ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9059, 7 April 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

.>:• of " Nina's Repentance," " Clyda's Love Dream," " Her Soldier ■Lover," " Far Lov« of Marjoric," " The Mystery of Woodcroft," etc.

CHAPTER XXVII. -Continued. "I will bring soiv.t: thing nice for tea, and some .tvexh milk. Mr Simnritinds and I cuj: m.-m'ige it." "And the news, Miriam—don't forget the newt.." A troubled anxious expression iseiiied in his eyes. "Poor oIJ Jack !" ho murmured. "I haven't an atom oL" bene. If he did fall into the chapel and lived to grope about tho mine, I don't think it possible ta lim! him for a week. Half the stays may have crumbled away, and there's the water in the deeper working;:." He shook his head sorrowfully. "If the mystery isn't cleared up it will be bad for me." "Allan will telephone, papa," Miriam paid faintly. There wasj an uncomfortable sinking at her heart. "He is very sanguine." "Young men are—clever young men, I mean. It is one of the failings of genius. What a genius wishes is always possible to him."

Miriam was startled. Was this woman playing another part. "But I am wondering: now, hopefully—fearfully," Stella "went on passionately, "if the All-seeing has placed between you and me a gulf which may never be bridged? J Am I past redemption? You were born in the cradle of luxury, and, what is a thousand times betterlove. You were never beaten, starved, and thrust into the callous world homeless and utterly friendless. You have never been tempted to snatch at the luscious, fulsome, gaudy fruit of sin, your soul scorching and athirst." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Miriam's heart was moved to pity. "I would comfort you if I could," she said softly. "No one can comfort me now. Go, please; don't let me add another pang to your young life." Miriam was puzzled. Her heart was full of sorrow and sympathy; and yet—and yet She left the house with her parcel and her flowers, walking very slowly, and hoping that her father was watching. Yes—yes'; for one brief instant his face appeared, spectrelike, and was gone. A flash of gladness lept into the girl's eyes, and she almost laughed aloud. It was exhilarating, this game of elusion, and at the same tune shs felt the absurdity of it. She never considered that the penalty of discovery would be a very serious matter, but she entered into the spoft of the thing with zest and zeal. The tower was a full hundred yards distant from any part of the drive, and Miriam walked in a leisurely manner until hidden from the house by a sharp bend; then she darted among the trees which flanked the way, struck across the corner of the park, and was soon laughing and trembling in her father's arms.s "Clever girl!" Charlie Eastwood said, with an approving smile, and a sympathetic sigh. "It's worth the risk." Then he spoke impressivaly "I would not be discovered for the biggest boon under heaven. Come up-stairs, my darling girl, and see the wonders I have wrought. I've been brushing, cleaning, and dusting half the day. And I've had the windows open to let in the sweet air, and let out the dust." "Splendid!" said Miriam. "What a transformation! Nov/ for a bowl for the flowers. Don't they smell delightful? And look here —a bottle of fresh milk, a jug of cream, cake, fruit, ham, and chicken." "Oh, I shall stay here a month!" he laughed, jokingly. "And that reminds me of a question: How long will you stay this time, Miriam?" "To tea, and a long time after that, papa. The servants think I have gone to call upon the cottages. Now, I must take off my things, and put the kettle on the stove." While Miriam was flitting about, her father went to one of the windows, and opened it very cautiously. It was a tiny window, about a foot wide and two feet deep—a comparatively modern casement fixed in the masonry. It was so pleasing to breathe the sweet air, and to listen tn the music of the trees. All at once he drew back, and a frown wrinkled his brow. "Miriam—Miriam!" he called. "That confounded curate. What is he doing here? I nevei; did like the fellow. I never could see any Christianity in him, and I have told him so, he is clever, but essentially worldly. Pity that the rector is too old to see that things spiritual are neglected for the loaves and fishes."

There was a short silence; then Charlie Eastwood spoke again: "I shan't expect any news for a day or two. I know the magnitude of'tho undertaking." He drew his daughter to him, and kissed her cheek. "You and young Berrington soon fixed things up, eh? I was amazed, but not displeased. Oh, you youngsters!" Then his face reddened darkly, and he hastily changed the subject. Sometimes the elders were ju&t as reads' to fall into love! "It came about quite naturally," Miriam confessed, rosily and shyly. "We were little sweethearts twenty years since, and the trouble helped it along." "The truub'e has done some good then'," he grunted. "You must go now, or the servants will be guessing. Don't forget the newspaper, and the tea this afternoon. Ten long hours and nothing to do but smoke, and raflect upon my follies! To-night I shall venture into the park." He embraced his daughter fondly — tanderly; he even addressed her end?a r ingly, Using words which she had not heard since she was a child in short frocks. "I shall be watching," he said, "all the day. I hope I don't see that woman, though. By Jove! if I do " Miriam smuggled the morning paper into the tower, and retired terrified. She was certain that wicked eyes had watched the proceeding from among the trees. Then she werit to the library, and waited for Allan to ring her up on the telephone. Nine o'clock ten eleven —- twelve! Good gracious, what was Allan doing? All at once the bell rung with savage insistence, and Miriam flew to the receiver. Only just going down the mine, endless difficulties; the affair had s got winded about, and there were thousands of people on the spot. Mr Simmonds would send further news; they were fixing telephone communication from the office to the mine. Good-by. Of course, this was mixed up with darlings, angels, and trifles of that kind; then a resounding noise like a kiss claused Miriam to laugh, and turn very r&d. Stella walked into the library just before the luncheon hour. She was pale and weary looking, and her smile was almost pathetic. She moved, too, like one preoccupied or in a waking dream. "I am not well," she told Miriam; "I am ill, nervous, miserable. If my husband were here, I should be the happiest woman living." Miriam gasped and shuddered. She dared not look into Stella's face. "No tidings yet?" "They are just going down No. 4 shaft. . . . It may take days." "I hope not; I want to see Mr Berrington to-morrow —I must see him. I don't think I can endure this life, Miss Eastwood; everything reminds me of Charlie—ot your father. That portrait in the hall; it, haunts me. . . . Fanciful—foolish. Don't you want any lunch? Neither do I. We are both living upon anxiety and misery. Oh, God, what does the future hold for me!"

(To be continued.)

CHAPTER XXVIII. SPYING AND PRYING. Ob, the dear delights of that afternoon tea! Under the pretence of going a smalt shopping expedition, Miriam dressed, and got no farther than the tower. She was carrying a bulky package, too, and a huge bunch of freshly cut flowers. At no time would any unusual attention be paid by the servants to anything Miss Eastwood choae to do. Her visits to the poor among the cottages were frequent, and she never went emptyhanded. "I may not bo home to dinner," she told Stella, "and there will be no further news from the mine until tomorrow. I have neglected the poor our tenants lately, and lam going to seo a friend, too." "Why don't you have a carriage? I am sure that parcel is too much i'or you this warm day." "I hate show; I don't want the world to know that I am abroad dispensing charity. The poor themselves resent it; and I am a strong young woman." Stella smiled sadly.

"I envy you, Miss Eastwood—vou, with your priceless possessions. I don't mean gold, and jewels, and houses, and land; I mean your blameless past, and your golden beautiful future, blessed by the illimitable smile of God."