THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 50, 8 June 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

LADY CLEVELAND'S SECRET '•What's the matter, Agnes!" "I'm bothered to death I" "Why?" '■With these horrid bills—it's a quarter day or something—l believs every year has sixteen quarter days!" And she brought down her white hand angrily upon a packet of freshly opened bills lying before her on her * writing table. A pretty woman sitting in a pretty room, (perfectly dressed, with fair, wellarranged hair, and delicate white hands. Opposite to her was seated a man—well built and good looking, stretched indolently in an easy chair. "Tell Henry about them," he said, lazily. Lady Cleveland looked troubled '"He makes such a fuss now, and scolds, and is so disagreeable that i hate asking him for money." ■'Borrow of me." "You deai', kind fellow, certainly not! One Ibeggar can't rob another! Besides, you have no idea of the awful sum 1 want. Oh, dear, I am miserable!" And 'big tears stood in her lovely eyes. "Don't worry," he said, turning away so as not to see the tears. "Tot up the amount you owe, and tell me what it comes to'." "I've done that already. I've been at it all the morning—it's a frightful amount—it comes to two thousand ■pounds!" lie gave a low whistle. "Great Scott! I've nothing like that! How much does Henry allow you?" "A thousand a year." 'And can't you manage on that? Why, once we should have .thought it a fortune!" "Of course, but, you see, I do spend a lot upon my clothes —no one can dress as I do upon much less; but that't not it. The fact is that I have an awful drain upon me. Oh, Jack! I'll have to tell you, for 1 must confide in somebody, and you are .such an old friend. 1 wouldn't if you were rich, because then 3011 would want to help me; but perhaps you can help me with advice." "Tell' me," he said, quietly; "may I have a cigarette? And where is Henry,. by the, way?"

' "He's gone to the club, and won't be home for luncheon; that's why I asked you to come to-day, for I have been longing to tell you of my worries ever since you came from India.

"All right—drive on." "Well, do you remember the dear old days at home, when you were so mucn with us?" "I should think I did. That was a jolly little house your poor mother Had on the river. W'e did have good times, didn't we?"

"Yes; but I'm afraid Dolly and I got the name of ibeing, rather fast." "Beastly scandal!" "Yes; hut I'm afraid we gave cause for it. Look how you and I used to go for moonlight excursions on the river, to come hack and find Dolly and Lieutenant Walters walking in the wood." "There was always that horrible old woman, Mrs. Carrington, about." "Hateful creature!" she exclaimed, angrily. ■ "And, after all, what harm did we do? Why, 1 never even kissed you, except once." And he sighed. "Yes—onlv once." And she laughed and blushed. "But I must go on with my story. You remember the first time Lieutenant Walters brought Henry to see us?"

"Perfectly," he said, drily. "And how mamma called me up to her room and told me, with tears in her eves, that she felt that she had not long to live—don't look at me, Jack, for I can't help crying when .1 talk of mamma—and how poor Dolly and 1 would be after she died, because some pension stopped at her death; and then she said that she had heard that Henry was a good man and very rich, and that her one prayer was that he might take a liking to one of us." "And he plainly showed on his very first visit that he had taken a liking to vou, Aggie?" "Yes, I think he did. Well, to go on— I'm awfully ashamed of what I have to tell you!" And a deep flush spread itself right up to the roots of her hair, the lovely gold-lbrown hair that was part of her charm.

"All right, don't mind me." "You iknow," she went on, nervously, "just about that time, in spite of our brotherly and sisterly I had begun to be a little, just a very little, fond of you—at least" (with an awkward laugh) "I fancied I was!"

"By Jove!" And he turned quickly in his chair, and looked with a strange expression in his eyes at the lovely woman before him. "I'know it was very silly and very horrid of me, because, of course, I knew all the time that you only thought of me as a nice sort of sister." He gave a harsh laugh and rose, lighting another cigarette. "Well, when Henry proposed to me I was dazzled by the idea of being his wife, and living in a "big house, and having lots of diamonds, and carriages, and tlmrgs and above all dear niiimma was relieved and happy, and so I said 'Yes.'" 'You did quite right," he said, quietly. "But you see, Jack, when I accepted Henry 1 did not love him. 1 fonim mm cold and shy and I felt half afraid of him, so just before the wedding day I did a dreadful thing. 1 1 wrote a letter to you, and asked you to run away with me! and I told you I was much fonder of vou than I 'was of Henry—and in short J wrote a very silly letter full of nonsense I did not' half mean, because just about then 1 had begun to feel that I mb'ht learn to love Henry in time." The man's face was ashen, his mouth was finnlv set, and.his hands clenched. "Mrs. Garrington came into my room as I was writing, and, afraid lest the letter should (be seen,! thrust it into my blotting book. Then Dolly called up that Henry was waiting for me downstairs. I ran down, and then he gave me that lovely pearl necklace, and he seemed to lose his shy manner, and told mo

how he loved me. and he was so nice, and —and somehow what he .-aid yavc me a new odd sort of •feeling towards him, and I knew for the first lime since our engagement that —well—that I cared for him."

The man walked to the fireplace and knocked oil' his cigarette ash. and the woman went on.

"1 forgot the letter till late, and then I thought what an idiot I had neany made of myself, and knew it was only a nervous sort uf sentimentality that had prompted me to write, and I grew eold with fright lest someone should read it. 1 liunii'd through the blot ting-book to bum it, and could not find it, and so r thrust the book into a drawer, and locked it—everything was in such a hurry at the last, you know. Well, then we married, and went to Paris and had a lovely time. lie was wonderfully good to me, and I learnt to love him so dearly that 1 could not imagine having ever thought 1 cared for anyone else." The man gave a curious sort of cough, ,half like a choke, and his hand went up to his collar, and lie drew it aside from his neck.

"And then we came home here and •Henry had heen so thoughtful and kind in all his arrangements for me, that I was more than ever touched by his goodness, and I grew so fond of him that I was never happy w'len he was away from me. But now eve' hing is changed. He does not seem '.o .-..re for me any longer," and a sob (hole d Ivr utterance. "He never goes am v. .:e.e with me—he hardly ever speaks t< me, and when 1 hinted that I had an awful lot of bills and did not know how i. -honld .pay them, he said in a stern \ oice, that I had an ample and must make it do." "But surely, Aggie," the man said, in a husky voice, "a thousand a year is more than enough for you to dress upon?" , "Of course it is."

"Then why that pile of bills?" "Now we come to the point. That old wretch Mrs. Cairington, had fomut my letter, and one morning when Henry was out she called and asked to see ate. You iknow 1 never liked her, but I was so happy that I felt in charity with everybody. She began my being very pleasant, admiring everything, and saying howi well I looked, and all that sort of flattery, and then she produced that letter from her pocket. 'Oh, I'm »«• guto you have brought it to me!' I exclaimed, and held out my hand for it. 'But windid vou bike it?' I asked.

'"' 'I am very poor, Agnes/ she answered, 'and lam getting old—l can work no longer."

"I said something civil, and asked again for my letter. Then she showed her hand, and said that unless 1 paid her well she would at once send that letter to my fctsband." Jack started to his feet with a furious exclamation.

"In vain I pleaded, then I grew angry, but it was all of no use. I knew to read, such a letter would break Henry's heart —he would never believe in me again, for it would have put; me in such a: wicked—though, tlfetnk 'Heaven, such x\ false—light, that 1 should lose his love, for ever. At last I gave in and promised her anything if she would give me back the letter. This she refused to da, hut said as long as J paid her welt she would not send it to- Henry. I have given her hundreds, and at last I had to write and tell her that I had no more to give."

"Could you not have told Henry the truth?" "I often longed to tell him, 'but it is all so dillicult to explain, and if he ever saw the letter he would find me judged fty my own handwriting."

"Poor little Aggie! I'm glad you told me. Now I must be off."

1 "Before luncheon! Oh, Jack, and 1 though you would try to ladp me." "I'm going straight to Mrs, Carrington, and if I have to kill her she shall give up that letter to me." "Oh, Jack! Can vou really do this? Oh, how thankful I shall be!" "Give me the woman's address." Agnes eagerly wrote it down with trembling fingers, and then grasped his hand in hers. "You have always been so good to me, Jack. I wish Henry liked you—somehow I fancy he doesn't. He will when he knows you better; but iwnw ' "Now I think he's a fool to he rough on the sweetest wife a man ever had! i say, Aggie, did you ever get a letter from me just a little before your—your marriage? You never answered ifc." "No, I'm quite certain I didn't. Was it anything of importance?" "On, no," it didn't matter. Well, I must be off!" "What's that? It sounded [ike Henry's step!" she said, suddenly. Jack walked to the door and opened it.

"So one is there—a footman gone to the post, most likely. I heard the front door bang." "Do just come into the dining-room and have a little something to eat before you go,"'she entreated. • .'■l shouldn't mind a whisky-and-soda. but I couldn't eat until V riave tackled that fiend of a woman." In a few minutes he was driving rapidly across London in the direction of Kotting.Hill. "I'm glad she never got that mad letter of mine," he said to himself with a sigh; "1 suppose that vile woman got hold of it. Well. 1 shall »«> back to India, and stay there till I feel cured of my folly." Lord' Henry Cleveland, at the same time, in his motor, was tfar ahead of Jack, in the same direction. Arrived at a certain door in a small street in Sotting Hill, he asked for Mrs. Carrington, heard she was in. and was admitted. "Let no one else in while I am here." he said' to the servant, slipping a sovereign into her hand.

The lady was sitting fey the fire, knitting with'the remains of a dainty little meal on the tahle at her side.

"Ah, my lord, I anr delighted to see you!" she said, rising and holding out her hand. "Sit down, madam," he said sternly, "I have hut one thing- to say—give meat once the two letters of which yoa have sent, me copies—one written by Lady Cleveland, and the other by Can' eraf Stutter.

"They are not i'n my possession,. :ny lord."

"ft is a useless lie. Give them to me at once, or I will have vou arrested for blackmail."

"Ali. but Lady Agnes is clever! She has oiitcssed to her good husband; she says she means nothing, and you believe, ami vet she loves the handsome general, and--"

"Silence!" the Earl thundered, "not another word! You have been blackmailing my wife for months; you have made her life miserable, and mine a hell upon earth! You tried to make me believe that General Stutter was receiving from my wife the hundreds of pounds that you were compelling her to -pay you as hush money, P>ut all this villainy has-tome to an end. Your letter of this morning, telling me that General Stutter had an assignation with my wife during my absence has led to a very dilierent issue to what you anticipated. According to your advice, 1 went home unexpectedly. I stood unseen in the conservatory behind the boudoir, and lowered myself, through your slanderous tongue, to spy —yes, to spy on my own wife! But I. learnt the truth—the whole truth. If you were a man, madam, i would horsewhip yon; as it is, you will give me those two letters immediately. I advise you to give them up quietly." Mrs. Carrington rose without a word and, unlocking a drawer, took out two letters, which she handed to Lord Henry. He glanced over them quickly, and put them into his podket. "I think you will leave London shortly?" he enquired, in a meaning tone, as he rose to his feet.

"Probably," she answered, coolly, "the climate's getting very hot." Lord Henry, without another word, left the room and passed into the street. The next morning Lady Agnes received a letter from General Stutter:— "Dear Agnes,—l went to Mrs. Carrington's house yesterday and found her oiu. I went again in the evening, when the servant told me she had left for Paris in a hurry. Shall I follow her up?— Yours ever, John Stutter."

The answer arrived quickly: "Come to luncheon at two; Henry told me to ask you. He came home yesterday just like his old self, and was so sweet and nice to me. He asked me if I had any bills, and wrote a ciieque for them, saying he liked doing it, and in the end I told him everything and he was so loving and bood.—Your happy old friend. Agues.

"P.S.—I really believe Henry likes you, after all." '