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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8351, 6 February 1907, Page 2

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

CHAPTER XXlV.—Continued. He sauntered out, his own hard, deliberate self once more, and strolled up-stairs. As he crossed the landing on which Julia Lavenden's apartments opened he encountered her about to descend the staircase. He saw that she was deathly pale, and the purple hollows under her eyes betrayed the strain through which she was passing. "My poor cousin!" he said, greeting her with an elaborate show of respect. "Constance has told me of Winnie's extraordinary disappearance. Is there any news?" J lilia shcok her head; she could not trust herself to speak. "The whole thing is very mysterious," he said. "Constance hints at some romantic explanation." Julia sought to meet his glance, but her eyes fell again. Merivale read nothing in them, however, to suggest that she saw through his assumption of ignorance. "You need not have gone to Agnew for help," he pursued; "a lawyer is not necessarily a good detective. Winnie's safety is a matter close to my own heart. I should have been more than anxious to be of use to you and to her." "What can we do?" asked Julia evasively. "Where can we look? I have dazed myself with thinking." Merivale's keen glance travelled over her —she was dressed lor the open air. "Yet you are not without hope," he observed. "Some clue, perhaps, has occurred to you that you ai'e about to follow up. Will you not let me be your escort?" A sudden tremor ran over Julia Lavenden. "Oh! please me," she answered. "I —I am only going out because I cannot endure to be still." "In that case," said Merivale, with calculated persistence, "I trust that you will permit me to accompany you. Are you driving?" "N-no, walking," replied Julia hastily. "But please do not trouble to come with me. Really, I want to be alone." Merivale stepped back. "If I can be of any service to you," he said, "you have only to command me." He turned the gold signet-ring on his finger in a cleverly simulated embarrassment. "It's a blow to me," he added, allowing his voice to break artistically, "Winnie's going on like this. I was very fond of her, cousin, —fonder, perhaps, than you know." An expression of surprise flitted over Julia Lavenden's face, and she held out her hand. "Thank you," she said unsteadily, and turned away. Merivale peered over the balusters after her and his features were distorted with contemptuous anger. "Well acted," he muttered; "but you can't fool me with sobs and tears. You know where she is, I'll take my oath,* and I'll take my oath, too, you're going to her, or you'd have let me come with you." He ran swiftly up-stairs, put on a hat and overcoat, and looked out of a window. Julia was just descending the steps of Lavenden House. She walked up Audley Street —the quick, purposeful walk of one who has a destination. Merivale hurried down-stairs, and, opening the hall doors, passed out, drew them to quietly, and followed her. The task was not easy in broad daylight, 'but Julia kept to the smaller thoroughfares that reach the j great highway of Oxford Street east- j ward of Park Lane. He tracked her from corner to corner with unobstrusive skill. In Oxford Street she took i an omnibus going cityward. Merivale mounted another going in the same direction. Unconscious of her pursuer, Julia rode on, soothed a little by the cbld air that fanned her temples —she had taken a seat on the top'of the vehicle. Her brain was, as she had told Merivale, dazed with thinking. Nor had a night's reflection brought her consolation or enlightenment. The more she reflected, the keener became her anxiety. At first it seemed natural to her that, as she presumed, Winnie, heart-broken ,by the realization of the gulf which divided her from the man she loved, had sought in flight the peace that so . often comes with solitude. Then, under the practised investigation of the detective who had accompanied Edward Agnew and herself from Scotland Yard, certain details had emerged which struck her with alarm. Winnie had not even taken a hand-bag. A dark, long cloak and a simple hat were missing from her wardrobe, and so was the evening goWn of black she had been wearing on the night of her disappearance. To have left Lavenden House without changing her dress Winnie must either have acted on a sudden impulse or have been in the greatest possible haste. Nor did it seem that she had provided herself with money. Her purse, with the notes and gold of a quarter's allowance in it, lay in a drawer of her dressing-table. That it had not been taken suggested that there had been something ominously precipitate about the flight of its owner. Afraid of her own thoughts, hemmed in by fears, Julia Lavenden had struggled somehow through a sleepless and tortured night, alone—terribly, awfully alone. And in her loneliness her heart yearned for her child, the strange, new-found treasure that fate had given back to her. One spot in all the world drew her , like a magnet—the old stucco-fron-ted house in Pentonville whose roof sheltered her beloved boy. Yielding to the craving that by morning had become overwhelming, Julia Lavenden directed her course toward Islington. Half-way along Oxford Street she alighted from the

By E. Norman Silver, thor of "A Double Mask," "& Daughter of Mystery "Held Apart,' "The Golden Dinar/etc.

"For Her Sister's Sake," was commenced on Decemberj2oth.]

omnibus and boarded another. She did not know that Merivale imitated her example, nor that, when she descended from the second omnibus on the borders of Islington, he alighted from another not far off and continued his persistent pursuit of her. Finally, from the extremity of the sleepy by-street down which she bent her steps, he saw her enter a gateway, and knew that she had gained her destination. A few strides took him past the point at which she had disappeared, and he marked with a vigilant eye the name "Peter Crimple" on the yard-doors. . "A thousand pounds to a penny," he muttered, "I've found Miss Winnie's hiding place. They used to live in these parts, too, which makes it all £the more certain I've run her to earth." He lingered, trying to peer beyond the gates without exposing himself. I Suddenly he started and uttered a suppressed exclamation. On the farther side of a roughly paved courtyard he had seen Julia Lavenden conversing with another person, and that person a woman in a nurse's costume of blue and gray. CHAPTER XXV. SHOWS HOW SOME LINES CROSSED. Julia Lavenden had not waited to knock at the dingy front door of the old, stucco—fronted house, but had stepped swiftly through the tall wooden gates adjoining into the stable-yard. It was deserted, and she advanced toward the house door that opened upon it. At the entrance to the flagged passage, which from this point gave access to the interior of Peter Crimple's dwelling, she stopped, drawing her breath in a sudden, painful sob. A peal of childish merriment had broken the silence within. It was Boysie's voice, and the ripple of baby laughter brought a pang of indescribable bitterness to Julia Lavenden. ' Alone, unhappy, worse than widowed, there was but one thing left her in the world—her child. And to him she was a stranger. Controlling herself with an effort she raised a hand and tapped upon the weather-beaten door by which she stood. The summons was answered; the figure of a woman appeared at the dusky extremity of the passage. Too tall, as well as too elastic, to be mistaken for Matilda Crimple, she wore, , besides, a hospital uniform. Julia Lavenden recognised in her the young and aristocratic mission nurse, whom she had heard spoken of as Sister May. Seeing Julia, the younger woman came forward. "Lady Lavenden, is it not?" she asked. Julia rallied all her energies. "Yes," she replied; "I am out walking alone, and found my way in instead of knocking at the front door. Is Mr Ingram at home?" "Indeed, you are very clever, Lady Lavenden," said the nurse cheerfully, coming out into the roughly paved yard, "and you would make a splendid district visitor. Won't you step in and sit down for a moment? Mr Ingram is in—at his lunch, to be exact—Tilda has just gone up to ask if I. may disturb him. He will be delighted to know that you have called." She drew aside for Julia to enter, and then followed her in. Julia Lavenden moved tremulously into the large, ill-lighted kitchen, her gaze seeking her child. Absorbed and eager, the little one stood by the fire before Peter Crimple's big chair, the leaping flames lending a warmer lustre to the ruffled golden head that was bent I over the toy horse she had brought I him. The baby fingers were busy with the fascinating intricacies of the miniature harness. Julia stole forward and, her eyes blinded with tears, stooped to kiss the tangled curls. Boysie looked up and a smile dissolved his innocent gravity. The toy lost its interest, and he held out his arms in a frank appeal to be taken up. Julia caught him to hexbreast, averting her quivering lips and wet lashes from the glance of the nurse. "How soon he knew you again, Lady Lavenden!" exclaimed the latter; "you have made quite a conquest." Julia sat down with the child on her knee; she felt as if she were about to faint. The contact of the firm yet tender little body- her own, her very own flesh and blood, and yet not hers to claim and nurture—wrung her heart cruelly. (To be Continued).