The Scales of Justice.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8500, 1 August 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice.

CHAPTER lII.—-Continued. "1 cannot explain," Fiora whispered. "Don't ask mo. Someday, perlmp.-:, if I ever meet you again. But, then, I shali never meet you after to-night." Aga-ti certain words came to Goovgo's? lip*. He meant to meet the gi''i Tu'iitn. JSiie had bciiovcvi tint* trusU-l i;i hi:n when his own sister had i irned against bi:n. lier beauty and sweetness had touched him deeply. There* might be strange anil evil things going en in this house, but Flora \v;■ s pure as the biuonis from which s:sj inok her name. '•lam betii r already," George said. "It was the cold and the want of iiHid that overcame me. That and the-—the great shock which you know of. If jou have a conveyance of any kind to drive me to Longtown, 1 would not intrude upon your kindness any longer. But I should be sorry to think that we are not going to meet again. Ido not want to dwell upon it." " 'Journeys end in lovers' meetings,' " the faded voice from the armchair said, as in a dream. "Hark !" Somebody had commenced to sing overhead a pure, sweet voice, clear as a bell and fresh as that of a cl]ild. With his eyes on the grandly carved roof, George could imagine that he was in some cathedral, listening to the treble of the favourite chorister. It must be a boy's voice, he thought, the voice of an artist for the tones thrilled with feeling and passion as the glorious melody of the Message rang out. It was all so soft and soothing in that dark house of mysteries. And yet, at the first sound of the song,_ the faded ficruro sat up erect and rigid, and Flora's face grew stony and contemptuous. "He is coming," Mrs Cameron whispered. "What will he say, Flora?" "I do not see that it very much matters," Flora answered in a voice that she strove in vain to render indifferent. "The thing was inevitable, and I did it." The clear sweet tones came closer, the pure passion of the song rang near at hand. Then the door opened and the singer entered with the song still upon his lips. George Drummond gave a little exclamation of surprise. He could teel rather than see'that Flora was watching him, for the singer was no angel-faced boy, but a man of massive proportions—an enormous man, with great, pendulous cheeks and a body like that of Falstafr. He was exceedingly tall, too, and well set up, his great, thick lips were clean-shaven, his grey eyes had pouches under them. At the first glance he might have passed for a benevolent giant, but a farther inspection revealed a certain line of the features and a certain suggestion of satire about the mouth. His voice was as an exceedingly pure alto, as George knew now, and once he had seen the singer it was strange that all the subtle beauty seemed to go out of the song. The song had stopped suddenly as the artist caught sight of the stranger. * : My uncle Bernard Beard," Flora said. "This is Captain Drummond. uncle. I daresay you wonder why he is here when Grange Court is so close." "But relations quarrel at times," the newcomer said. His voice was rich and oily. When he smiled, as he did now, George felt a strange sense of attraction. "Our space here is somewhat limited but " George rose to his feet. The words were courteous enough but their meaning was plain. As the big man turned t-> say something to the faded lady in the armchair, Flora caught at George's arm. "Be patient!" she whispered. "God knows that I may have need of you. If there is any little thing that you owe me, for my sake be patient, patient and forbearing."

CHAPTER IV. lln the dead of night. George dropped back half angry and hall: ashamed. lie had a burning desire now to be up and doing, to get away from here, even if it wore into the black throat of the night. A snarling breath of wind shook the old house; there was a lash of thin snow on the windows. Exposure on a night like this meant death. Flora seemed to divine what was passing through the inind of her guest, for sh3 smiled faintly. The faded figure in the armchair nodded. Just for a moment her face lighted up, and then George saw what a naturally noble countenance it was. The features va-e vaguely familiar to him. lie wondered where he had seen them before. "You are exceedingly good to me," he faltered. "But for Miss Cameron, I hardiy know what would have become of nie to-night." "It was foolish of you to quarrel with your uncle," Bernard Beard put in. "He is a good anu ju:-:t man," Mrs Cameron said. ' A little haul, peihaps, but good and upright men are act to be narrow. They do not make albwanee for the follies of weaker m?n. In t'ue days when we lived at Knaresfield " 'llie speaker's voice grew weak again and hesitating. But George knew now where lie had Keen and hear:! of Mrs Cameron before. The word Knaresfield recalled the past to his mind. Mrs Cameron of Knaresfield had been a household word in the world of philanthropy. Could this faded, unhappy woman be the same grand, noble-looking being that George remembered as a boy? She had been a grjat friend of Sir Dev-

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ereux's ten or twelve years ago; and here they had been living together for four years, and, to all appearances, Sir Devereux was ignorant of his old friend's existence. And yet she was living on the Grange Court estate! What mystery was here, George wondered. He came out of the work) of speculation with a sudden start. "There was no quarrel with my uncle," he said. "A difference of opinion, let us say. I chose to remain silent. I could not ask a favour." "It will be all right in God's good time," Mrs Cameron said suddenly. "You have much to live for." The last words brought a strange comfort to George. They rang out like an inspiring prophecy. Indeed, he had much to live for, but meanwhile, he was tired and worn out. The food had revived him, the grateful warmth had thawed his chilled bones, and a great desire for sleep had coins over him; the room began to expand; the figures then grew hazy and indistinct. Somebody was asking a question. "Really, I beg your pardon," George murmured. "I am not very strong yet, and I have travelled too far to-day. I will not trouble you after to-morrow, it is really good of you." "It is exceedingly selfish of us to keep you up," Flora said. "I will show you to your room. A fire has been lighted there. When you are quite ready ——" But George was quite ready now. He bowed over the hand of the faded lady in the chair. He half, hesitated in the case of Mr Beard. But the latter seemed to be busy arranging some of the numberless white flowers, and returned the good-night, with a careless nod. He seemed to be secretly amused about something. Flora had taken up a bedroom candle and had preceded George up the shallow oak stairs. It was a pleasant room that she came to at length, an octagonal room, with panelled walls and a blazing log lire burning cheerfully on the dogs. The red curtains of the lattice windows were not yet drawn, so that there was a glimpse into the blackness of the night. The thin snow fluttered on the diamond-shaped panes. "I think you will be comfortable here," Flora said. "Pray that you may be yourself in the morning. If you care to stay here for a day or two " "I could not so far trouble you," George said. He did not fail to note the strange hesitation in Flora's voice, the desire to be good and kind struggling with some hesitating fear. "You have been more than kind to me already; and, as your mother said to-night. I have much to live for. I must get back to London in the morning. I may not have a chance to speak freely to you again. Fate has placed you in possession of my story, or, rather, of a portion of it; but there is one thing I want you to believe—l am neither a coward nor a liar. Try to think I am " "A good man struggling with misfortune," Flora interrupted. "I am certain of it. If I had not felt certain, do you suppose that I should have brought you here to-night? You are suffering for the sake of another who " "I am; and you know who that other is. That photograph of Ronald Cardrew " "Hush!" Flora whispered. "You must ask me no questions. There are reasons why I cannot speak. If you only knew the story of this house of sorrows! If you only knew why my dear mother has changed from a noble, honoured woman to a broken wreck in ten years! But 1 dare not think of it. I dare not! What is that?" Across the gale came the sudden boom of a gun. The sound rolled suddenly away. "From Greystone Prison!" George explained. "You must recognise the signal that a convict has escaped. Fancy the poor wretch being hunted through such a night as this. I heard that gun an hour ago on my way to Grange Court. If they fire two guns it is a signal the convict is near. When 1 loft for India two years ago, they were putting up a searchlight on the prison tower. They use that now I understand." Flora nodded. Her face was white and set. Her lips were paitedasif she had run fast and far. Imagination seemed to bo playing strange tricks with her. "The searchlight was used twice last year," she said. "It is just possible that on the present occasion Captain Drummond, if I should want a friend to-night, will you help me?" "I will do anything in the wide world for you," George said passionately. "But for you " "Never mind me. It is merely possible that I may want your assistance before daybreak. If there was anybody else that I could trust--if you were not so worn and ill " "That matters nothing. I am feeling bettor already. Miss Cameron I implore you?" "Yes, yes. And yet I may be mistaken. I will knock genily on your door. Pray Heaven that there may be no occasion to do anything of the kind. Good-night!" (To be continued.)