ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9050, 27 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

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

CHAPTER XlX.—Continued. All tit once the carriage stopped and the driver tumbled from his seat. Stella sa.\ tha 1 ; the halting-place was an inn of some kind, and the curious eyes wei'ti pee I'iisj: fro-n one of the lower \vin:kv.v?. 3he was angry, and scolded th.i driver. The storm had raged itself out, and after a short argument the juurney was resumed. Stella was anxious and easier now. Her breathing was quick and gasping, and there was a sharp pair, at her heart. "Look, Yvonne, we are nearly home. Yonder is the Priory, like a great, gray monster, lying ecouchan. Mr Eastwood has described it to me so often—so often. The tower at the end is like the monster's head, just raised, and ready to leap. The tower has its ghost, too, Yvonne. I wonder how M:sh Eastwood will receive me?" "She. must receive you as th« mistress of the Priory, madam. If she has sense she will not make trouble for herself." The storm was gone, and the air was scented with sweet odors. All nature seemed to be refreshed and grateful for the cooling, sweetening rain. The carriage rattled along the drive, and stopped at the main entrance. Several flunkies lounged to tl;e door,|and eyed the thing superciliously.- It was very rare that this v/heezy relic of the ark found its way to the Priory. And then one of them saw that it was occupied by ladies, and he stepped gingerly to the door. "Dashed dressmakers, or shopwomen," he reflected disdainfully. "How dare they come to the front door!" Stella gave the driver the promised douceur, and haughtily stepped past the wondering and doubtful flunky. Then the dark-eyed girl who had travelled by the same train as herself was not Miss Eastwood? Her carriage had certainly not come that way. Stella felt inexpressibly relieved. A footman was' standing respectfully by, and the sedate butler was approaching gravely—apologetically, and pathetically inquiring. Guests were not expected and Miss Eastvvood was at home to nobody. "Take me to your mistress, Miss Miriam Eastwood!" Stella said sharply. "I haven't a -.ard. If she is not at home 1 will wait." The butler was in a dilemma; he even glanced inquiringly at his suborJinate. The lady had dismissed her carriage, and entered the house as one who had the right of way. Her manner, too, commanded submission. And things were in such a state of topsy-turvydom Yvonne was smiling curiously—impertinently, the butler thought, and he elevated his nose. Pert under-servants were his abomination. "This way, if you please," he said. Stella was ushered into a tiny room, wi'h one long, diamond-paned, embrasured window. The gloom was almost funeral. It was a waitingroom of the meaner sort, and the woman of the world smiled. There were several straight-backed wooden chairs, valuable, perhaps, but very ancient, and very uncomfortable; a table bare of cover or ornament, and a well-worn rug lay on the polished floor. A grandfather's clock ticked solemnly in one corner. Stella's eyes watched the big hand creep from five to ten minutes past eight. She was getting impatient; every nerve was tingling. She walked to the window, and saw the westering sun, like a globe of burnished copper, slipping behind tha great tower. Yvonne was looking too. The walls had been pierced in places, one above the other, for windows, and in later days the windows had been glazed. Now they were shining like amber flame. Above the tower a widewinged bird was circling, and uttering plaintive crie3. "I shall be afraid of that place after dark, madam," Yvonne shuddered. A gentle cough disturbed them. The butler was in the doorway, and making obeisance. Miss Eastwood was waiting. "Remain here, Yvonne!" Stella said to the maid, in an undertone. "Yes, madam; I will watch the tower. Perhaps I shall see the ghost!" Stella followed the butler out into the wide hall. The walls were covered with pictures, bronzes and statuary filled every niche and corner. Gainsborough and Hoppner, Reynolds and Ruysdael, Murillo and Millais, all were represented there. But there was one painting that transfixed the woman. It was a recent portrait of Charles Eastwood, and in the halflight the eyes seemed to burn into her own. Again the butler coughed gently and insinuatingly. He was standing with his hand on the knob of one of the big uak doors in the centre hall. Tlie door was gently pushed inward, -and he said something in a low voice. Stella did not catch his words; doubtless, he was announcing her to somebody, but she could not resist another look at Charlie's portait. Her features softened, and her black eyes became misty, while she clutched at her side to still the pain at her heart. And it was thus that she faced Charlie's daughter.

very bright eyes were turned upon her.

One short week since, and she would have swept all barriers aside with a tongue of fire. Now she stood and spoke gently. "You are Miss Miriam Eastwood?" "And you?" Miriam's voice was harsh. "I am your father's wife," yearningly, pleadingly. "I guessed as much," was the an- i swer. Miriam's voice was faint, but vibrant with disdain. "Pray be seated, Mrs Eastwood." Then she added, with a note of anxiety, "Have you brought tidings of my father?" "He is well—l cabled to him yesterday, and had a reply this morning. It is by his wish that I am here." "Then he is coming home soon?" "No, Miss Eastwood. His movements are uncertain." Her eyes was searching Miriam's face, which was now revealed by her changed position, and she took heart of grace. It was a good face, beautiful, tender, but proud. The girl's brown eyes were looking appeaiingly into her own. "I cannot comprehend," she said distressfully. "I have had a mess- j age, evasive and unsatisfying. Perhaps you can tell me if you will. Is j my father ever coming home again?" Stella shivered, and held up one band as if to guard herself from a blow. "1 am afraid that it may be a long time," she said. "Oh, this dreadful tangle of things!" The last words were sobbed, and Miriam's heart was moved to pity. I This woman was young, and good to look upon, and wherein lay her crime 9 She perhaps cared for the man she had married, and she had a perfect right to make an eligible marriage. Miriam had prepared herself to meet a loud-voiced, overdressed florid, flamboyant, vulgar. She spoke now. "Is my father afraid to come home through this trouble about Mr Berrington 9 We are all so anxious, Mrs Eastwood. Oh, if you can enlighter, me!" Stella sprang up, her eyes flaming, her hands clenched. The old Stella was uppermost for the moment. "Mr Berringon," she cried. "The central figure of my life's tragedy. But for him we should all have been happy—happy —ob, so happy! He hated me—he maligned me. Why, I cannot tell. Was it worthy of him —a strong man—to be the enemy of a woman?" 1 was poor, and the world knew it; I am of lowly origin, and the world knew that, too. I am self-educated —self-made, hut Miss Eastwood, wherein have I sinned so deeply 9 You are a woman, and you have a woman's heart. You have prepared yourself to dislike me, and I am here, craving comfort, begging for sympathy, yearning for a little love. I have not come as a usurper. lam not fitted to be the mistress of this grand house and its army of servants. The burden would be hateful to one who at best is little better than a Bohemian. Society, I detest—its petty shame, its wretched make-believes, its slavis]? idolatries, and smiling,; painted faces, while the canker-worm is gnawing at its very vitals. I only want to rest in peace until my husband comes home." She finished plaintively, and, sinking back into her seat, cried softly. Miriam was half-dazed. She sat perfectly rigid for a while; then she rose, and went over to Stella, placing one hand upon the shoulder of her father's wife. "How unkind I am—how inhospitable. You are tired and weary," she said softly. "Yes, I am very tired." "Why did you not write, or telegraph?" "I Was afraid, I think." (To be continued.)

CHAPTER XX. HER FATHER'S WIFE. Stella saw the tall, slender figure of a woman standing between her and the window. The sun had,sdropped behind the hills, and the ruddy glow of the sky was changing to purple. The room was in semi-darkness, and the woman's figure looked almost black. Of the face Stella could make nothing, but she knew that a pair of