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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8359, 16 February 1907, Page 2

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

CHAPTE XXXll.—Continued. -"Ask Mr Ingram if Sister May can come up." he said. Tilda retraced her steps with the message. The curate's grave countenance brightened at the mention of his visitor's name. "Certainly," he rejoined, with enthusiasm. Matilda Crirople hastened to give the answer, and the nurse walked quickly up the single flight into the presence of the Reverend Charles Ingram. At the sight of her young face the words of died on the curate's lips, and he just paused, holding in his the hand -he had just clasped. The nurse was trembling, and her eyes had a far-away, horrified look in them.

CHAPTER XXXIII. TO BE TRIED FOR LIFE. "Something is wrong," said Mr Ingram, gently. "What is it?" _ May Anderson's lips parted with an effort. "It's—it's the papers to-night, she answered; "haven't you seen them. Sister—Sister Eva—they've found her." The curate would have spoken, but the horror stamped on the young features forbade him. "She must have been dead for a long, long time," said the nurse, with a shudder, "and her her cloak and bonnet, and even her shoes, had been taken away, and -her shawl." Charles Ingram started. "Where —w;here did they find her?" he asked. "I have not seen an evening paper or had any news." The young nurse leaned on him involuntarily. "I —I heard some —heard some people talking of it in an omnibus just now," she said, and there was a little tragic gasp in her voice. "It was this morning they found her, apparently—in a cave near Torquay; some children playing about among the rocks discovered —her." . The curate's arm closed about the trembling figure of May Anderson. "You are unnerved," he murmured; "I don't wonder. Poor creature; how strange, how awful! So there is yet another crime to be unravelled—the crime by which the escaped convict, David Garth, became possessed of his disguise. We might have guessed that it had meant Sister Eva's death. What a tangled skein of sin and suffering!" He was silent frr a moment, and so was May Anderson. Suddenly, regaining her self-possession, she realized tht she was submitting unconsciously to the curate's embrace, and she drew herself free. Charles Ingram released her thoughtfully. "I—l suppose it cannot affect the result of the—the trial?" she said. The curate pondered. "No," he answered; "I should not imagine so. It can only serve to render the police keener than ever in their pursuit of the man David Garth, and, of course, increase the public interest ia poor Miss Lavenden's fate." May Anderson too dreadful'!" she said. "What a hideous nightmare it must seem to Lady Lavenden!" Charles Ingram made a gesture of sorrowful pity, and the nurse met his glance with grave penetration. "Is there —is there any hope?" she asked. The curate's gaze fell. "We must try and not doubt that," he replied. -"She is young and beautiful, and what she did she did for her sister's sake. She says that she only intended to frighten, and not to injure. They jury may believe her; surely, they may—they ought to! She has, if we can judge from appearances, the ardent sympathy of the public, and for her counsel some of the most brilliant and eloquent lawyers in England. There is nothing now to be done except to abide the issue and trust that she and those who love her may be spared the " The last words of the sentence died unuttered on Charles Ingram's lips, and he turned away. May Anderson sighed again. "Well," she said., "I must not stay. I only wondered if you knew of —about Sister Eva. I feel that 1 must speak to some one about it —it was ghastly hearing it so casuallj from strangers. But, I am bettei now, and, besides, my patients wil bethinking I have deserted them." The curate picked up his hat; h< had thrown it down upon the couch a' her entrance. "I will put you on the road," hj( answered. "I am going into town t< see—cannot you guess whom?" The nurse reflected an instant. | "Your friend, Mr Agnew," she said gravely. Charles Ingram assented. "I promised," he added. "I.t is a cruel vigil for him, this last night before the trial." He opened the door for her, and 'waited till she had descended the stairs by the light of the lamp, whose rays streamed down the gloomy flight. Then he extinguished it, and followed her down. They emerged from the house together, ifnd traversed together the quiet thoroughfare. At the corner they parted. Charles Ingram held the little palm of the nurse in his own rather longer than was necessary for a conventional farewell. "Good-night," he said. "I would come'further with you, but Agnew will be expecting me. My thoughts go with you, as, indeed, they always do." A vivid blush dyed May Anderson's cheeks. He had spoken simply, yet with a sudden frankness that lent significance to his lingering clasp of

By R. Norm an Silver, thor of (( A Double Mask," "A Daughter of Myst if >/ u "Held Apart,' "The Golden Dwarf," etc.

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

her hand. "Good night," she rresponded shyly, and her fingers lay unresistingly in his for a moment befoie she withdrew them and passed out of his sight into the recesses of Pentonville. The curate made for one of the neighbouring thoroughfares and got on an omnibus. It'carried him as far as the Embankment, at which point he flighted, and walked up to the temple. Penetrating into one of the tall, brick-built squares, he mounted to an upper floor of a gloomy building, and knocked upon the characteristic double door that in the legal haunts of Central London gives admission to the typical suite of lawyer's chambers. A footfall approached him—a man's footfall, heavy and slow. The massive oaken door swung wide, and Charles Ingram found himself face to face with Edward Agnew. Shadowy as was the corridor in which he had appeared, as shadowy almost as the landing without, the latter recognised his visitor. "Come in, Ingram," he exclaimed. "I'm all alone—it-was kind of you to keep your promise, though, to be honest, I had almost forgotten you." He opened the door, allowing the curate to precede him down the narrow passage. A light was burning in the room at its extremity, and the lawyer's chair, pushed back, showed where its recent occupant had been seated at his table spread with books and briefs. Agnew drew up a chair, and motioned to it. "Sit down," he said, "sit down. The curate obeyed, and the lawyer, pausing upon the hearth-rug before the empty grate relapsed abruptly into silence. As he stood there, his whole figure relaxed and ftis shoulders drooping like those of a greybeard or an invalid, Edward Agnew looked a much older man than he was. A month earlier he had seemed conspicuously younger than his years. Now there was gray on his temples, and the deep lines of brooding anxiety had fuiTowed his forehead. ■"I have some news for you," hs remarked, breaking the silence sharply. "Perhaps it is the same as I have for you," answered the curate; "the discovery of the London-mission nurse,. Sister Eva." Agnew shook his head. "I know of that," he said, "but that is not it. No; my news is this —Goswerl is ill, stricken with paralysis. He, cannot take part in the case tomorrow —he may never appear in court again." Charles Inrgam started from his seat. The name was that of a great criminal counsel, whose genius had plucked out of the clutches of the law a score of threatened lives and the honour of many a sorely harassed man and woman. "Goswell!" he cried. "Great heavens! what will you do?" Edward Agnew folded his arms, and his eyes gazed into space. "Argue the case myself," he declared. "There is no time to secure another counsel. I alone know the case as it must be known if—if " He did not complete the phrase. "But," said Charles Ingram, nervously) "your—your relationship to Miss Lavenden; it is common knowledge that you—" "That I love her," concluded Agt ndw, sternly. "Well, let it be so. ! I can trust myself; I will trust myI self." He came and put a hand on the other's arm. "Think what is at stake," he said hoarsely; "it may be life and— and death!" A thrill ran through the listener—a thrill that left an icy chill behind it. Agnew drew himself up, as if to sustain the weight of some invisible burden. "There is no reason to call me as a witness," he said, '"and, if there "were, it would not be the first time that counsel had left his place for the witness-box. I shall have no difficulty with the judge. The chief consideration in an English court if that a prisoner should be adequately represented." "It will be a fearful strain for you," murmured' Charles Ingram, pityingly; "and for —her.'' Agnew shook his head. "Not so ghastly a strain for me," he answered, "as sitting passively by while another man fights the battle on which her life depends. As for her" —his voice broke momentarily—"she will be so lost in womanly anxiety for me that she i will forget herself. That is how I would have it." > Charles Ingram yielded. "Perhaps = yo« are right," he returned. "I will not presume to advise you." I (To be Continued).