It would lead him to the creek. He might yet reach the boat before Captain Hyde and his companions put out to .sea. The mare answered gallantly to his touch, and sprang forward in a gallop. Who could overtake her? and the way was clear—clear to the descent to the! creek; and then came hurrying men to meet him. They had been upon the hillsides, they had seen the boat slip out to sea; they were hastening to tell their companions that Sir Rupert had gone, and here he was in the way before them, drawing .his mare sharply back upon her haunches. With a cry of rage they rushed upon him, but he had turned and .plunged along a path through the wood. The cries were before him and behind him now. To his left were the downs swarming with his enemies; to his right the cliffs and the sea! The wood thinned as he turned to the right, and he was at the edge of a stretdh of smooth green sward, going downwards to a line beyond 'which was the sea. He could faintly trace the far horizon, and against a patch of lingering light from westward there was a. sail. Over the sea there was a star; the sail seemed to be directly under it. Sir Rupert let the mare walk across the green sward a little -way. The cries behind him came nearer, but he hardly noticed them. There was nothing able to catch the mare, and these fools were on foot. He knew this place. Legend had it that to escape from his pursuers a smuggler had run this way and had fallen or jumped over the cliff. Where it was no one seemed to know, but the seafaring folk would have it that he jumped, deliberately choosing

death rather than capture, and they had named this precipitous dill' Smuggler's Leap. Everyone from llrixliam to Dartmouth knew dt, the sloping turf and the l.aife-like edge. In storms ships had been dashed to pieces on the rocks at its foot. "Finen respice," -whispered Sir Rupert. "It's a strange end to come to." He looked back. Men were breaking from the woods. "This is our last ride together, my beauty," he said, his hand on the mare's neck for an instant. "It's our last race, and we're bound to win. We'll finish it gallantly." The mare broke into a gallop, goin» straight as an arrow, her head lowered a little. The rider looked not to ri<rht or left, his face was set, his eyes fixeo on that knife-like line. His hands were strong, steady, sure as a hunter's hands when he rides at a fence. Suddenly, the hands, moved, and there was one "short word of encouragement. The mare sprang up and outwards! So Sir Rupert Ashton cheated his enemies. CHAPTER XXXI. L'ENVOI. In a footnote to history it is related that when the Prince Regent was told the story of Lady Betty Walmisley, and the part he was supposed to have played in it, he remarked: "It might have been true but unfortunately for the lady 1 never remember to have admired her even," mid the saying passed for wit amongst his sycophants, and was remembered against the mistress of Abbots Chase by certain jealous ladies when she returned to Engiand, and as the Marquise de Chateuon was the reigning beauty again in London Society. But before this many things happened. The Prince Regent did not deny that he had intended Lady Betty Walmisley to marry Walter Evertsen. It was his conviction, he declared, that the marriage would have been a suitable one in every way; that she had married without the Royal consent was a most serious offence, and that she had married such a man as Victor Dubuisson aggravated it. His dignity had been insulted, and his life had been attempted. He would persist, in spite of the evidence to the contrary, that this Frenchman Dubuisson was the would-be assassin. The Duke of Petersham, however, would not let the matter rest. Urged on by the Duchess and by Deborah Cowper, he was as persistent as the 'Prince himself, and the Duke's position was such that he was not a man to be offended. He was not a brilliant man, but he had a certain very definite power, and had considerable influence with the Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool. The Prince had another and unexpected petitioner. WJien Evertsen recovered from his wound and heard the true story concerning his relative, Sir Rupert Ashton, he was able 'to appreciate Du■buisson's savage accusation that nigiit at the inn on the Exeter road. His generosity to a successful rival did little but displease the Regent, but it helped to keep Lady Betty's name before him, if it also deprived Evertsen of the Royal favor. ' I

Other and more important events served to help the fugitives, however, l'he Peace of Paris was signed and a Bourbon ascended the French throne in place of Napoleon, banished to Elba. A new era dawned for France, and those of her old aristocracy who had escaped the Revolution, at once became important. Amongst these was the Marquis de Chatellon, who seemed an altogether different person to Victor Dubuisson. So at last it was graciously permitted that Lady Betty should be allowed to marry the man she loved, and it was intimated that a welcome awaited her at Court. Long before the permission was formally given, Victor and Lady Betty nad been quietly married in Brittany, and later had 'been present at the wedding of Finley Baxter and.Mary. They were all too happy to feel very deeply the difficulties which surrounded them, and when these were done away with the Marquis had many things to attend to in Paris, and his wife showed no great desire to hurry back to London. Abbots Chase, which.had oilly been partially destroyed, was being rebuilt, and Lady Betty intended that her first sojourn on her return to England should he made in her old home. "I'want the Devon men to learn to love me again," she said to her husband. And then came a parting, a sad one. Peace was made with America, and Finley Baxter decided to return to his native land. "The possession of Mary has given me ia sudden longing to settle down," he declared, "and your generosity has made it possible, Dubuisson." He had never got used to his comrade's title. Yet one more delay was -there in the return of Victor and" Betty to England, during 'which they retired to Brittany again; ia delay of over four months it proved. 'Napoleon returned suddenly from Elba and began that wonderful hundred days of strenuous' effort to achieve again all that he had lost, a mighty effort that was foiled and crushed at Waterloo. Victor had bowed in the newly set-up Court of Louis the Eighteenth, or he might possibly have been amongst the beaten host which fled in the wake <of its great captain on that memorable .Sunday in June. One person nearly concerned in this history was present that <tar—Walter Evertsen; and he died as a soldier should, with his face to the foe. (The End).