THE LADY IN BLACK.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8446, 22 May 1907, Page 2

THE LADY IN BLACK.

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

CHAPTER XV.—'Continued. 1 C"l had been led to believe," admitted he, "that your hatred of me was so great, your fear of me, too, that even the idea that I had died woutd not affect you long." She shuddered, and abruptly withdraw her hand from his. "Dorothy, forgive me. I never meant that you should bear the burden so long. When you rebelled, and insisted on going away from the place where my mother had put you, I had been sent abroad for my health. When I came back, you were gone and my mother told me you were travelling abroad. But I was already hungering for a sight of you, anxious to see you, to find out whether there was really no prospect of reconciliation for us. And as I found my mother unwilling to help me, I had found out where you were, and I determined to settle down near you, and to keep watch for an opportunity ofjapproaching you, and finding out that one thing which was more important than anything else in life to me —whether my young wife was ready to forgive her old husband and to welcome him back to life." At these words he paused. Dorothy, her face glowing with deep feeling, went down on her knees and lifted her swimming eyes to his. "If you could have known—if you could have looked into my heart!" she whispered. "Ah! my darling, how could I know? I used to watch you from the lane, waiting for hours for what glimpse I could catch of your face through Then one night, when I was prowling about the place, thinking of you, it came into my head that if I could look on your face while you slept, and call to you, I might speak to you while you were half-awake, and tell you what was in my heart, and prepare you for finding out that I was alive. So I climbed up to your window and looked in." "Ah! That was what I thought was a dream! I saw you!" "Yes. You were not asleep. You looked at me with such a stare of horror and alarm that I was afraid '< of the effect of my own act, and I dropped down to the ground. But some one looked out from an upper window—it was your housemaid, Annie; the next day I met her, and, seeing that she recognized me as the person she had seen the night before, I told her who I was. Fortunately, she had seen my portrait hanging in a room of the house, a locked room? she told me; so that she was ready to believe me." "Ah!" cried Dorothy. "And this knowledge that you kept my portrait gave me hope. The girl promised to get me the key of the room in which it was hung, and to leave a window open by which I could get into the house that night." Dorothy looked up with rather wide eyes. "These sentimental girls!" exclaimed she. "Supposing you nad not been my husband?" Sir Geoffrey smiled.

"We need not trouble our about that now," said he. "I got in that night, but you had played . a trick on me, for in your room there was another lady!" Dorothy stared. - "Did she see you? Did Mabin see you?" she breathlessly asked. "She not only saw me. She gave chase, and nearly caught me! I was embarrassed with confusion. But since then I and the young lady, who is a very charming one, have come to an explanation." "Mabin! And she never told me! Oh, yes. she did—l remember. She told me you had promised riever to see me again."*

And Dorothy,. with a little shiver, drew nearer to her husband, and let his sheltering arms close round her.

Rudolph was hanging about the place at an early hour next morning. He sprang upon Mabin as soon as she stepped into the garden, with a particularly happy look on her young face. "I've come to ask for an explanation," said he, standing very erect, and speaking in a solemn tone, tempered by fierceness. "An explanation? Of what?" "Various points in your conduct." "Oh!" cried Mabin, turning quickly to face her accuser, and evidently ready with counter-accusa-tions. "In the first place, why have you been so cool to me lately?' "Because—because—-was I cool?" "Were you cool? Yes, you were, and I know why. You were jealous." Mabin said nothing. "And now I expect an apology, and an acknowledgment that you are heartily ashamed of yourself." "Do you expect that, really?" "Well. I'll alter the form of words, and say that I ought to get it." "Well, you won't" "I thought as much. But I am willing to compound for a promise that you will never be so foolish again. There! That's downright magnanimous, isn't it?" Mabin shook her head. "I won't promise," said she. "It's too risky." "You haven't much [faith in me,* then?" "I haven't much faith in—myself, If I were to see you again apparently absorbed in a very beautiful woman, arid her misfortune, I should feel the same again. Especially a widow!'' "But Mrs Dale was not a widow!" "Well, a married woman. They are more dangerous fthan the unmarried ones." "Well, then, if you become a married woman yourself, you will be able to see them on their own ground. There's something in that, isn't there?" And although Mabin was astonished and rather alarmed by the suggestion, he argued her into consent to

his proposal thafhe should write to Mr Rose that very day It was astonishing how quickly the neighbours got over their prejudices against the colour of "Mrs Dale's" hair when they discovered that the lady in black was the wife of Sir Geoffrey Mallyan. And although odd stories were whispered about as to the reason for her stay in Stone under an assumed name, it was in the nature of things in the country, where each head weaves its own fancy, that the truth never became known there. Before the newly united couple left "The Towers," they were both present at the wedding of Rudolph and Mabin, who were married by the vicar, under the offended eyes of Mrs Bonnington. Indeed, it is doubtful whether she would ever have consented to the marriage, if the accident to Mabin's ankle, although it left no worse effects, had not made itimpossible for her ever to ride a bicycle again. And then, very quietly, and without warning, Sir Geoffrey and his wife, Dorothy, went away, telling nobody where they were going. There was a breach now between them and old Lady Mallyan which could never be entirely healed. But in order that they might have a little time to themselves before they even pretended to forgive her, ' husband and wife went off to Wales together. And under the tender care of his wife, Sir Geoffrey began quickly to recover the health, the loss of which Dorothy remorsefully traced to the mad act of which she had so bitterly repented. THE END.