THE CURSE OF HER LIFE OR A DARK SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 3099, 23 January 1909, Page 2

THE CURSE OF HER LIFE OR A DARK SECRET.

CHAPTER XXllL—Continued. "Do you believe he is dead, Edith? Do you believe he did kill himself as he threatened?" "I hope so," she answered, with passion. "He has always bean the curse of my life, and means to be to the end." "Any yet you loved him once," Frank said gloomily. "Much you know about that. I have hated him bitterly enough ir. the years since then to atone even for that brief madness. You don't ask me why he "broke his engagement with me." "Was there any reason? Frank asked in the same gloomy tone that rasped Edith's nerves so fearfully. "There was a reason," she answered excitedly, "hue I will never tell you—never!" _ "Oh! so that is the secret, is it, Frank sighed. ***** "That is not the worst of it," Edith said on the following day, recounting to Dorcas what had passed. "I don't believe that letter was written over three years ago, as it pretends to be. I don't believe my cousin is dead, or likely to die, till he has murdered a fe-y more of us." "Miss Edith!" ejaculated Dorcas, with horror-struck eyes. "I don't," Edith repeated firmly. "I let Frank think the letter was what it seemed. I hope he thinks Heathcote is dead, but I don't. I never did quite believe it. It is one of tnv wicked, tricky cousin's tricks. 41] that he dare do, consistent with his own safety, all that he can do without dragging down his own ruin, he will do now. He thinks he has tied my hands to prevent me injuring him by making me believe that he is dead." Edith had guessed it. The letter purporting to have written by Heathcote was another of her false cousin s clever tricks. The talk about doing away with himself was another. He was just as far from filling the coffin he deserved to be in as she -believed him to be, and a great deal more ready for some of his peculiar acts of mischief than he had ever been. Edith said nothing of her suspicions to her husband, however; neither of the mortal terror that beset her at all times now, lest her cousin should take it into his head to serve her or Frank as he had poor Lois. She said nothing but she thought a great deal, and she watched day and night, you might say. ' She believed that so long as her enemy remained in doubt as to whether she had told her husband bis secret, so long they would both be safe. The moment he discovered by some of his sly spying that Frank knew all, that moment he would set about trying to murder him. And when Lady Disbro thought of that possibility something rose within her that all the wrongs and sorrows her cousin'had caused her before had failed to rouse. She bought secretly a tiny silver-mounted pistol, small but sure. And once when they spent six weeks in London she contrived to go almost every day to a shooting gallery there and practise with it under ther eye of a professor. She made a special arrangement with him to go early before anyone else came. Edith liked being in London. She i:elt safer from her hidden mysterious enemy in the mi'Jat of the whirl and bustle of the great city. Rose Altman saw the change that had come upon Eduh and her husband and was both curious and glad over it. She hated them both so bitterly now, in spite of their kindness to her, that she would have done nearly anything to have gratified her malice. She had not seen the inside of Heathcote's wicked and artful letter but that was not her fault. "Oh." she said carelessly to Edith, after waiting in vain to be informed, "was your letter from your cousin?" "Do you mean Frank's letter?" returned Edith, looking at her steadily. "It was from Randal Heathcote—yes." "How glad you must be," said Rose simperingly. "Such a happy surprise. Is he coming to see you soon?" "I think not " Edith waited a moment, and then added. "From something he said in his letter we have reason to fear—to supposethat he was about to kill himself." "Oh!" exclaimed Rose, her ugly face gleaming v»ith a sort of ghastly curiosity. "Is that what you and Lord Disbro have been so gloumy about ever since." Edith's white teeth shut with a snap. "Of course," she returned shortly, and stopped Miss Altman's questions by walking away and leaving her. "I know better than that," Rose muttered, with a puzzled air. "I wonder what he did write, anyway?" But thought she prowled about very industriously looking for it, she did not succeed in finding Heathcote's mischievous letter. What she did find though, as she was returning from a shopping expedition alone one dav, was James Rial. He was walking hurriedly along one of the streets leading from Piccadilly. Rose stopped the carriage at once •and sent it on to wait for her at a distant corner. In a few steps she overtook Rial, who looked greatly startled and a trifled scared at the si{;ht of her, "Come in here," Miss Altman commanded abruptly, leading the way into a sort of coffee-house which did not chance to have many visitors at that hour. She sat down at nhe of the little tables in the back part of th raloon and motioned Rial to a st: 1. Then, having ordered a box of pin ar-plums, of which she was ve:y £ orm she opened the conversation.

By HELEN COEWIN PIERCE, Author of "At His Own Game," "Carrie Emerson "W'ilde," "Sadly MaicUtd," "The Cheated Bride," Etc.

CHAPTER XXV. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. "I have made up my mind to consent to your preposterous and impertinent conditions," Rose said bluntly, "Are ready to perform your part?" Rial looked unutcerably astounded. He half-thought Miss Altman had lain a plot fur him now. "I'm in earnest," Roue said, in a low voice, as .she selected a sugarplum. "I'll many you if you'll do what you promised that night at Blackmere. You've not forgotten, I presume." "No, ma'am," Rial answered, in a daze yet. He felt sure, somehow, that Miss Aitman was lying to him. But he wanted to believe her. It would be such a fine thing for him. Besides, he really believed it was Edith who killed Captain Tyrrell. He had helped Randal Heathcote to carry out the murdered body that night, and that clever villain had been thoughtful and artful enough even then to pretend to him that Mrs> Tyrrell had done the awful deed and then came to him (Randal) for help to conceal the crime. "Can you prove now what you said you could then. "1 can," Rial answered his cheek paling. "It's a bargain, then." Rose said, stopping, with a sugar-plum in her hand, to took him in the face with cold, hard eyes, at which even Rial shuddered inwardly. "Is Randal Heathcote dead, James Rial?" Rial smiled shyly. "Perhaps so; parhaps not." Miss Altman green eyes sparkled. "You shall tell me. I won't go on with the affair a step until you tell me." "But it's a secret—a dead secret, and must be kept so," Rial gloomily said. "Very well; I will -help keep it. Tell me at once. I insist." Rial looked at her hesitatingly then, with an air of reluctance, rose from his seat and, casting a frightened, conscious glance round, bent his tall head and whispered something in her ear. Rose turned and looked him in the face as he finished. "Then who wrote the letter?" "He did, over a year ago, and I kept it back till now. I didn't know what might happen." "Why, what could happen to make any difference in delivering a letter?" Rose demanded. Rial stooped, and whispered again, adding, with an air of familiarity he had never dared assume before : "You see, the more careful we keep names the better." Miss Altman smiled darkly as she rose to go. "It won't do to talk any Ir.nger here." she said. "When can I see you again? Of course, you can't come to Lord Disbro's house. "I'll go anywhere you like, or if you choose you may come to my boarding-house. It is a quiet, respectable place, and there are no other lodgers, and there's a parlour, where we could talk and nobody spy upon us." (To be continued).