THREE MEN AND A MAID.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9044, 1 February 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID.

[All Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER X. —Continued. There was; no moon as yet, but there was some light. The stars which thronged the vault of heaven seemed to grow ever brighter as the wind moaned more dismally. 7 n heaven was peace, but earth was rough to her. In this way over an hour went by, and it was well past nine o'clock when at last a little troop of feet came sauntering along the road, and there was Felix towering among a cohort of boys. She lose and announced to Felix that he had to come with her. He drew back, but when she insisted, and the boys told him that he must obey, he consented. Marjorie walked with them half a mile toward Hudston; then, at the iron gate across the by-path which led down to Lancault, she and Feli:: went on alone. She gave him some coppers, spoke coaxingly to him, and explained what was the business on hand. By this time they had come near the church, and there, ten yards before them, was the little door which they were about to enter. In that dead place all was as still as the tombs it held, pave the murmuring wind, the rush of a rabbit, and in the old oak in the field above a white owl hooting. But when she approached the door on the south side of the church, Marjorie all at once stopped short, and clutched Felix's sleeve. She became deathly white, nor could she have told whether she had seen something within the church, or whether she had heard something there. She only understood that some presence was there, and, in her sense of standing face to face with the ineffable, the company of the idiot failed her, it lacked humanity and support, and she seemed to find herself 11 me with what was in there in the dark. She held Felix by the sleeve. Both stood still, hushed, suspended, breathless, awaiting what the next instant should bring forth. Then Marjorie gave a sob of utter relief, for the spirits of the dead do not strike matches, and a match was struck within the church, which revealed to her a form —a man's form —bent down under the light, searching the floor with care, like a miser searching in the dust for wealth. And she saw, or thought she saw, a face which was dear to her. The next instant the night heard far her cry of ecstasy: "Philip!" She had hardly shrieked that name, when, like a thief detected at midnight, the man had leapt and was gone—round the corner of the church —up northward over the boundary wall into the field of the oak—flying as from death, and she after him, foxdear life. "Philip!" It was a call with pity and lr>ve in it to touch a stone, but it seemed not to touch him, who should have loved her, and, in the turmoil of her thought, it struck her as hard and illordained that he could run fast and she not. With little womanly wailings of "Oh!" and "Help" and "Stop, dear Philip!" all breathless she chased him up the hill, stumbling over her gown, her heart calling out to Heaven for aid. Every few steps summoning all her energies, putting her very soui into it, she sent out upon the breeze the plaints of her pealing: "Philip!" I She heard when the man passed j through the iron gate, how mercilessly he slammed it upon her, for its clang sounded far. But when she, too, passed through, and was out on the road, his flying form was still in sight, and she called after him, but he paid no heed to her, avoiding her like his banc. And she thought then f.hat if she could but cry to him: "I have your .ling—come back!" that would capture him, for she knew that he had only returned to the church in order to seek his ring. But the ring was gone from her, too, and though the lie was on her lips, she would not shriek. Another minute and a bend of the road hid him from her, whereupon she stood still, swaying this way and that. The firm earth seerfled all in waltz about her head, sweeping round and round slowly, but steadily, and now she was about to drop, when a ir.an seemed to arise and run up out of nowhere to her, and she lay in his arms. She knew, as her senses failed, that the man was Inspector Winter, that he had come from the very direction in which Philip had run away, and her last sensation before she fainted was one of amazemen! that he had failed to recognize Philip—he, the skilled detective, who had said that he "knew all" about Philip's appearance! CHAPTER XL .SOME PICTURE-TAKING. Marjorio's collapse arose from physical exhaustion. She had endured m.K-h during these recant days, and had nsglected to maintain her bodily strength, so the sharp run and the frenzy of her emotions at the sight ■of her lover toppled over the balance which Nature maintains between the poisible and the impossible. But a girl of her perfect physique could not long remain insensible. ■Soon the strong life within fluttered ■back to eyes and lips, and her first startled glance fell on the anxious face of Inspector Winter. Fortunately, in the half dawn of her returning reasun, she heard him questioning .Felix, who, whimpering his alarm, ■had ambled after her. :, "Who was it? What had you seen?" demanded the detective. "I think, sir, it mun ha' bin a jghaist," cried the half-witted one.

By ROBERT ERASE 11.

[Published By Special Arrangement.]

"Ghosts do not slam gates, nor do their feet crunch gravel. Miss Neyland was shouting to some one named 'Philip' to 'come back.' Did you see Mr Warren?" "It mun ha' bin a ghaist. There's gbaists in Lancault," blubbered Felix. Winter muttered somethi g under his breath, but he felt Marjorie trying to raise herself in his arms, and he relaxed his tight grip. "Are you better, Miss Neyland?" he said. "Now you see what comes of not taking my advice. You would have avoided all this excitement had you gone to London. But tell me, if you are able, who it was you were pursuing." "I thought," she faltered, trying desperately to recover her shaken wits, "I thought I saw Mr Warren." "But you could not be mistaken. Of all men, you would know him. And did he not answer?" Each second her brain was clearing. She understood that it would be useless to try and mislead the detective. Whatever the outcome, if Philip were to be lodged in a felon's cell that night, she could not further his cause by withholding her confidence just then. And Winter should have been able to see Philip even more distinctly. "I really cannot tell you - anything more positive," she answered. "I was only endeavouring to fulfil my promise to you. Felix has been away from Hudston all day. I went to meet him, induced him to come with me to the churchyard down there, and, just as we were entering the ruins, I fancied I heard some one moving inside. I was frightened, bjt quite in possession of my senses. I saw, or thought I saw, a match being struck, and then I was sure that Mr Warren stood before me. I spoke to him; there was no answer. Rather did he seem to fly at the mere sound of my voice. I followed, crying I scarce know what. Then, when 1 ! was utterly spent, you appeared sud- | denly. I have concealed nothing. I I have told you all that happened. If it is a dream, 1 shall never wake agate." "Queer thing!" muttered Mr Winter, "Queerest case I have ever met. So you found and lost the ring again, Miss Neyland? Are you able to walk towards the village? On our way you can tell me all about it." With a positive start Marjorie realized that this strange man did not wish to hear any further details of the present adventure. He dismissed it utterly, swept it aside as though it were some crazy invention of the idiot. Yet he must have heard and seen almost as much as she heard and saw. What was his motive? Did he regard as naught the actual presence of Philip Warrtn in a place which was ringing with the denunciation of Squire Courthope's murderer? And how was it that he should surden'y appear on that deserted road at Hudston, when he was supposed to b 2 in Nutworth, and to have the intention of remaining there a week? Somehow, his attitude brought a gladness to her heart. And while she was telling him of the ring's disappearance, she awoke to the fact that her sister was her sworn foe, against whom she must contend with all skill and artifice if she were to take the noose off her lover's neck. Winter said little as they approached Hudston. Marjorie kept hack none of her doubts and suspicions. She followed each twist and turn of conjecture, and did not cloak her belief that Hannah was shielding the slayer of Kobert Courthope. Winter listened, hummed, said "Ah!" and "Indeed!" and generally indulged in non-committal phrases. Even his seeming candour was sphinx-like. (To be continued.)