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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8369, 28 February 1907, Page 2

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

CHAPTER XLII. OUT OF THE DEPTHS. Winirfed Lavenden was that strange and pitiable thing, a conscious and healthful human being condemned to die. The long fight that had meant at least a chance of escape had been fought and lost; the inexorable hand of the law had closed upon her, and, cut off in a t-'rrible lonelinc.-s from the throb« bing world outside, she felt the ebbing tide of time steal by, and knew th it by the letter of her dread sentence the tide of her life bad began to run out with it. She was not alone in the small cell to which she had been led on her return to the prison. Two grave, hard women, clad in garments almost as sombre as their faces, were with her. Harsh as was their bearing, they were not unkind. They had sought to comfort her, telling her that the jury's recommendation to mercy and the judge's strong support of it assured her of a reprieve, that she might confidently count upon the' commutation of her sentence. Frozen as she was by the horror of her position, she dimly realised that they were right. The ghastly crisis of the cap and the noose were not for her; before her there yawned only the iron future of penal servitude. She would not pass into, peace through the gates of a shameful death; it was a living death that awaited her. A living death made hideous/by remembrance and regret. She sat upon the coarse, repellant couch of the condemned, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on vacancy. Her girlish features had become white and wan; her cheeks and brow seemed transparent, waxlike; her lips had the pink pallor of a blush rose. The slight, irregular inspirations that stirred her bosom were inaudible, even in'the oppressive silence of the cell. Save for them she might have been a statue. So she ! had sat for hours. r. The wardresses grew anxious, and low, covet whispers passed between them.

"Get her to do something," murmured the younger of the custodians to the other; "she mustn't think like that, poor thing; it'll turn her brain."

The elder of the two women rose-, and went to the side of their charge. "Wouldn't you care to write a letter?" she gently asked. "You can write as much as you like, you know."

Winifred Lavenden roused from her species of trance. Slowly she comprehended the question that had been put to her. "You are very kind," she said, "but "

She stopped. An impulse came to her, an impulse of loneliness and heartache, that prompted another reply than the one that she had been going to give. "Thank you," she answered; "I — I think I will." The wardress rang the bell and waited. Soon the sliding trap in the door opened, and the bearded visage of a warder appeared. 'He glanced at the prisoner pityingly through the square aperture. , The wardress ordered writingmaterials, and the man went away to obtain them. When they were brought to Winifred Lavenden, she took them eagerly; her custodians were pleased to see her painful reverie so successfully broken, and drew aside to leave her to her occupation. Winnie laid a sheet of writing paper before her, and dipped the pen in the Ink.* For a moment she was motionless, looking at the blank sheet. Slowly her hand approached it, and she wrote two words. They were "My darling." From the cell of the condemned, Winifred Lavenden was writing to the man who loved her, the man she loved. Her head drooped, the pen fell from her fingers, and she covered her face with her hands. The spell of her tearless misery was loosed, and she began to weep convulsively. The wardresses turned, startled, and astonished, but forbore to speak to her. They knew that tears would relieve her overcharged brain, and racked nerves. While she struggled to regain her self-control, so suddenly shattered by the thought of her lover, there was a sound at the door. But it was not the sound of the trap being withdrawn; there was a rattle of the key in the lock that kept the wardresses and their charge captive. The door swung wide, and Winnie, stanchinc; her tears, with a swift access of pride, looked up.

On the threshold stood Ewdard Agnew, and with him there were two quiet, authoritative men, well dressed and somewhat past the prime of life. Winifred Lavenden rose; she guessed their errand. They had come to tell her that she had been reprieved. For a moment she was to see Edward Agnew, and then—then they would part, and between them there would begin to flow a river of years—of long, cold, relentless years. She shunned her lover's gaze. One of the elder men stepped forward.

"Miss Lavenden," he said, and the courteous form of his address struck with a certain significance upon her ears, "we have good news for you. You do not know me, but I am the Governor of the prison, and formally responsible for you. Therefore, it is my place to make to you an intimation, which I do with pleasure." Winnie bowed her head, mutely acknowledging his preface. "This evening," went on the governor, "in the presence of this gentleman here, the superintendent of the criminal investigation department, and of Mr Agnew, your coun-

By R. Norman Silver, thor of "A Double Mask," "A. Daiujhter of Mystery, "The Golden Divarf," etc.

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

sel, a death-bed statement was made by a person known to you—Peter Crimple." (To be Continued.)