For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8331, 14 January 1907, Page 2

For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

CHAPTER VIII.-Continued. IN WHICH A CHILD SLEEPS. "Good evening, Crimple," he observed. "Still worshipping at your little grandson's shrine?" "I—l fancied I heard him cry, sir," said the cab-driver. "Tilda won't be a moment, if you want anything; she has just run out for something tasty for your supper." "Indeed," rejoined the other, with a pleasant laugh. "I am afraid Miss Matilda is trying to spoil me. But I am hungry enough to-night not to be saucy." He went on up-stairs with a weary yet nimble stride. Crimple drew a'ck into the room. "My lodger," he whispered. "I told you I had become respectable. The coppers won't suspect me much while I've a pai'son in the house. He's one of the parish curates, and belongs to quite a swell family—lngram's his name. Boysie and he are quite chummy. Well, we ought to slip down now, if you don't want to meet Tilda." David Garth lingered an instant to glance again at the sleeping child. Then, with an effort, he tore himself away. Crimple followed him with the lamp. On the landing the convict faced about. "I must get out of this, Crimple," he said "there's more than one reason for it. But the less you know about me. and my doings the better. As _ for the child, his mother knows now * that he is alive. I have seen her, no. matter how. She—she wants to see him sometimes. So lam going to tell you what you will have to know—her name. I can trust you Crimple; you are my onl-v friend in all the world." Peter Crimple looked at the flame of the lamp, and bit his stiff moustache nervously. "She —she won't want to take him away," he faltered; "I'm-I'm fond of the little chap, David." David Garth hesitated, "She—she cannot," he said; "her rank is too high. It must not be known that she is the wife of a convict, the mother of a convict's child." He scanned the cabdriver's rough visage anxiously. "You have heard of the Lavenden peerage case," he continued, "that, made ladies of two poor London dressmakers?" <■ Crimple assented. "Read it in the newspaper," he replied briefly. "Well," said the convict, "I knew the elder girl when she was Julia Lavenden, the dressmaker.' To-day she is Lady Lavenden, but, for all that, Julia Garth my wife, and that child's mother." Peter Crimple started. "So that -was what it meant!" exclaimed the Cab-driver. David Garth bent an inquiring gaze upon him. "Meant what?" he demanded. Crimple didn't answer immediately* "I—l was wondering if I should tell you," he said; "your brother Jim came here last night." David Garth's face was in shadow! Crimple was holding the lamp behind him. "Jim," he repeated. -what did he want?" "Money," said Crimple bitterly. , "Threatened to squeal on me to the police. He found me handling some sparklers, worse luck! When I trumped that card, he threatened me with taking the child away. Said its mother had a better right to it than me. Cur that he is, he could see I "was fond of it, and it of me." "How did he know it was my child?" asked the convict curtly. Crimple hesitated. "Tilda's sharp tongue," he said; "She must needs tell Boysie to take a good look at the man who sent his dad to Dartmoor •> prison. Not the first black mischief a woman's tongue has made." "And then?" queried David Garth. "Oh!" said the cab-driver fiercely, "I »had to promise him some money; I hadn't any by me. But I couldn't fool him about the child. He had me, and he knew it. I wish ,I'd known what you've just told me. I could have dealt with my gentleman." David Garth stood silent. Many thoughts were flying through his mind. So that was how the last hours of James Garth had been occupied—with the project of making the child of the brother he had ruined a card in his eternal and unscrupulous gamble for money. How fate had cheated him! With a-doaen potent cards in his hand he had been stricken down. Was it by his own act, or the act of an enemy? Had Crimple's inability immediately to advance him funds brought about his suicide, or had some darker tragedy than self-murder taken place in that lofty flat in Jermyn Street? David Garth could not say. Nor could he deem it wise to tell the etibdriver of his terrible discovery. While he stood irresolute a door banged below. Crimple aroused from his own absorption. "That's Tilda," he said. "Slip down the front stairs; the house door is at the bottom. The latch is oiled —trust me for that." The convict wrung his hand. "Don't let any one have the child without my orders," he whispered; "you shall hear from me again. Good-bye, and Heaven bless yon for looking after the kid." But the cab-driver was already hastening downstairs with the lamp, Matilda Crimple, bewildered by the darkness of the kitchen, was calling loudly for him. David Garth glided after him down the gloomy flight, found the door at the bottom, slid out into the street, and hurried along it. As he turned the corner into the thoroughfare that crossed the

By R- Norman Silver, ; . -, if "A Double Mask," "A Daughter of Mystery," "Held Apart," "The Golden Dwarf," etc.

"For Her Sister's Sake " was commenced on December 20th.]

course he heard a quick and apparently pursuing footstep. He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him was a woman in a nurse's uniform —he realized with a start that her costume was the same as his own, a blue cloak with gray facings, and a bonnet with gray streamers. And she was plainly following him. CHAPTER IX. THE OTHER NURSE IN THE BLUE COAT. The convict hurried on through the wind and rain, drawing more closely around him the long-caped garment that was his principal disguise, and raising about his throat and face the fleecy wrap that helped to conceal his short hair and the masculine outlines of his neck and shoulders. ' But the light footsteps behind him quickened, also. Another moment and the figure in the blue-and-gray uniform that so exactly resembled his own disguise had gained upon him sufficiently to call after him. David Garth heard the tones of a clear, if breathless, voice. "Sister Eva!" said his pursuer loudly. "Sister Eva!"' A nervous thrill shook the convict His disguise, that had carried him through so many dangers, had evidently become a danger in itself. He sprang forward and darted round an intervening corner > His pursuer sped after him, running with swift, girlish steps. Her speed * proved useless. Beyond the corner was a deeplyshadowed street, with a rough roadway, bordered by builders' and other yards. The parson she was pursuing appeared suddenly to have vanished into thin air. The pursuer halted, panting for breath, She was a redcheeked, brown-eyed girl, trim and elastic in the long blue-caped cloak, with its gray cuffs, collar and hood. "Well," she gasped, aloud, as she paused, "how strange! I am sure it was Sister Eva by her shawl. Where can she be going in such a hurry? And I didn't know she had got back!" Satisfied that her pursuit was useless, she turned and began to retrace her steps up the hilly street. The wet breeze beat upon her, and fluttered the ends of her gauzy gray streamers about her face, all flushed with her futile i chase. Atlastshe paused again, this time to ring at a adjoined Peter Crimple's stable-yard, and gave a more direct admission to the old-fashioned stucco-fronted villa that formed the cab-driver's residence. The young nurse knocked and waited. For some time she waited, and then the door opened,and Matilda Crimple appeared, her skirts hanging more limply than ever, a fish slice poised in one hand, while with the other she brushed her dazzling fringe out of her eyes. ' . " Oh! it's you, Sister May," she said cheerfully; "Mr Ingram's in, and upstairs. I'm just getting his blessed supper ready. He do look tired,and hungry miss, and no error." The nurse came into the dark little hall, and Tilda went to the front'ofthe stair. "Mr Ingram!" she called, in a loud whisper. "Mr Ingram!" ' There was a step on the landing above, a door swung wide, throwing a flood of light into the stair-well of the house. In the ilght appeared the tall, thin, clerical figure of which David Garth had caught a passing glimpse. "Yes, Tilda," he said. "Sister May, sir,"-'Tilda told Him. "Shall she come up?" "Most decidedly," was the answer, and the speaker stepped back so that the light might illuminate the staircase. The nurse went upward and Matilda Crimple ran down to her kitchen. The Reverend Charles Ingram, junior curate of St. Barnabas', Clerkenwell, placed a chair for his visitor. He had been writing; a blotting-book lay on a corner of the table, that was spread for his supper. The room into which the nurse had passed was large, but low-ceiled, and furnished with dingy furniture and a much-worn cai-pet. In the small,.high-hobbed grate a few lumps of coal burned gloomily. . Instead of accepting the proffered seat, the nurse stooped to the poker, and began to break the fire into flame. "Do you know, Mr Ingram," she said seriously, "that this place is cold enough to give you pneumonia? I shall certainly speak to Tilda about it." "Please don't," begged the curate; "she did ask me, I believe, to poke the fire as soon as it caught. But I started to write, and forgot." (To be Continued).