The Scales of Justice.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8496, 27 July 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice.

By FRED I. WHITE, [Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER I. •"■HE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. l utPicie, a thin powder of snow •.- falling in iitful gusts; the low . of the wind bent the elms like ; masts of a ship in a gale. A solipoacher, out from Longtown, ••• ~,eJ through the swaying bushes, rd wondered what was wrong at ; ( range Ourt, for the windows were ■AI ablaze, and a string of carriages ra.'hed to and fro along the drive. It so black a n d cheerless and bitter without that the poacher sighed for h.is fireside. The poacher was puzzled. Why -,vore these carriages coming back so From his hiding-place he could right into the spacious portico re fore the front door of Grange , Court; he could see the brilliantly - lighted hall beyond, with its pictures and statues and belts of feathery .Corns. Beyond, in the old oakvanelled ballroom, a dazzling kaleidoscope of figures moved in agitated rroups. Somebody called loudly that no more guests were to be admitted. An unsteady voice was asking for a doctor. Tragedy was in the frosty air! Had the Longtown poacher but known it, this was to have been a c,reat occasion at Grange Court, for Sir Devereux Drummond was giving dinner in honour of the twenty-first birthday of his niece. Sybil Drumin ond. Sir Devereux had never married—he had remained faithful to a memory ; but his only brother had died comparatively young, and his children had found a home at Grange Court. Sybil was twenty-one to-day; her brother, Captain George Drummond, was some years older. He was still with his regiment in Swaziland when the back of the campaign was broken, so that the heir to the estates of Grange Court and Longtown Rise might, it was thought, reach home : ny day. Nevertheless, both uncle and sister had been a little anxious about George lately. There had been ru- : inours of a regiment cut off—one of the usual disasters of modern warfare : - and of George nothing had been : lizard. He might even be a prisoner of the enemy. There was another cause for anx- ' iely, too, for Captain Ronald Card- < raw, Sybil's lover, had been attached < to the ill-fated half battalion. Seme 1 papers had hinted at incompetence, ; and even down-right cowaidice; < though the idea was received with contemptuous silence at Grange 1 Court, which had been the cradle of i soldiers, as the portraits in the long gallery proved. Thus it was that ' pretty Sybil's smile was somewhat ' chastened as she stood in the draw- t ing-room to receive tbe congratulations of her friends. 1 but why had not Sir Devereux joined her? He had promised to be down quite early, and the old friend and colleague of Loch and Havelock was ever a man of his word. Sir Devereux'3 name had stood s deservedly high in the annals of the Indian Army. He had been something more than a soldier and a strategist. The Drummonds had ever been-fighters, but Sir Devereux was different from the rest of his race. He was a deep and earnest Christian, % philanthropist; his name was known A'herever good works were done. A little hard and stern at times, his code of honour was simple and sincere. He had never regarded his men as so many fighting machines, but had i treated them like members of his ; own family. ■ Sybil knew that noble nature thoroughly, and had seen with dismay : that the iron had entered the old man's soul. He had said nothing as 1 to the paltry newspaper attacks; he did not allude to George's singular silence. The War Office reported that George had escaped from the hills, but Sir Devereux vouchsafed no further information. That he had heard more Sybil felt certain, for his letters at breakfast-time had seriously disturbed him. But he would ::ot hear of the party being put off. He would be better presently, he said. And now the guests were arriving. Already some of them were in the hall. A vague sense of coming peril gripped Sybil as old Watson, the butler, came into the room. "What is it?" Sybil gasped. "My dear uncle —is he ill, Watson?" "I thought he was dying!" the old servant whispered. "It was after he had read the letters that came by the evening post. It's bad, miss—something about Master George. And I liave sent for Dr. Gordon. It looks like a kind of stroke, miss." One moment and Sybil was herself again. She thought nothing of her own disappointment, and had forgotten her new diamonds; she too, was a Drummond. "I can hear Dr. Gordon's voice," she said. "Thank God, he was at hand! Watson you must send them all away. Tell them what in.s happened. Each carriage must be dismissed as it comes. Say how truly sorry I am. I could not possibly sec anybody myself." The butler bowed and withdrew as Sybil flew up the stairs. She noted toe hush that bad suddenly fallen on the guests, and heard the sincere murmur of regret. There was a rush of carriages coming and returning, and commands for others to be recalled. A large door at the head of the corridor closed, and. Sybil was grateful for the profound silence. There was Fir Devereux in his dressing room. He had finished his toilette; he sat in the big arm-chair by the dressing-table, with a letter or two clenched in his hand. Ihe fine, kindly old face wad white and set, the lips were grey as ashes. "Dear ur.cle," Sybil whispered, she kissed the damp brow, "what j

is it?" Sir Devereux Drummond looked u vaguely. He passed his hand acros his forehead as if to collect hi thoughts. Sybil noticed how the hand trembled. "Have you sent them away?" hi muttered. "I told Watson to do so Little girl, lam very sorry. I triei to battle with it for your sake, but am not so strong as I was. Gordoi is in my bed-room. He said that had had a kind of seizure. I must be very careful. I thought it was deatl at first. Indeed, I should have beei glad. But if it be His will other wise, I shall bow to it." "Everybody has gone," Sybil sail soothingly. "Uncle, what is it? Yoi can trust me implicitly. I am sure yoi are in some deep trouble." With an effort Sir Devereux strug gled from his chair. Perhaps th shock had passed. Still, he lookei very old and bent and broken. "Disgrace," he said— "dishon our! Mere shadowy words to m before to-day. Perhaps I have beei too proud of my house and our gooi name. I have made too little allow ance, I fear. I never dreamt tha anything of the sort could touch me I was even too proud to ask a ques tion till yesterday. Then I sent ; long letter to Gilchrist at the Wa Office. I had his reply to-day, an t letter from Courtenay. I did nc want you to know." "Uncle," Sybil said, "is it anythin —is it anything to do with Georgs and—— " "To do with George—yes. Yo need not speak; nothing could explai away the damning evidence that I hoi in my hand. My poor child! Go an see if everybody has gone; go an talk to those friends who are staying in the house, and who will be anxiou to learn what is amiss. I'll com down presently; I must." Sybil went off immediately. Shi had forgotten the handful of intimat friends and they had to be considered Sybil made as light as she could o the matter. Dinner was ready, an< the house-party must dine. Indeed the meal was already served. Woulc not Lady Hellington an l Mr Norburj make the best of it? Sybil hersel: must lock after her uncle. Oh, yes he was better, and would be dowi later. There was nothing critical There was nothing else to be done; i was too late for anybody to leavt Grange Court to-night. Sybil- slipped out presently, anxious to gain th< hall, and there breathe the fresh aii after the heated atmopshere of th< drawing-room. She shivered as the big door opened, bringing in the sting of the gale, and the whirl of the snow-wreaths Truly a bitter night— a night not fil to turn a dog out. And inside was th< scent of flowers, and the warm sweet air of the house. Sybil wondered why the door ha< heen opened, for she knew that ther* were no more guests to come. Wat son stood on the big mat, listening with forced politeness to the lat( caller. It was a woman, wrappec from head to foot in furs. The ful flare of the chandeliei flooded her face—a pure, slim fac< of ivory hue. A very noble face Sybil told herself; clean-cut features and delicate, arched nose, a small, resolute mouth, and eyes of stead fast brown. On the whole, a prettj refined, high-bred countenance, Sybi thought, touched and ennobled by ; suggestion of sorrow and suffering, Sybil wondered where she had seei the girl before. She was evidently i lady and one accustomed to the lux uries of life. Impelled by curiosity and attracted towards the stranger, Sybil went forward. "Is there anything that I can do for you?" she asked. The other girl turned and smilei her thanks faintly. It was only th suggestion of a smile but it showet Sybil how beautiful the strange: was. They made a fine contrast—the one slender and graceful as a lily the other a perfect example of th< rich dark beauty of the South. "You are very good." The repl; came in a clear low voice. "0: course, I should not have intrudec to-night, only it is a question o necessity. A poor man in one of th cottages at the back of Moor Lani is down with pneumonia—or so i seems to me. 1 went over afte: dinner to take him some fruit, and . was quite alarmed. Dr. Gordon': partner has been called out sudden ly, and I learnt that Dr. Gordoi himself had been called in here a hour ago. Our butler is not fit t lgave the bouse, so I walked ove myself. I am Miss Cameron, of th< Moat House." (To be Continued.)