"THE WEB."

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8863, 24 October 1907, Page 2

"THE WEB."

CHAPTER XIII. "I have been staying at 'The Gappe,' " she said slowly, as though endeavouring to lead up to something else. "I was in the railroad accident, and was taken there with some of the injured." A swift look of mutual alarm passed between the two men, the older one slipped quietly by her and left the room. She allowed him to pass, and slowly closed the door again. "Mr Conrad," she said awkwardly, when she found herself alone with the younger man, "I have to thank you for all b s e trouble you have taken on my behalf." "Oh, do not thank me, the thanks are due from me. The privilege of serving you is my reward. Command me. I am your slave." "Then let there be an end of this. It will bring no good to any of us-; it hasbrovght nothing but ill already. At 'The Gappe' I have seen Would to God I had never gone there '' She covered her face with her hands, and moaned aloud, "Oh, to whom can I speak? To whom dare I speak?" The young man stood quietly by as, sobbing hysterically and forgetting his presence, she began to talk to herself. A chance word r two in more or less incoherent jumble caught his ear. A crafty look came into his face; he professed not to notice her. The older man opened the door softly, but he waived him impatiently away, and left the room himself for a few moments. 4 When he came back she had calmed herself, and seemed relieved to think she had been alcne. "Where is my uncle?" she asked. "He' will be here presently," re pliet l the Italian, "but meantime he has asked me to speak with you ,on a subject of which we fain would leave you in blissful ignorance, but the joy of comforting you may also 1 sincerely pray be mine." The girl involuntarily shrank from him as he drew near her, but she listened with tense and terrible interest as he whispered a few words in her e^r. "No, no, it is not true; I cannot believe it, I will not," she gasped. But with open lips and clenched hands she still hearkened as he told his story. Every word the man spoke was like the cut of a whip. A look of horror crept into her eyes as his awed whisper changed to the soft musical tones of soothing love. With all the arts and glowing poetry of the land of his extraction he prayed and pleaded. "Let us leave together the cruel cold land of the calculating AngloSaxon," he said, raising his voice and speaking with passionate vehemence. "In southern climes, under the sky that always smiles, we will live our lives, rich in 'eacl other's love." She turned from him at last ii utter loathing, and as she opened th< door a?ain, the elder man appeared "What have you said to her, Conrad?" asked the oid' man, looking keenly at his accomplice. The Italian beckoned him to tlx other side of the ro/>m as the gir moved into the passage and walkec swiftly to the outer door. ' Just as she returned, the younger man whis pered excitedly to his companion—"lt was an inspirat'on, and it wil serve.the immediate purpose." "Will you open this door?" askec the girl peremptorily. "I have hcarc enough, and this must be the end." "No, my dear girl, not the end but the beginning," said her uncle, "Be dutiful, and do as 1 bid ycu." "Let me add my humble plea,' said Ricar'io. "My guiding star, mj good angel for whose sweet sake J would risk life itself." "You did not risk much when, like a coward who dare not face his man, you tried to kill John Strangways on the Yorkshire moor. 01 yes, I saw and heard you, and I have come to tell you this: if yon injure one hair of that man's Jhead, I wil tell all —all, do you hear?" As she shouted this warning ai the startled men, her uncle in his consternation dropped the key he hat been holding in his right hand. Wit! the swiftness of a young eagle the girl pounced upon it and ran to th< ' door. Ricardo followed, and as sh( pushed the key into the lock with hei right hand, she whipped out a beautifully cliased revolver. "I know how to use it," she cried as the man hesitated. "Theodore Beeton gave it to me for my marksmanship." He had heard of Theodore Beeton'; private shooting club, and he knew the girl possessed the nerve and skil to use this tiny but terribly effective weapon, and from Jhe end of the passage he renewed his pleading, imploring her to trust to his protection. She turned the key in the lock anc passing her disengaged hand carefully up the bolts withdrew then: one by one. The other man by this time swept majestically into the hall. "You cainot shoot your own kinsman like a he said, walking fearlessly towards her. She hesitated a moment, and that moment was sufficient. As her hand dropped he stepped forward and clutched her wrist with a grip like a vice. The revolver f?ll from her fingers and he led her back to the room from which they had come. Shaking herself fr.es with a supreme effort, she dashed to the window, but before she could open it the younger man had thrown his arms arour.d her. He carried her gently back to the chair in the middle of the room, where she sat glaring fiercely at her captors like a beautiful tigress. CHAPTER XIV. The young man who had opened thi gate for Miss Rentoul passed on

'yioiifl*" _ - PAUL URQUHART.

[Published a Special Arrangement.] [All Eights Reserved.]

a few paces like a casual stroller, but wheeling himself round as she walked up the garden path, he made an errand back and stood irresolutely on the pavement, as though deliberating which way to turn. A milkman passing at the moment ran against him, and in a-broad west country accent the loiterer asked several questions about the various streets, and where they led to. "If you'll tell me where you want to get, mate, perhaps I can put you right," said the milkman with an amused smile. The countryman scratched his head, and fumbled in his pocket. "I had a letter, but I've lost it," he said. "My sister is cook in one of these houses somewhere about Hampstead Road." "Why, this is Hampstead Koad, old cock," chirped the milkman merrily. "Don't you know the number or the name?" Still the countryman hesitated. He couldn't remember the number and he didn't know the name. It was a funny foreign name, but his sister sent them a photograph of the house ano he thought this was something like it, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the house in which Miss Rentoul was busily engaged with the unwelcome attentions of her uncle and his colleague. "Well, that ain't it anyway, boss. That house has been empty these six months, and the old party only moved in a day or two agu. The folks there before couldn't let it 'cause they wanted to let the furniture with it. They took a place in the country, sticks and all, and hadn't got no use for the chairs and sofas that have been going mouldy there. I used to serve 'em with milk and I tried tl 13 lot on, but they : seems to me to get their meals out, and only come here io sleep. There ain't a woman in the house so far as I know." "Quesr goings on, that." The townsman laughed at the countryman's simplicity. "Why, bless you," he said, "if we had the time to waste, we could find dozens of them sort of people to talk about here. What's the use if they don't want to buy milk. So long, old chap; hope you'll find your sister, and when you do, tell her Dodson's dairy is the best place for milk." He was about to move off, but the countryman detained him. "I zee'd a young lady go in just now." "Shouldn't be surprised a bit, mate. You'll get used to that if you stop in London a bit." The young man from the west gave it up, and sauntered across the road. After waiting there a while he slowly made his way through various winding roads to the rear of the long row of houses. Clambering" over a high brick wall, he dropped himself among a mass of weeds and refuse and neglected shrubs, where he Waited as he took a rapid survey of every window in the house. Creeping slowly towards the kitchen door, he knocked very gently, and getting no answer, knocked still louder. An upper window at the side, which had been slightly open, was shut with a bang, and he drew himself into the porchway round the kitchen door. The murmur of voices in heated altercation reached him, and although the bright summer evening gave him no shelter of darkness, he gradually drew himself to the top of the porch, and, with the swift silence of a huge snake, crawled along the hangiig 1 roof over the domestic offices. Ivy and creeping plants unpruned and leafy entwined each other at this part of the neglected dwelling. An old piece, of carpet thrown out of an upper window by some former tenant was rotting on the corner of the scullery roof; the man cautiously wriggled towax-ds it, and negligently hanging it on a rusty nail which at some former period had been driven into the wall in an attempt to guide the growth of a creeper, he allowed it to fall over him. Motionless, he stood there immediately under the window from which the voices were | proceeding. The} rose and fell in argument and anger, and only a conI fused mass of sounds rer.ched him through the closed window. Heated with excitement somebody threw up the sash of the wndow. "I must have air. You stupidity chokes me," he heard a rich voice saying. "Then pull down the blind, 1 want no prying eyes of curious neighbours here." "Pshaw! You shut yourself in this room, behind beaded glass in a ridiculous chamber built for the seclusion of a bathroom, bceause you imagine there are fools enough to gaze upon your flummery through field glasses from far-off windows." (To be Continued.)