THE LADY IN BLACK.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8446, 21 May 1907, Page 2

THE LADY IN BLACK.

CHAPTER XV—Continued. ' "Is—is she with him? Was she •with him when you came away?" she aakeJ in a meek and plaintive little voice. Mabin had to confess that the dreaded "she" had been with him. And Mrs Dale faltered again and had to be further helped and further encouraged. At last, however, the top of the hill was reached, and "The Towers" came in sight. But the place seemed to be deserted. No one was at the gates; there was no light at any of the windows. A sense of desolation crept into the hearts of both the ladies as they made their way, with slower steps, toward the house. Rudolph hastened forward to open the gate for them. He went through into the garden, and came out again quickly. "Mabin," he said then, putting his hand lightly on her arm, "let Mrs Dale go in. I want to speak to you." Mabin hesitated, for Mrs Dale was clinging to her arm with an almost convulsive pressure. And then the girl saw that within the garden gates, looking deadly pale, in the light of the newly risen moon, "Mr Banks" was standing. As Mabin disengaged herself from her companion, he came forward, almost staggering, and held out his arms. "Dorothy! Dorothy!" he whispered hoarsely. ( 9 Mrs Dale uttered a. sound like a deep sigh. Then she made one step toward him. But as he approached her, with a pathetic look of love, of yearning in his eyes, sh© tottered, and would have fallen to the ground if he had not caught her. Then, reaching Mabin's astonished ears quite distinctly, as she stood, anxious, bewildered, at a little distance, came these words in Mrs Dale's voice:

"Oh, have you forgiven me? Will you ever forgive me, Geoffrey! Geoffrey!" Mabin swung round, and all but fell into Rudolph's arms. "Then—'Mr Banks'—is her hus-

band!" she gasped, in such a whirl of joyous excitement that she did not notice how unduly gracious to Rudolph her excitement was making her. "Yes. Didn't you guess?" "N-n-no, Did you?" "Yes." v "She didn't tell you, then?" "No. She didn't know herself, I am sure. But she began to wonder and to suspect. And yet she didn't dare, not knowing I suppose, poor little woman, how he felt toward her, to meet him. So she did the worst thing possible, and sent for his mother. And, no doubt, the old woman made more mischief, told her Sir Georffey would never forgive her, and all that. So the little woman went off her head very nearly. And goodness knows what would have happened if we .hadn't gone after her so soon." Mabin wrenched herself away from Rudolph, who had held one arm round her while he spoke. "Then that wicked old woman has been cheating her into thinking she killed him, while all the time he was alive and well?" she cried, only now awakening to the full sense of the situation. "Yes." "And poor Mrs Dale has been allowed to torture herself for nothing?" "Well, it wasn't exactly nothing. She might have killed him. Indeed, she meant " But Mabin would not let him finish. "Nonsense!" she said sharply. "I'm going in by the kitchen garden. Good-night." And she fled so precipitately that Rudolph had no time for another word. In the long drawing-room, no longer a dreary and desolate place, husband and wife were sitting together. Almost without a word, she had led him into the house, and shuddering in the' midst of her thankfulness at the sight of the open door of the dining-room, where old Lady Mallyan had shown her so little mercy as to drive her to despair 1 , she had thrown open the door of the drawirig-room, where a lamp had been placed upon the table, making a tiny oasis of light in a great wildershadow. Very gently, very humbly, with eyes still wet and still tremulous, she led him to a chair and took her own seat modestly on a footstool near his feet. "And now, tell me," she began in a low voice, as s,oon as he was seated, "why did you let me think I "My dear child," said Sir Geoffrey, tenderly, as he drew the half-reluct-ant hands into his and stroked her bright hair, "we have all made mistakes in this unhappy business, and that was the first, and greatest of all." "It was not your doing, I am sure of that," said Dorothy quickly. "You would not have thought of doing anything so cruel, of your own accord." He frowned. It had already became clear to him.that, in yielding so much as he had to the advice of his mother, he had not only imperilled his own happiness, but had caused his young wife suffering more bitter than he had imagined possible. "I was wrong, too. I should have known; I should have trusted you more," said he, in a remorseful voice. "But you were such a child, yOu seemed such a feather-headed little thing! I could only believe my mother's judgment when she gave me advice about you." "But you should not have mistrusted me, no matter what she said. You should have watched me yourself, if you thought I wanted watching." !

By FLORENCE WARDEN. Auihor of ,( An Infamous Fraud," "A Terrible Family 4 'For Love of Jack," "The House on the Marsh," etc., etc.

"I know—l know. I am sorry, child!" "Then why, when I had done the dreadful thing"—and suddenly the fair head bent down in humility and shame—"why didn't you see me? Why didn't you let me see you? And why, oh why. did you let them tell that I had k-killed you? Think of it! The horror of that thought is something you can never imagine, never understand."

"When my mother first told you that," answered Sir Geoffrey gravely, "she thought it was true. I was very ill, you know, long after they had extracted the bullet. I was too ill to see you, even if she had let me. And when you had been sent away, I suppose my mother meant to punish you by letting you think as she did."

"Ah, but it was brutal to let me believe it so long!" • "I am afraid it was."

"But you—when you knew—when at last she told you what I had been taught—didn't you see yourself how cruel it was?"

Sir Geoffrey was silent. He did not wish to own to Dorothy, what he was forced to acknowledge to himself, that his mother had deceived him as egregiously as she had his wife; that, in pursuing her own revengeful and selfish ends, she had gone near to wrecking both their lives. But something, some part of her work was bound to become known; and he had reluctantly to see that the intercourse between his wife and his mother could never be anything but strained. (To be Continued.)