The Scales of Justice.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8510, 13 August 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice.

CHAPTER Xl.—Continued. "Yes, that was well said. Only the noblest of women could speak like that. And I, too, judge you by your face. You could not do any tiling wrong or dishonourable ; you could not even think of such things. Miss Cameron, I am under the deepest debt of gratitude to you. I might be dving in a ditch now but iur you. By the "irony of fate, I have come into possession of some of your family secrets. t have learnt more perhaps than you would otherwise have told me. That you are sacrificing yourself for others I am certain. Then let me share that sacrifice, let me be your friend. For the present I can only wait till it pleases God to clear my name of the shadow that lies upon it. I want to be doing some good in the world meanwhile. Let me help you." "You shall," Flora whispered. "God bless you for those words! You shall be my friend. There is much to be done, even to-night. The fugitive must be found. I will never know a moment's peace till he is found." "Then be easy on that score," George said. "The in my bedroom, dressed in a suit of my clothes, and looking quite another man. We came very near to being discovered, for he locked himself in my room, and I had to get in through the window. I never guessed that my burglar was your convict till we had had a struggle. And then I recognised Gilbert Doyle." "Gilbert Doyle! Then you knew the man when —when " "My dear Miss Cameron, I was at Eton with him. He told me all his stary. I know all about Doyle and Miss Winifred Cawdor, and her sister. Unless lam greatly mistaken, I have already seen the poor little white bride and Miss Mary Cawdor. And I have made a discovery that is rather worse than that." "Oh! You know what I suspect. Has it anything to do with Dr. Baard?" "Yes. lam afraid that the whole conspiracy can ba traced to Dr. Beard. But for him Gilbert Doyle would be a free man and Winifred Cawdor happily married to the man of her choice. Do those poor girls live here?" "Yes. Winifred is a patient of our relative, Dr Beard, who is also her guardian, duly appointed by the Court of Chancery. They have been here for some time. Ido my best for the poor girls; but, unfortunately till quite lately, I could not get Mary Cawdor to trust me. Perhaps she thinks that we are all alike. Oh it makes me ashamed of myself! I have been hot and cold all over when 1 think of it. And I am powerless to do anything. But I am forgetting. My mother would like to say a few words to vou." "What! Now?" George asked, in some surprise. "I was coming downstairs to get food for Gilbert Doyle. He is in a state of desperate hunger. I was going down to the dining-room t6 see what I co.uld lay my hands upon." "Mr Doyle must wait for a few minutes. Come and see my mother. Then I will ascertain that there is no danger from Dr. Beard. He is so suspicious, so quick-witted that he will guess what has happened if he sees you with food in your hands. Not that he has the slightest idea that Gilbert Doyle above all men, has escaped from Grevstone Prison. Come and see my mother when she is herself and free from the hypnotic influence of Dr Beard." George obeyed, with a feeling that things were drifting. But he felt that he must do as Flora asked him. The girl led the way to a sitting-1 room adjoining a bedroom, and here ; Mrs Cameron was seated in an armchair, with an air of expectancy on her face. George had not realised before how beautiful that face was in its frame of grey hair. The strange, drawn look had gone from the eyes, the expression was sorrowful but benevolent. The long, slim hands trembled so that the rings on her fingers flash-

Ed in the lamplight. She extended both hands to George and pressed his tremulously. "lam glad you came," she said. "I saw that you recognised me tonight, and what I was doing here in this great place. You wondered why I had left my position in the world, why I should have neglected all my charities for this. 4 The thing is easily explained. When ;r.y husband died I was penniless." "The world looked upon him as a rich man," George stammered. "So did I —so did everybody else. My poor husband was never what you call a good man of business. He left all that to my distant relative, Dr. Beard. So long as the charities were kept up the rest did not matter. I looked forward to carrying on those i, noble works after the death of my husband; the labour would console me for his loss. And , then we discovered that everything •was gone. Little by little my dear husband had dispossessed himself of everything. Dr. Beard had it all down; he had k-pt what the lawyers call -jeeounts splendidly. You can imagine my position. I had hundreds depending -upon my bounty; I was interested in buildings and hospitals everywhere. And suddenly I was a pauper, as poor as any of my poor old people. I never liked Dr. Beard; I almost mistrusted him. But when he took tliis house for a poor young pat'ent of his and offered asylum, I could not refuse. It was very like eating the bread of charity, but it was impossible to sav so. It seemed almost like the will of God. And that is why you see me here to-night." George made no reply for a moment. He wai beginning to understand. Mra Camera had a widespread repu-

By FRED mar. WHITE, [Published By Special foment.] [All Rights Reserves*-.]

tation-l'oi works, and Beard was trading on ih;-. fact. It suited his purpiiM.' U. have so good a woman as nominal head ot bis household; it prevented a-.vkward questions, and gave ,'i in a free hand. "I do V;know what is taking place here/' Mrs Cameron said frankly. "I do mo; Know even now, after the lapse or'a-, whether Bernard Beard is a man or a scoundrel. I know t'mn he has an extraordinary efTent upon r>;o, as h:i has upon most people. A: when I feel that lam very near 1.!;« end, I tremble for the welfare of my dear child here. I like your face, Captain Drummond, in spite of your misfortunes, and I am sure you will be ready to help Flora if ever she needs it. Tell your uncle, Sir Devereux, what I have told you to-night. We were great friends in the old day.-,." "I would do anything that I can," George stammered; "and as to the events of to-night " The speaker suddenly paused, seeing that Flora's eyes were turned imploringly upon him. Evidently Mrs Cameron knew nothing about the dramatic scenes of the past few hours. George turned the conversation adroitly. He-was feeling tired and fagged, and Flora saw it. A. gentle hint to that effect to her mother sufficed.

"It was very selfish of me," Mrs Cameron said contritely, "but Iso wished to have a few words with you before your departure, Captain Drummond. I understood you to say that you would have to go to London early in the morning'. Perhaps you will come and see me again?" i With a rather red face, George said that he would. He was doing no harm, and yet he felt horribly guilty in the presence of this good old lady. And George felt, too, in his heart of hearts, that there was little chance of his going to London in the morning. He bent over the trombling hands of Mrs Cameron and bade her goodnight. Flora followed him into the passage. Sho was breathing fast as if the pulsations of her heart were troublesome. "It is a shame, all this concealment," she said; "but I could not —I dared ncit—tell my mother. She is so open and candid. She would assuredly betray us to Bernard Beard. That is why I tried to catch your eye just now in time to prevent mischief. Where is all this prevarication going to lead to?" George did not know. He thought he did not care much so long she was by Flora's side, and he Could study the deep light of her eyes. He j had a feeling also that he was but an ! instrument in the hands of Provii dence. He moved forward in the direction of the stairs, filled with a sudden remorse that he had so long neglected Gilbert Doyle. Flora seemed to understand, for she laid a hand on George's arm. "One moment," she whispered. "Let me be assui'ed that there is nothing to fear from Bernard Beard. I will go and see if his study door is closed. Wait here." Flora returned with the informal tion that Beard was not in the house at all. There was nothing alarming about this. "He might be helping those warders," Flora suggested. "You can see the flicker of their lanterns on the walls every now and again. Captain Drummond, you cannot leave the house early to-morrow—at any rate, not until we have settled what to do with Gilbert Doyle. Keep him where he is for the present, and by morning I may hit on some plan. He must be near here, and yet a place of safety must be found for him. It is too late to-night to carry out the scheme that I had in my mind." "I will take care of Doyle" George protested. "Make your mind easy. And now I must go on my errand of mercy." With a sudden impulse, Flora caught George's hands and held them hard. "Good-night, my dear friend!" she whispered. "I cannot find words to thank you. Good-night, and God bless you." (To be continued.)