The Scales of Justice.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8519, 26 August 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice.

CHAPTER XlX.—Continued. : "So it is, I admit; but I must be doing something—something wild and hazardous and daring. 1 shoull go mad else. Fancy me stifled in town, getting my living at a desk. The thing is impossible. I would have gone abroad with some expedition where danger lay, if it had not been fo:- the child. I can't quite forget her." Marston caused by a broken gate, and turned his pony just as the animal was going into a field. The cottage was close by, the light of the lamp was glowing red behind the blind. As Marston entered Jessie rose from the side of the fire and greeted him with a glad little cry. She seemed to have eyes for nobody else. She dragged her father to the side of the cheerful blaze, and began to chafe his blue hands, tinged and hardened with the cold. "I have been so frightened, the little one said. "I imagined all kind of things. I should have come to you, only I could not struggle across the kitchen without pain. And then that kind gentleman came, and seemed to understand at once. I was frightened lest he should find his way into the bog. I am so glad to see you back." Gilbert Doyle made some suitable reply. He had no eyes at present for anything but the tall figure in the black cloak standing by the oaken settle. The flickering rays of the firelight played upon Flora Cameron's beautiful face and lighted up her eyes. Marston stood waiting for his visitor to be seated. ',' l am pleased and honoured," he said, "to see Miss Cameron here. I should like to thank youfor all your goodness to my little girl, but words fail sometimes. It was kind indeed nf you not to judge the child by the father." "That would be unfair, indeed," Flora said, as she bent to kiss Jessie. : "She has been terribly anxious about you. It is not for me to preach, but for a clever man like you there is surely a more legitimate way of making a living." "I daresay there is," Marston said, with unwonted humility; "but I am bound to have something to make me forget the pain that is slowly killing me. I might take to drink, but it is a pride of mine that I am not a coward. And if I had not been a poacher, I do not think that Mr Gilbert Doyle would be standing here to-night." Flora looked up quickly. The light of the fire flickered on the poorly-fur-nished room and the dingy walls. Despite his rough face and shabby clothing, Marston looked strangely out of place here. He would have passed anywhere for a gentleman. "I surprise you," the poacher went on; "but I am stating a fact, all the same. And lam glad to place my poor cottage at your disposal. I did not know that you had arranged a meeting with Mr Doyle here, but 1 am glad to be of service. You have, at any rate, the satisfaction of knowing that you are enlisted on the side of an innocent man." ; "You are in a position to prove that?" Flora asked eagerly. "I shall be; but it is a matter of time. You may be surprised to hear that Dr. Bernard Beard is an old acquaintance of mine. I could make things exceedingly awkward for the doctor if i were disposed; arid I feel really disposed to-night." "Why to-night more than any other time?" Flora asked. "Well, because things have happened. You see, I have known for many months that Mr Doyle was at Greystone. I had a pretty shrewd idea who sent him there, but I did not interfere—a shameful confession perhaps, but there it is. But, of course, I knew all about Mr Doyle. And when I heard that a convict had escaped, and when I saw that same convict enter the Moat House last night, I had no difficulty in guessing who he was. Even then I told myself it was no business of mine; but I feel quite differently now. Who would not feel a warm heart for the man who, in spite of all his troubles, took compassion on the troubles of a little child, and risked his life to save that of a poacher. I've had a call to-night. I saw it plainly before me, as if a hand had written the words in fire on the sky. If the God whose laws I have so outraged gives me the span of life to accomplish it, I shall save the honour of Gilbert Doyle." Almost impulsively Flora held out her hand to the poacher. He shrank back, abashed; a little colour crept into his tanned and rugged face. "I am not worthy of it," he stammered. "I am not fit to touch your fingers." "Oh, hush, hush!" Flora said. "Pray don't speak like that. You have made amends; you are going to stand by the side of right. Let us shake hands on it." Marston's fingers were trembling with something besides pain. He hardly dared to took into the pure and noble face of the girl before him. Then their hands met. "It is many years since I shock hands with a lady." he said. "Jessie, it is getting late. I shall come and put you to bed. I daresay Miss Cameron and Mr Doyle have much to say to each other. Let me carry you upstairs, little one." The thing was tactfully done, and Doyle felt grateful. He and Flora were at length alone. The girl stood by the settle, so that the firelight played upon her beautiful face. The long cloak had fallen away from her slim, graceful body. She stood there, the embodiment of womanly grace and strength. Her features were very thoughtful. "Mr Doyle," she Said. "I daresay you wonder why i am here, why I am taking so great an interest in your welfare. Up to a little time

By FRESB If. WHITE, [Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Eights Reserved.]

ago I had no idea that I should be plunged into a mystery like this. To a certain extent I am doing wrong. It was wrong of me to induce Mary Cawdor to write to you and suggest a way by which you could make your escape, from Greystone. And yet there was no other way in which I could test the discovery that I fancy I have made." "You know something, too?" Gilbert cried. "The whole world seems to know something that bears upon my unhappy histoiy. Will you tell me what it is?" "All in good time. We had better keep to the proper sequence of events. Up to a short time ago, Mary Cawdor was very reserved with me. I am somewhat reserved myself, and perhaps I have no right to complain of the reticence. Then a little accident broke the ice between us,"and I began to gain Mary's confidence". She had regarded me as an enemy; I suppose being related to Dr. Beard was responsible for that. Then, gradually, the whole story came out. I recollected your trial; I became almost as convinced of your innocence as Mary was. She implored me not to come to any decision until I had read a full acccuntof your trial. It caused a sensation at the time." "I believe it did," Gilbert said, with a touch of bitterness. "It was the class of drama that the public feeds on. There was the dashing criminal, who had won the heart of a beautiful and innocent young lady, who had given her whole heart to him. Up to a certain point he played the soldier of fortune most successfully. He 'had made his money quite in the best slyle of the cheap novelist; and his bride was rich and beautiful. Then comes the under-plot of the missing bonds. Behold, the missing bonds are traced to the dashing lover, and the thing is complete by the arrest on his wedding morning, even at the porch of the church. I understand that certain papers made a fortune out of it." "I will ask you not to speak quite in that bitter tone," Flora said gently.' "Remember t'mt there are a faithful few who believe in your innocence. I did, after reading the trial. It was all in a woman's paper, that Mary Cawdor lent me. The report was decorated with a sketch of the principal character engaged. But there is one thing tha I cannot understand. Why was not Madame Regnier, the woman who asked you to take care of the bonds for her, prosecuted at the same time that you were convicted?" "Because the proofs against her were held to be too slight. Mind you, my case was terribly weak. More than one lot of bonds were stolen, and each time I was on the ship when they vanished. And the bonds were found in my possession. So were some notes from Madame Regnier, but they proved nothing against her, really. It was my lawyer who was so strangely averse from my making accusations against her. He said that I should do myself no good, and that most people would regard it as a contemptible way of trying to shift the crime. That is why she was not charged by me." "All the same, she was allowed to give evidence against you?" "Oh, yes. And she did it very well. That woman is a splendid actress. There were tears in her eyes as she looked at me; there was a beautiful suggestion of reluctance and regret, as if ?he was doing all that a woman could to make it easy as possible for me." "Yes, I rather gathered that," Flora said thoughtfully. "I read the account of the trial over again the night before you escaped from Greystone. The portraits are very good, I should say. There was one of Madame Regnier, too." "I daresay," Gilbert replied. "But there was not one of Dr Beard —the author of my disgrace. He was with me on two voyages, but though he must have known me, and must have followed me, with t.hat diabolical scheme in his mind, he never told me that he knew the Cawdor girls, and he managed cleverly enough not | to meet me at their house." j "Are you quite sure that it was j the same man?" Flora asked. "My dear Miss Cameron, 1 am absolutely certain. George Drummond settled that question for me j'laat night. Besides, I have encountered my man. We had a struggle in the woods an hour ago. He mistook 1 me for somebody else. His voice betrayed him. But perhaps I had better tell you all about that." "Indeed, you had better.," Flora ' murmured. Gilbert told his story plainly. Flora followed with the deepest attention. Her dark eyes were sparkling. There was a flush on her pallid 1 cheeks. 1 (To be Continued).