THREE MEN AND A MAID.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9035, 28 February 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID.

By ROBERT ERASER.

CHAPTER XlX.—Continued

The magistrates rose and vanished through their special doorway. To ...11 onward semblance, the Hudston ".raged/ was wrapper! ii: greater mystery than ever. Bui; already some inkling of the strange truth had Mene'ra.tcd the bucolic brain, and to Hannah's strained ears had come dreadful phrases. "Both of 'em arrested!" "James Courthope killed him!" "And Bennett knew!" "A terrible business." "They say that 'tec frae Lunnon is a fair wonder."

"I s'pose he had this up his sleeve all the time."

Hannah sat with her clenched hands pressed against her brows, and the tearless agony of her face might have moved any heart. It assuredly touched Marjory's, and the girl was going to her sister when Mr Isambard, warned by Winter, restrained her. "Hannah is not responsible for her actions," he whispered. "Do not go near her. She might injure you." At that moment, as if she was conscious of their thoughts, Hannah turned and looked at Marjorie. For once the ycunger woman felt sorely afraid. She shrank away trembling. Hannah did not speak. She maintained that steady, lambent malediction of the eyes, and none could

doubt that she meditated a swift and merciless vengeance on one whom she held responsible for *.he downfall of all her hopes and schemes. Winter, skilled observer of human passions, was rendered anxious by Hannah's tigerish glare., He was wrapped up in this story of love and hate far more intimately than was his wont. If he could help it, his successful unravelling of the threads which bound the fate of Robert Court-

hope should not give cause for the commission of another and even more unnatural crime. It was hopeless to appeal to Jonas

or Martha, so he went swiftly and placed himself at Hannah's side, thus preventing her from seeing Marjorie again, as Philip was leading the

terrified giri away. "I advise you to make the best of ■your loss, Miss Neyland," he said quietly. "1 can assure you tnat James Courthope would never ha\e married you. He is a mean hound, for all his grand airs. To gain his own ends he would not have hesitated to kill you as relentlessly as he killed his cousin."

Hannah listened, but she might have been stricken dumb by grief and rage, for no word escaped her. She raised herself wearly, passed out of the court, and hurried off in the .direction of the railway station. Winter, after making sure of her flight, followed *he others, and led Mr Isambard on one side.

"If you value the life of your .nephew's promised bride you will not allow her to return to the Greyhound Hotel," he said. The Vicar understood him without further explanation. "It is a sad thing to say, but I have that fear myself. What is to be done? Cannot Hannah bs restrained in some way?" "That is where the law is powerless, Mr Isambard. We cannot put our belief into a lunacy order. The' fact remains that Miss Marjorie is in real danger and she must be rescued." "But how?" ■"Let your nephew marry her by special licence, and, meantime, send her to the house of a relative or friend where none can find her save those whom you trusc implicitly." KHAPTER XX. SHOWING HOW ROBERT COURTHOPE DIED. So it was settled that way. A lady from Nutvvorth, a friend of the Vicar's, accompanied the weeping girl on a long journey by train to the wilds of Westmoreland, bearing a letter of introduction from Mr Isambard to a clerical friend, to whose care he confidently entrusted Marjorie. Philip at first fought against her going; he argued that a special marriage licenc'd would be available more readily at Hudston than at Grasmere. But Winter was adamant, and he even insisted that there should be no letters sent through the post-office until Philip himself hied him westward with the precious document which should give him the privilege of having Marjorio ever at his side. Probably the detective's fears were justified. .Hannah wvnt home; she managed to regain some control of her senses before she passed through the village. Thus there was nothing remarkable in her request that the local greengrocer, who was a sporting character, should lend her father a few cartridges, as he wished to shoot some troublesome rabbits which raided the cabbages, and he had run short of ammunition. The man made up a parcel cf a dozen, which Hannah pocketed. Then sh'J hurried to the hotel, evaded Aunt Margaret's questioning, and locked herself in her bedroom, which was situated in the gable end of the house, and overlooked the village street for a considerable distance. Here she was seen by several people before the light failed, sitting near the open window, and apparently waiting for some one to pass. Soon the village folk came to know of the the extraordinary proceedings at Nulworth. Men began to saunter into the Greyhound, while others, mostly women and children, congregated on the road, the hotel being a centre of interest for eager eyes and gossiping tongues, but Hannah sat unmoved, watching and waiting. Jonas and Martha returned to Hudston in a dog-cart, and Martha, poor mother of daughters so completely •unlike herself, came knocking at

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Hannah's door, imploring her to join the family at tea. 'Tin not hungry, mother," was the calm response. "At any rate, I'll bide unti 1 Marjorie comes." "But that's no use, honey," pleaded the mother. "She'll likely go to the Vicarage, an' she may not be home until late." "Never mind. Don't wait for me. I'm all right. I've had rather a bad day, but to-morrow things may be better."

Thai; was all the sight or sound Martha could obtain of her until the hotel was closed for the night. Then Hannah came downstairs.

"It looks as though Marjorie is not going to favour us with her company," she said to Jonas, searching his "face with eyes that glittered unnaturally. Jonas was vexed with Hannah for her unreasoning hatred of her sister. He was not a tactful man at any time, and he was less disposed now than ever to quake before his eldest daughter's unruly temper. "Happen not," he said, "seein' as how she's sent me a letter to say that she has gone away, but hopes to see us all again in a few days." "Gone to London?" was the laconic question. "I dunno. It fair bangs me, it does, all this flyin' here an' there, and worry about nowt." "Where is the letter?" "What bas it te do wi' you?" he

cried roughly. "You've turned the house upside down ever since she kem home. Small wonder the lass is feared to bide here." "Afraid, is she? But she won't be afraid in London. She is a lady, you know, and the air of London will agree with her. Has she gone there?" "No." "Is her hiding-place a secret, then?" "Ay, she trusts none of us, more's the pity." Jonas had blurted out the cause of his phenomenal ill humour. He was conscious that when Marjorie needed his support it was withheld, and he had backed up Hannah's effort to domineer the household. Now he regretted his mistake. Like all converts, his new-born zeal was excessive, nor could he see that Hannah was hardly in her right mind. "I am going out," she announced suddenly. "What? At this time?" cried her

father sheepishly, amazed at his own firmness.. "Yes. If Marjorie can stay away at will, surely 1 may go out for halfI an-hour? And it has only just struck 1 ten." , "It's main cauld, an' like te snow," he protested, but finding no valid reason for barring her exit he unbolted the front door. "Marcy on us, lass, d'ye not need yer hat an'jacket," he shouted, as Hannah flew past him. He heard the quick patter of her feet on the frosty rodd, It wa3 a still night, and he I made out easily that she was ham-

mering at the door of the inn where Inspector Winter had his quarters. "Now what in the name o' goodness does she want wi' him?" mutered Jonas wistfully, and indeed the detective had somewhat the same thought when told that the elder Miss Neyland wished urgently to see him. He led her into the deserted bar parlour. Knowing that there were unseen listeners, he said instantly:

"I suppose you have nothing of a really private nature to communicate, Miss Neyland? Otherwise, I will come with you to the Greyhound." "I only wish to know where Marjorie is," she answered. "I cannot tell you." "You mean you will not tell me?" "No. I really do know. Her friends thought that she had bettor be removed from all the scandal and publicity which to-day's excitement will evoke. I did not inquire where she was going. I preferred to remain in ignorance." "Why?" "Because then I could answer such questions as yours quite honestly." (To be continued.)