"THE WEB."

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8874, 7 November 1907, Page 2

"THE WEB."

[All Reserved.]

CHAPTER XXl.—Continued. • The journey back to town was not quite so lively as the journey down. Miss Rentoul indeed insisted on travelling by herself. Medhurst and Strangways'had very little to say to each other. "Any idea what is their next move?" he asked. "Well, I don't know what their power on the water may be; they seem to have a diabolical reserve force ready for everything. I wish 1 hai got down here sooner and had a look at those sailors, but I wasted time going off to look for you in London, and just barely had time to catch you up at the station. You mav depend they've got eyes enough looking out for them to know you were on board, and they'd be up to some devilish trick or other if they could only work it soon enough." "But, I say, isn't it a bit low down to send the others off and escape the danger myself." "Oh, it's you they are after, and not Mr Theodore Beeton or the Duchess of Kraresborough." "But, Violet; if ,any harm should i come to hfr." "With you on board there would be more danger to them all than with you on land," answered Medhurst quietly. "I'm glad it's Violet, after all." he added to himself. "I was afraid this little thing next door had got hold of him still." "The little thing next door," as Medhurst irreverently described Miss Rentoul, was enjoying the delicious comfort of "a real good cry" all to herself at this moment. She had managed to secure an empty carriage, and all the way up she was brooding over her troubles, for though she was a spirited girl before others, she was just a woman after all. Wiping away her tears, and gradually settling herself in a deep thought, she watched the fields and trees fly by, and then, walking excite'ly up and down the compartment she ultimately faced her reflection in the little mirror which a luxurious railway company had put up to decorate a new and up-to-date carriage. "I cannot bear it any longer," she said, clenching her hands. "I must do something; I must, I must." With that she sank back into the seat with a look of determination in her bright eyes, and never moved till the train steamed into London. "Well, good-bye, Miss Rentoul, for the present. May I call and see you at Miss Elders' flat?" said Jack, holding out his hand. "I should be very glad if you will. 1 have something to say to you," she said, dropping her eyes and passirg rapidly through the booking office. "Go'at once," said Medhurst, whohad overheard this scrap of conversation. "Catch her while she is in the mood. It's the best chance we've had yet." Rushing after the lady, Jack left Medhurst to see after his baggage, and insisted on taking a hansom for both of them straight to Whitworth Mansions. It was a long drive by cab, but it was the most direct way . of travelling. They talked generalities all the way, and she appeared to be hesitating and doubting, as though desirous of saying something, yet dreading to do so. Not till they were in Miss Elders' sitting-room, where Alice Beaumont had welcomed them with open-eyed wonder and again retired to her studio, did she muster up courage to speak. "I suppose," she said, "you won—jder why I have asked you to come here, and why I did not go on board the yacht." "Well, you have already given me Eome indication on the latter point," he said, "although I cannot understand what on earth you mean by playing gooseberry. Gooseberry to whom?" • "Why, to Lady Violet, of course," she answered, her face reddening, and her eyes flashing. Strangways laughed softly. "Weil, if I was willing to stop ashore, surely you ought to feel comforted on that point," he said. "Not at all. Your indifference only makes the way easier for him." "My indifference, indeed. Why, could any mortal man do more than I have done—under the circumstances?" There was a sadness in these last words that reminded the girl of the conversation in the picture gallery. "You have been holding off beriuse, because —-" "Because I am a man whom some of the world regards as a murderer," he said bitterly, "and when the world knows I anvnot, then " "I understand," she said quietly, "and I am a selfish unfeeling wretch to be worrying you more about my own affair than aboir. your troubles." "I don't go so far as that," replied Jack gallantly, "but if it will help you I can tell you this—"'heodore Beeton loves you with his whole life and soul. I had enough of him.to know that in a long railway journey to London iln day you ran away from 'The Gappe. " "Are you tuio of that?" "Sure! I wished before the journey was half over, if you will forgive me for saying so, I wasn't sure. Why, trie man seems to.have no other thought in life „ but you, and what's more, he seems to think that nobody else has any other business in life but to hear hiai say so." This time the flush on the girl's face was not one of anger. She walked to the window, and looked out longingly towards the spot from ( which he had thrown her the kiss the day before. "It's no use looking after him from theje," said Jack. "You can- ' not see the yacht from this window, t more's the pity. I'd like to have my , .fye on her myself at this moment," "But, tell me why you did not g 0

PAUL TJRQUHART.

[Published a Bys Special Arrangement.]

yourself?" she asked. Jade remembered all Medhurst's warning, but an instinctive candour came o\er him. He looked at this beautiful girl, so radiant in the knowledge that a good man loved her, and opening his heart.he told her all, from th« night of his arrest to the accident and the shot fired on the •previous day. He did not tell her of the peculiar conditions under which he inherited his father's money, but all of a sudden it came into his head, and he asked abruptly—"Can you tell me anything about Miss Beaumont?" "Miss Beaumont. Why?'" "Only because hername is Alice." "And what do you know about Alice?" she asked, clutching his arm. "Have you heard anything of Alice? Who told you; what reason have you for asking?" "Oh, nothing in particular, except that there is a certain reason why I should find a person named Alice, but which of all the tens of.thousands of Alices in the world it is Heaven only knows, and I suppose I shall only get to it by asking questions about every Alice I happen to meet." "Then you had better begin by asking me." "You?" "Yes, my name is Alice." "But surely I heard Beeton call you Rennie. I that's a nickname. 1 thought it was a queer sort of Christian name for a girl." "I was a nimble girl at school, and they nicknamed me Reindeer, which soon got contracted into * Rennie,' but my proper name is Alice Pollard, <©r no, I may as well tell you at once, my proper name is Alice Tidey," "Then Mr Peter Tidey is your father's brother?" "No," she said slowly and painfully in a chocking voice, "he is my mother's brother." ;<But " The girl walked to the window and waped her eyes. Jack moved uncomfortably in his seat, and tried hard to thirik what a sensible man and a gentleman ought to say in such a painfully embarrassing situation. He concluded by saying nothing. For several minutes in dead silence, broken only by a convulsive < gasp now and then from the girl at the window as ehe bravely struggled to keep down her sobs, he sat and watched this splendid specimen of budding womanhood smartening under her helpless sense of unmerited shame. Several times he framed his.lips to say something soothing, and each effort appeared less tactful than the last before he could muster courage to say it. Suddenly she swung round and faced him fearlessly. "Do yoj want to know the name of the man?" she said. "You can fir.d it written on every pajre of the records of your honourable house. It stands in this country of yours for opulence, for power and for honour. If you want to find the man himself, you must seek him in the grave. His image hangs on canvas in an honoured place on the walls of your house." "My father? Impossible!" ! "Your father, yes, and my father. The man who won the girlish heart of my mother. The man who went through a mock marriage with a trusting girl. I have told you this because I must tell somebody. I can keep it to myself no longer. It. hurts me here," she went on, beating hor I bosom and speaking with choking | passion.; "but why should I taunt you with the baseness of your father, "J, who reproach others for taunting me with folly .of my mother?' I have not. 'brought you here for that alone. I,do not visit the sins of the ifaiheirs iiipon *he children." "But have you known this all along.?" asked Strangways lamely. "No., not all; I only discovered the whole truth by accident. I came to London with a very different purpose, but I will tell you the story from the beginning. The earliest memory I have is of a Jaumble home and a sweet sad mother, who toiled for me from morn till night. Denying herself, as I afterwards learned, the simple necessities of life, she educated me for the society of those who were financially our betters. I sometimes heard her speak of her brother Peter, but there seemed to be some difference between them, and I never saw bim in those days. A friend of Mr Beeton's was her friend, and at the latter end of her life she enjoyed more comfort, but long years of struggling, poverty and misery had done their work. She died when 1 was just old enough' to understand her story. She told me of one John Strangways whom she: supposed ehe had married, and of his quarrels with her brother, Peter, whose religious fanaticism she believed to be sincere. In those days there may or there may not have been something in his wild beliefs. He told people he had seen a flaming dcroll, and that he was the New Moses who was to had the faithful through the wilderness of sin to the promised land. (To be Continued.)