ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9048, 25 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

bor of " Nina's Repentance," " Clyda's Love Dream," " Her Soldier Lover," " For Love of Marjorie," " The Mystery of Woodcroft," etc.

CHAT'IEPw XVII.-Continued. "It's risky!" reflected Rosenberg, "but my life is made up of risks. This Scotchman may be too cautious for my health. .... But he will consider his master first. The journey to *Jie Temple was all too short for Rosenberg. The story he had to tell had revolved in his mind a hundred hines; and he had held an imaginai's interview with the countess, • over and over again, arranging the denouement to suit himself, of course. But now that he was standing in front of the Hotel Cecil, his nerves were giving way. He walked into the hail or the ground floor, and an attendant took his name to the woman from Biarritz. Within three minutes Rosenberg was in my lady's boudoir, and a smart French maid was bidding hun be seated. Then trie door closed upon him, and B very bad quarter of an hour began. He walked to the window and looked out, but saw nothing; he paced the floor stared at his unkempt hair and beard in a mirror, and even fidgeted with the ornaments on the mantel. Their arrangement'wa3 not artistic—too straight and mechanical. At. last there was n rustling of drapery,and the countess flashed into the room—at least liar entrance was like a flash to Rosenberg. Every thing about her seemed 10 suggest brilliance, the luminous eyes, the gleaming white teeth the ruby lips, the glossy black hair, the. diamonds on her fingers and at her throat her dress—everything. She smiled upon him bewitchingly. "Mr Rosenberg?" He bowed, and she held out a dainty, white hand. "I am charmed to meet you, Mr Rosenberg." "The situation is extremely charming, but I would rather not touch your hand, countess." "Oh !" She drew back, a subtle gleam leaping into her eyes. "Pray don't misunderstand me,"] He continued hastily. "I had very grave scruples about coming info your j apartments. My patient died last | night of fever in its most virulent form. My clothing has been thoroughly deodorised, but there are disk's "■ Stella appeared to be stunned for the time; she stared at him. beyond him, seeing nothing; then she sigh; ed deeply, gaspingly. "I had to call in a medical maw, and fit up the harness-room as a becroom. The authorities have not yet condemned it as a dwelling-place, but they are sure to do so after this, as vne sanitary inspector was 'there twice ir. ons day. I have explainea that the dead man is my brother, and as such he will be buried to-morrow. Then 1 must get out of the country, as l am positive that a breakdown is imminent. lam subject to neurasthenia, and a long sea voyage and freedom from worry " He was shaking in every limb. "No questions will be'asked—not a breath of suspicion has been raised. Mr Eastwood is in New York—and from the hour my brother is put under the turf, jLshalldrop out of the world absolutely. I have the card of the doctor who attended him, and if you would like to 'see the dead man it must be to-day." ' "I see no reason to doubt what are saying," Stella said at; last. Her voice was strained and harsh, and her bosom rose and fell tumultuouely. , . "Reason to doubt!!' v he repeated angrily. "If you will come with me now you shall see Charles Eastwood —dead, you shall see the doctor " "I.cannot —I dare not. . . . You will come again when it is all over?" "I will do anything; lam one of the most amenable creatures living, but I,never: Bargained for this. Morally and legally, we have killed Charles Eastwood. Let me have some money—enough to take me abroad, and I will never trouble either you or Markham again. If I stay here, I shall break down utterly, and unconsciously blab the whole story." Stella was pacing the carpet now, a hand pressed to her head, like one in direful agony. "It was awful to have to live in the .same room with him," shuddered Rosenberg. "The visions, the fantasies, the hallucinations! He believing that you were there, too, and he kept 'Calling 'Stella! Stella!' And when I looked into his lightless eyes, I Jinew that we were murderers- that we must answer for his deathsome time.; I hear him still; he points at me and says: 'lt was you —it was you!' I want to get away from him, and his everlasting taunting. His last cry—gasping—choking, was for 'Stella—Stella!' He -thought that you were a white-robed angel, waiting for him on the other side." The woman was regarding him doubtfully—fearfully. "Are you mad, Mr Rosenberg?" she said. "No, but I am overwrought; I have told you the bare outline of what I have had to endure. To-mor-row the grave must close over everything." He wiped his clammy face. "And he believed in me to the last?" she whispered. "He loved—he worshipped you." Forgetful of everything, .sprang toward Rosenberg. She seized him by the arm with fingers like steel coils, and shook him savagely. "Why do you tell me this? Do you want me to go mad, too? When it is all over—come to me again, and you shall have the money. Now, go —you awful-looking man. I hate you for what you have said!" As Rosenberg walked' away, he .heard her wild laughter. "I don't think I will venture again," he thought, "not for all the inoney i« the world. . . . . Now

for,Mr Wilson, and the final touches to this act of the drama!" CHAPTER XVIII. STELLA DECIDES. When Rosenberg was gone, Stella dropped upon the settee and buried her face in the cushions. Her shoulders moved convulsively, but there was no sound. Five—ten —fifteen minutes, and she raised her head, sweeping one shuddering glance round the room. Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes were blind with agony. "This reckoning with fate is bitter enough," she thought. "This discovery that I have a woman's heart is the revealing, hour of my careless, sinfu| life. Oh, Charlie, if I could bring you back: again!"

She was shocked —dazed—like one who had been buried from a great height, but her mind was gradually clearing, and her past life unrolled before her mental vision, with the vivid realism of a panorama.

"Unhappy child of an unhappy mother," she said, apostrophizing herself. "The mother, you can but dimly remember—the mother who died of neglect at the hands of your father. He called himself an actor, but preferred to be a loafer and a thief. For you he cared nothing until your elfish face gave promise ot vulgar beauty—until your untutored voice broke into song. And then you became of value to him. His blows and curses ceased, and you were petted, you were decently clothed, and he taught you to sing."

The reminiscent light in her glowing eyes flashed rage and scorn. "To sing! For what? The amusement, the notice of the gay and the rich to whom he pandered for a handful of silver. In the summer months he took you to Henley—to race-meetings, to seaside towns, where you sang in the open air, while he fiddled and begged, and occasionally blackmailed those whose petty secrets his cunning had evolved. And when you sickened of it all he threatened, first with maudlin tears, and then with murder in heart and eyes. And such was your fatner, Stella wife-killer, child-beater, cheat and blackmailer! And his evil brain is still shaping your destiny. Oh, loveless life! What wonder that your heart grew hard and cold. You fled from your father to a husband, aid the husband was as brutal as the father. Then yoJ despaired, indeed; that was for your vicious life. Terrified you left I him, and bfecame a fugitive, until I you heard that he was dead. But he i lives, Stella, he lives!" i She walked to the window, and I threw it open. The tramping fc of a | thousand human feet boomed in her ears, the murmuring of a thousand i human voices. How blue were the skies—how golden the sunshine! From another open window she heard music, and laughter, and singing. It i was a merry world—for some! j "I cannot endure this!!' she gaspI ed. Her eyes were sombre. "Oh, for one glimpse of his face. If I only dared- —" | She rang for her maid. ! "lam, going out,,Yvonne; help me to dress—quickly—quickly! I am choking here. Close the window; that girl maddens me with her singing." Yvonne was used to the moods of her mistress. She answered not a word, but flew to do her bidding, and soon Stella was mingling with the throng in the busy street. It was the mid-day hour, and it seemed that every inch uf available space was covered with human feet. Up and down surged the great Crowd, men and women, old and young, all with some definite purpose in view. The lounger had no place thers. (To be continued.)