ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9052, 30 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

CHAPTER XXl.—Continued. He drew rein at the crossroads, aware that his movements were being curioiiily watched by a score of eyes behind tr.e smoking-room window of the Castle Stanford Arms. He looked homeward; then turned his horse's head in the direction of the Priory. He knew that Miriam would be expecting him. Oh, it was of no use thinking; his thoughts were merely iteration, revolving in one little 4 circle, unreasonable and stubborn. The instant he and Miriam alone he look her in his arms. Her confusion was delightful, although there were shadows in her eyes. It seemed wrong to experience even a fleeting pleasure when there was so much sorrow at her heart. "I got your letter early this morning, Miriam, but I am bothered with business, and could not come before. There's a little to be thankful for." "I suppose su, Allan." " Until' we discover some poor ■wretch worse off than ourselves 1 it is sinful to grumble. # Misfortunes move in cycles, and one and all sufler in season. There is a strong leavening of stoicism in my nature, but I suffer none the less. At the worst, Miriatn, we have one another, you and I." The parnation sprang into her face, and she answered simply: "I don't know which is the betterto love, or to be loved." "Both are best," he said, smiling gravely; then ho sighed. "You are worried, Allan?" "Naturally. Everybody appears to be conspiring against ua." His eyes wandered to the clock. "It is nearly lunch-time, and I'm famishing. May I lunch here? I think I ought to meet Mrs Eastwood;' I want to be particularly nice to her, for your sake. Is she still maintaining her character of the suckingdove?" There was a spice of raillery in his tone, but he was wondering how much truth he could extract out of the woman. Practical experience had taught him that it was more profitable to cross-examine a sphinx than some women. "Hush, Allan! Here she is," , Miriam whispered. "Be lenient with her. She is afraid that you " Miriam's voice hushed, for Stella was in the room. "I've been upon an exploring expedition," she began. Her hands were filled with wild flowers. "I am sorry, Miss Eastwood; 1 thought you were alone." "This is Mr Berrington," IViriam said promptly. "Mr Berrington—Mrs Eastwood. I don't think I need say any more; I have already spoken to both of you about each other," she added, confused. "There, lam getting myself in a fix!" ( "Aline woman," thought Allan, "remarkably fine! Type—Junoes- ■ que; temper—the reverse of heavenly. lam interested." "His father's son; I'm afraid of him," flashed through Stella's mind. "lam glad to know you," Allan said. "And I don't think we need make any explanations, or apologies, Mrs Eastwood." "You were ready to dislike me, Mr Berrington? And I hated you." "Please don't. That is a reflection upon my father—one of the best of men. He may have been mistaken — I am sure that he was mistaken, now that I : have seen you. We will be friends—you and I." He held out his band, and she took it impulsively, tearfully. Her lips trembled, but no word passed them ; her luminous eyes spoke volumes. Her bosom was rising and falling with quick pulsation. The luncheon-bell rang, and she took away her flowers, murmuring, "I must wash my hands. Pray, excuse me." , "Well?" Miridm said, looking into Allan's puzzled eyes. ? "I don't know; I won't express any opinion yet. I've been taken in before, but, in any event, I will never measure swords with any woman. After lunch Miriam, you must contrive to leave us together for a while. Any excuse will do. I want to know something definite about your father —about his last meeting with mine. She may know." During the meal he talked freely aboutjhis financial worries; a million of money, and unable to operate the business because of a trifling shortage ~ of actual cash. Personally, the creditors knew nothing of him, but he supposed that he would have to see them. It was a most infernal tangle of things. Later they adjourned to the verandah, and Miriam made a pretence of going into the library for a book. "Do you \ mind if I smoke, Mrs Eastwood?" Allan asked. "Me—oh, no! i am used to smoke myself. We thought nothing of women smoking on the Continent." There was a brief silence; then she leaned forward, her black eyes looking squarely into his. "How much money do you want, Mr Berrington? I can lend you seven or eight thousand pounds. Mr Eastwoo .1 gave me the money after we were married. It is banked in London, and you can have a cheque now." He was stupefied for the moment, lie gazed at the blue rings of smoke curling upward; then he looked at Stella. "It is extremely good of you, Mrs Eastwood. lam practically on my beam ends, the business being so foreign to me." "Then you accept?" "With thanks and pleasure." "You shall have the cheque now." She half-rose from her seat,- but something in his glance arrested her. "I wish to have a little talk before . Miriam's leturn," he said. "You don't mind, do you? It's about Mr Eastwood and my poor father. If I' bother you, tell me so, and don't say

(To be continued.)

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

a word if you don't want to. I shall think none the worse of you." She resumed her seat, her face whitening, her eyes contracting, until she seemed to grow positively old. "Perhaps you don't know how they are talking in this place? It is a perfect hot-bed of mischief and malevolence; most villages are. I pretend to shut my ears, but I am obliged to •hear. I can't bring myself to believe that anything very bad has happened to my father, but these people know that he has been foully by his lifelong friend, Charlie Eastwood. They know that Eastwood has fled from justice, and I am a cold-blooded scoundrel for making up to his daughter. Perhaps you know why your husband is absenting himself, Mrs Eastwood?"

"Yes, I do know." Her voice quavered. "And I will swear that he never injured a hair of your father's head."

"I was sure of it—l was sure of it!" He could hardly repress his joy. "You see, it means so much for us —Miriam and me. It was one of those swift understandings this love of ours-'-which the soulless condemn as blind fatuousness. And I want to take away the power of the gossips and the meddlers to string us with their idle thrusts. I want to prove that Miriam's father " A gasp of pain escaped Stella's white lips, and she was clutching at her heart. She staggered to her feet, wiping the dews from her forehead.

"An old trouble of mine, Mr Berrington." She jsmi'ed faintly. "And the agony is unendurable. I have a cordial whiih I keep in my boudoir. I must get it." "May I assist you?" he asked, concerned.

"No," was the harsh rejoinder. CHAPTER XXII. ON THE TRACK. Allan left the Priory with a very useful cheque in his pocket. He heard the church clock chime the quarter to four, and urged his horse forward. It was imperative that the cheque should be deposited that day. Exactly two minutes before the bank closed, he up, and impatiently signalled to a lounger to hold his horse. The next moment he bounded into the bank, and asked for the manager. "I want to opan a business-account in my own name," he said. Here is a cheque for eight thousand pounds." The manager was delighted. He glanced at the face of the cheque, and saw the signature Stella Eastwood." He gasped behind his hand, looked at the endorsement, and remarked: "We shall want your qsual signature Mr Berrington, in this sig-nature-bonk. Sign here. Thanks. Will you have a cheque-book now, or shall I send it on? A fifty? Certainly. Er—you can draw against this in a couple of days' time." "I shall want money for the wages. Yes, that will do. Good day." He left the bank, and mounted his horse.

"The old humbug is a bit suspicious about that cheque," he thought. "What a nuisance it is that somebody must always be admitted into one's private affairs."

Generally speaking, however, he was in a pleasanter frame of mind than he had been for several days past. He was at all times an optimist, and had won many a doubtful case by force of his convincing hopefuless.