ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9044, 20 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

horof "Nina's Repentance," " Clyda's Love Dream," " Her Soldier

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

CHAPTER XIV. FOR MIRIAM'S SAKE! Mi* Forrest's words had started a train of unpleasant thought in Allan's miii'L It was untrue that nobody had remarked upon the chapel cell, the bottom of which had practically dropped into the mine underneath. Upton Warren had called Allan's attention to it, but Allan had strenuously pooh-poohed the idea of any accident having befallen his father there. And now a hundred tons of earth had been shot into the cavity, and the floor made up with a solid mass of concrete thirty-six inches thick. All the ingenuity of the engineer had been employed to save the crumbling old chapel. Thus was he thinking while cantering to the Priory, and his brow became moist with a cold, clammy feeling. "Good Heavens!" he muttered, "if my father's body should be there! A week since I wouldn't believe it—l couldn't. Have I, his only son, actually stjod between the police and their duty? Ami at the present moment paralysing the arm of the law? And if so, why? Ah, the reason isn't far to seek. Let me confess it." His face was anguished for a moment. "It is for the sake of the suffering woman over there—it is for Miriam's sake!" Another five minutes, and Miriam Eastwood's right hand was resting in his own. and he was looking into her troubled eyes. "How pale you are," he said gently, "and you are all a-tremble." "This constant expectation of an indefinite something is so wearing," she explained. "My heart feels as though it were half-frozen." "I wish that I could offer you words of cheer, Miriam, but I cannot. Your father has reached New York safely. A telegram came from Scotland Yard this morning." Miriam's face became absolutely colourless and she sank into the nearest seat. "Are the police following him? WHv should they?" "Oh, I've ordered my man to drop his espionage. You've heard from ycur father?" She hesitated, and he said reproachfully : "Do you regard me as an enemy in the camp, Miriam?" "Forgive me, Allan! Yes, here is a cablegram; I got it last night. It is so rambling, so evasive, so inconclusive; lean make neither top nor tail of it. Perhaps you can enlighten me?" He opened out the scrap of flimsy paper, and read as follows :-—. "Arrived at the Manhattan. Don't reply, as I'm off to San Francisco. Doubtful how long I "hall be away. Think of going on to Japan. With love, "CHARLES EASTWOOD." Allan folded up the message, and tried to think. Miriam was watching him with curious expectancy, a great sadness in the depths of her soft eye". "It reads like an agony advertisement," he said at last. "Perhaps it holds a hidden meaning? No, it must he the vaporings of a madman. I can make nothing of it. I was hoping that I might be able to communicate with him. And what of this wife of his? Where, is she? What is she? He went to New York alone, absolutely. Is this wife to meet him-by another route? What can be the meaning of it all? His instructions to his manager and clerks were in perfect order. He said most definitely that he would be back within a month; his finances are arranged for that length of time; but, Miriam, a remarkable amount of money lias been drawn from his London bank— something like ten thousand pounds. The cheques have ■been filled in by a woman —a strong, 'flowing hand, but the signature in -every case is undisputabie; indeed, Mr Eastwood appears to have anticipated this withdrawal, for he advised the manager of the bank that •cheques might be presented during /his absence abroad, and that there anastbe'no difficulty made in the tmatter of payment.." " "His wife?" Miriam said fain My.' "His wife-—yes. But ten thousand (pounds! Miriam, lam half-inclined to interview the lady. Perhaps she ican throw a little light; upon our .darkness."

The girl's eyes dilated with a feeling very much akin to terror. "If she is still 'in London, Allan. The dread of this woman ill la me with horror unspeakable. When she comes here I feel that I must go." His brow darkened; then he looked at her fondly, pityingly. "It is cruel—abominably cruel! Poor Miriam!" "Oh, don't talk in that way. I hate people to be sorry for me," she said pettishly. "A score of people called yesterday, and they were all sorry. I'm sick of the word. Sorry for the al fresco lunches, and picnics, and tennis-parties they are losing. Ah, Allan, don't you think that I am .a very ill-natured young woman?" "No," he said. "I am in no holiday mood myself. I should like to have a row with somebody; it mieht let off steam a bit; it might clear the air." He daughed, but there was no mirthsin his laugh; then his face isofteneti wonderfully. "I wish I •codld comfort you, Miriam, as I used ito twenty years since. Do you re-, ,nie:r/b.i".? usei ' *° come to m(! •with your broken dolls, and your ;iittle|brushes, and I kisoed your tears :away." She glanced at him swiftly, and -then sobbed bitterly. "You are sorry for me again, .Allan. How can you be so unkind?" "1? Unkind to you, Miriam! i would rather bite out my tongue than

say one word of doubtful meaning to you. But for the cloud that lowers upon us, how lovely—how roseate our wor'd might be!" His voice was vibrant, and his gray eyes were full of a tender fire. "Allan," she said faintly, "I hope that you are not talking love." "And why should I not, Miriam? You are almost alune in the world now." "More of your pity," she answered; "1 will have none of it. Allan, this is no time for love-making —even if you mean it. Besides, you are bound to another." "What are you saying?" he demanded, in astonishment. "Kate Linley—your father told me —and I know that she cares for you in that way. You must respect your father's last wish. And don't you see, Allan, that it can never be? I mean,, we dare not talk of love, and 1 don't want you to come here any more." Her face became tense, her eyes darkened, and she finished in a whisper filled with anguish. "It may be true that—that —there is blood upon my father's hands—Allan— Allan!" His heart seemed to grow cold, and a mist swam before his eyes. He was utterly dismayed. "You cannot mean that you never wish to see me any more, Miriam?" he breathed at last. "I want to help you, and you can help me in so many things. Does it follow that your father is a depraved criminal because he has married again? Does it follow that you— his only child should believe him guilty of the foulest of crimes? I do not believe it for one moment, and I have sternly set my face against such mischievous and incredible nonsense." He was speaking against his convictions, yet there was in his tones a ring of genuine indignaticn, and fierce earnestness flashed from his eyes. It was the lawyer, not the man; it was the determined advocate upon whom devolved the task of delivering some trembling wretch from a lifelong imprisonment—if not from death. "Upon the mere word of some irresponsible servant it is assumed that our fathers had a violent quarrel. From what you have told me I don't doubt that there was a slight difference of opinion, but to say that this should culminate in murder is monstrously wicked. The two men were devoted to each other, and had been for a long lifetime. The very day of my father's disappearance Mr Eastwood saved his life. Had there been any motive for wishing my father out of the way, does it stond to reason that Mr Eastwood would imperil his own life to save him from almost certain death? Had they both been in love with the same woman, then there would have been grounds for motive. To say hat these two men—who had loved each other from boyhood, with a love deeper and more enduring than that of brothers —for brothers are mere accidents of birth —to even think that they would wilfully hurt one another—by word or deed, evinces a viciousness of mind which is, unfortunately, only too common among a certain class of the poor who have an inherent hatred of the rich. They form themselves into judge, jury, and executioner." he concluded with scorn. "It is a relic of barbarous mob rule. A wrong has been done, and some one must suffer. Let that some one be dragged from a high place. Let the rich and the powerful know how much they are hated by the poor and the oppressed!" He ejaculated "Bah!" snapped his fingers, and paced the floor. Miriam could not doubt his intense earnestness, and she bowed her head for very shame. • "Oh, Allan; I must be a wicked, unnatural daughter. I almost believed " (To be continued.)