ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9045, 11 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

Author of " Nina's Repentance," " Clyda's Love Dream," " Her Soldier

Lover," " For Love of Marjorie," " The Mystery of Woodcroft," etc,

CHAPTER Vl. Continued. There was news next morning from Scotland Yard, and Berrington made a wry fiico. H-jnri Vipont w:;s dead. The v.'lu.lc nfi'air wiu- mysterious and distrefsing. wound was healing: all right and there was no doubt about the man's speedy recovery. But by some means the bandage had been displaced, and he had quietly bled to death. Both the doctor and the nurse swore that the bandage had been turn away. "By that woman, or one of her agents," decided Berrington. For several hours that day he was deep in the business of the ironworks. Every department was in the control of an expert, and these experts were subordinate to one general manager. It was a colossal business, run on the most up-to-date lines, and Jack Berrington was the master mind. Like most men of great intellect, he loved the good things of life, and enjnyed them to the full. He was naturally light-hearted and merry and very often absolutely frivolous. The same evening, very soon after dinner; a messenger from the Priory brought Berrington a letter. He opened it, expecting he knew not what, and while he read it, his face expanded into a smile. "All right," he said to the messenger, who was waiting at the hall door. "I'll go back with you in the dog-cart. Wait a few minutes." He went to the sitting-room where he had left Kate Linley, and with a laugh tossed the letter to her. "Read that Kitty. Charlie Eastwood has soon repented." This is what Eastwood had written: "Dear Jack: lam heartily ashamed of my conduct last night, and hope you will forget it. I want to have a talk with you soon, and if you won't ■come to me I must go to you. Send a favourable reply by my secretary. "Yours as ever, "CHARLES EASTWOOD." Kate Linley knitted her brows. "I think Mr Eastwood should have come to you, uncle. This is a mean sort of apology. It doesn't read right, somehow." "Poor old Charlie!" remarked Berrington, with a laugh of commiseration. "He's sound enough at bottom. I'm going back with his secretary, Kitty. I won't be late. No walking to Castle Stanford this time!" "I don't feel comfortable about it," said Kate, a troubled look in her eyes. "Why?" "Oh, I don't know. Because I don't!" Berrington laughed in his merry, light-hearted way. • ; "Yes, I'll go now. 1 know how Charlie feels about it. I don't suppDse that he has had a moment's peace since he snapped me up last evening." Ten minutes later he was spinning away to the Priory in the smart dogcart. He occupipd the seat next to the coachman. The secretary snt behind. As they dashed through Castle Stanford village, Tom Parker touched his straw hat to Mr Berrington. He was standing at the door of his inn, gossiping with the butcher. "We shall do the journey in less than twenty minutes,"Mr Berrington presently remarked to the driver. "Yes, sir. The gov'nor told me to lose no time. Why, thex-e he is, I standing at the lodge gates." The powerful and spirited horse was on his mettle. He smarted under the indignity of a sharp cut from the whip, and the resentment he felt wa3 shown in every line of his supple form, in the rolling eyes, and the foaming jaws an they strained at the curb. "Hold tight, Mr Berrington!" the coachman panted. "I'm afraid there's going to be a smash!" Snap went the rains, and the man reeled backward despairingly. Then a most remarkable thing happened. With his life practically in his hands, Charlie Eastwood leaped at the head of the maddened 'beast, and brought it to a standstill after a furious fight, ■ covering fifty yards. "By Jove, Charlie, you've saved our lives!" said Berrington, dropping to the ground in a cloud of dust. "Th° bravest and the cleverest thing I ever "Given the chance, I'd do ten times asjjmuch for you old chum. Take my arm, and let's get indoors. I'm shaking like a leaf." CHAPTER VII. THE LAST APPEAL. Charlie Eastwood was badly shaken; his brain was awhirl, his limbs tottered under him, and there was a feeling of nausea at his stomach. /He leaned heavily upon Berrington, and Berrington plied him with anxious questions. "Are you sure that the brute didn't strike.you with his fore feet? Will you rest here while I get some brandy from I the house?" ".No, <old chap; I'm all right. I've ■ only got the breath pumped out of :my body. And I've had a long and iharrassing day. 1 thought that you would be killed through the stupidity >o'f my servant, and the horror of it (maddened me." They went into the library through ran open French window, and East<woocl slid into a great easy chair. "A glass of liqeur brandy, Jack," !he said. "You know where to find it. Don't ring for a servant, and • don't switch on the light. I want to .be quiet for ten minutes, and there is •something soothing in the soft gloom -of the gathering twilight." The verandah was embowered in •rosea and clematis, and the breeze iilled the room with a fragrance that

Was delightful. "That is better, Jack. Fill the glass again. We shall have an orange moon to-night, the air is so warm and hazy. I shall be all right again in a few minutes, and I'm glad that Miriam didn't see me." There was a short silenca, which Berrington broke. "Have you seen the rector?" He regretted the words as soon as spoken, but he had to say something. "No--he won't be wanted now." There was a defiant ring in Eastwood's voice. "I've been to London to-day, Jack." "Yes," was the rejoinder, halfhesitating, and interrogative. "Stella wired to me, and I went. Wo have been married by special license to-day. There was a bit of a rush, but I managed it. I couldn't very well do anything else, and I don't care two straws for the opinion of the people down here. I believe that lam sufficiently responsible to conduct my own affairs. I am certainly old enough, and," he added flippantly, "wealthy enough. The latter fact will condone anything." "Have yoti brought your —ah — wife to the Priory?" Berrington asked, with the faintest tremor in his tone. "No; I left her at the Cecil until to-morrow, I wanted to break the news to Miriam, and prepare the way. I must say that my daughter took it very well. We shall spend a week or so here, to give me time to look into some business details, and then go to the south coast. Stella has never seen Brighton. While we are away Miriam will get used to the idea of the thing. How quiet you are, Jack. Say something!" "Have you heard that Vipont is dead?" "Stella tol'i me." Eastwood shrugged his shoulders. "The fellow committed suicide. He was in love with Stella, after the fashion of his race. The villa of your volatile Frenchman is in reality a tragedy. I have no pity for him, because he threatened her. This brings me to the point, Jack." There was now a note of pleading in his voice; it softened and became vibrant. "Nothing now can come between Stella and me, and our friends and enemies must make the best of it. I want you to grip my hand, old chap, and destroy the paper we quarrelled about. If you say you will, it's as good as clone. I don't want to see it; I don't, care a rap what it contains, because it was written by a disappointed, unscrupulous, lying traitor; but Ido care about your friendship, both for myself and my wife." He was pacing the floor now. his movements quick, nervous, electric. His burning eyes were turned upon the face of his friend, but in the half-light he had but an imperfect view of that face. He was both angry and dismayed when Berrington made no sign. ,' "This is my last appeal, Jack," he went on. "And to no other living man would I speak in this way. Now, then —yes, or no!" Berrington stirred uneasily, and passed one hand over his moi&t brow. "You are very near the sharp edge of eternity, Chailie," he said huskily. "You shall have Vipont's confession —for such it really is—and after reading it, you can do as you will with it." "I don't want to read it—l won't read it, because 1 know that it lies about Stella. Here, Jack —burn it in yonder grate. Let me see it consumed, and then it must be as though | it had never existed." | "Impossible!" (To be Continued).