For Honour's Sake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXVIII, Issue 7982, 9 March 1906, Page 2

For Honour's Sake.

By Bertha M. Clay. Author of " Wife hi Xante Only," *' Wedded and Parted," "Dora Thome," " A Queen Aniony Women," (< A True Magdalene," etc., etc.,

CHAPTER XXXlX.—Continued. They were in the midst of dense wood, the road through which was only a disused cart track, over which the carriage had been jolting for the last quarter of an hour. Claude could seo, vaguely, before her, the outline of a small, low cottage. Tollemiicho opened the door witfi a key, and, entering, struck a match, and lighted a candle within. Davenant followed,and the door was shut. They were in a small, perfectly bare room, which had bee*! long uninhabited. The girl could see now that Tollemache also was disguised, being made up as a countryman, -.j "(jo and get tho carriage into the shed," said Davenant, briefly, and Tolleuiaohe went out." Chris, meanwhile, took up the candle, aud led Claude up a little, narrow staircase that wont up from tht room, ami, unloving a doqv, ushered bor into rnnm the same size as that tbey had ioft; but ic was lighted by a skylight, so escape fro-n the window would bo hopeless; but i$ was passably habitable. £ There was a table, a couch, and a chair, aud, iu a littlo out, washing! apparatus; ibut room had no window of a'>y sort. ,|y "It is past midnight," Davenant said. "Will you have aomething to eat and drink?" The Girl looked at hira. "No," she said. "Nothing." "You can't stni-v, Claude. What are you afraid ot? Drugs?" "tiring 1110 bread aud water," suid Claude. "You dan have some tea." "1 will have bread and wntflr—iiotbine else." "Very well. Now, look here, Clqude, this place ib quite unknown; it can't bo iuuud.\ou will stay here until you yield! Do ' you understand?" "1 shall never yield!' "So-you say'to-night." He went out and closed the door, looking It on the outside, leading her the candle. She fell ou hev knees by tho couoh covering her face —not weeping; tho tension was still too great—but with one cry in her heart, one cry nf suoh passionate appeal, such faith, such agony of soul that it must surely reach the very soul of the man who loved her, whose spirit always walked with hers. • jjj "Esric! Esric! Save mo, save me! Oh, Esriol You must hear me! Come to me!"

CHAPTER -XL,

A LOVER'S INTENSE DIiEAD. w/nnrnw It was past eigbt u'olook when Maida bud conoluded her business and returned to the drawing room. For convenience's sake, the two had been dining in the middle of the day, and taking a light supper about half-past' nine. Thinking Claude was in the grounds, or in the library Maida took no notice until the servant came to say supper was ready. The she told the man to find Miss Verner. The man departed, but presently returned. Miss Verner was not in the library, or in her own rooms. Some one had seen her, about seven o'clock, crossing the laiwn." "She must be in the grounds, then," said Maida; "go and ring the dinner bell." She herself went out on to the terrace, and called Claude's name; but there was no answer. James and another servant went all over the grounds, and the bell resounded through the night air in vain. Seriously alarmed, Maida joined in the searob; but, of course, without result. It was impossible Claude cunld have gone beyond the grounds. The house was searched from cellar to garret by the now terrified mistress and her servants, Dut no sign of Claude. "Great Heaven! what can h3ve happened?" Maida said, white as death, the drops on her brow. Had some ruffian gained access to the grounds? She dared not go beyond that thought; but, clearly, something had befallen Claude, and prompt action must be taken. Maida r s thoughts sprang instantly, instinctively, to Captain Stewart; but it was now midnight—too late, alas! to wire him, even from "'the railway, for tho nearest station was tour miles away, and the station was closed long ago. A mounted groom cook tho news to the constable at Todmore, six miles off. Another scoured the lanes and moora around the grange until broad daylight and iflquired of all labouring people ho met on their way to work if anything had been> seou of the missing girl, or * any strangers noticed in the locality; but no one bad seen or heard anything. Maid», meanwhilp, flitted in and out of tho house in a state bordering on distraction, knowing not what to think; over Naming herself for being caiolesa, though, assuredly, she was not in fault. At seven o'clock she ordered the pony carriage to be got ready;she would drive to the station herself, to send the telegram. She force herself to swallow a cup of tea and a little food, and drove off at a rattling pace. She remembered Stewart having told Laugdale that messages sent to hie chambers in Pall Mall would be forwarded to him wherever he was. It happened that dn f hat day Stewart had run down in the morning to spend the day and part of the next with Gas Laugdale. who was now with friends in Gloucesterehiro. It was a bachelor party, and tho mon sat late in the smoking room. Stewait left them a little beforo one, not because he was bodily, but mentally, w§ary; he had no heart for the talk that was goiug on, and so excused himself as early as be could, and went to his roorn; but there was no sleep in him. RestleaaueßS at night was

nothing new to him; but to-night it was almost like a fever. ,He sat down, to begin a letter to Claude; perhaps that vu.ould soothe the throbbing pulses. He bad just taken up liia pen. when it fell from his baud, and he sprang to his feet like a man shot. Her voice, as clear as he ever heard it in life, yet far away and full of wild agonized pleading: "Esric! Baric! Save me! save me! Oh! Eerie, come to me!" A cry broke from him. He sprang to the door—in such moments we do not reason—but on the instant fell back, pressing his hand to his heart. Was be mad? She could not be here, and the voice was far away! Hark! It came again—so clear —so clear—and died in a broken sob. Stewart, with locked hands, uplifted, uttered une passionate prayer for help—one cry to his darling: "My love —my love, I am coming tq.vou!" Then he rose up but lor a moment the anguish of his tenor for ber unnerved him; the drops stood on his brow; his brain reeled; he shook like a loaf: and clutohed the chair, from which he had risen, for support. A step without, a knock at the door, made him start; the man's, the soldier's habit of eilf-command, asse/ted itself; he rose, ereot, and turned to the door. (To be Continued).