THE CURSE OF HER LIFE OR A DARK SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 3100, 25 January 1909, Page 2

THE CURSE OF HER LIFE OR A DARK SECRET.

CHAPTER XXV.-Continued. "That will do. I'm not afraid of any spying. I shall wear a thick veil. 1 h6pe you know what you are about, James Rial. You mustn't pretend to me you can do what you can't." "I know what I'm about, Miss Altman. I hope it's the same with you. You're not making promises you don't mean to keep, are you?" Rose drew back haughtily. "I don't make promises to break them," she said, to such people as you." "Oh," Rial said, not the least abashed by her hauteur, "I am glad of that. Such people as I am are rather more particular than others about keeping their word with them than such people as you might suppose, perhaps. It's a fair bargain between us. When I have performed my part of it I shall exact the fulfilment of yours." Rose turned pale. But she only answered as she pulled her costly wrap upon her shoulders : "Oh. of course, of course," and walked out of the coffee-house. "I'm afraid," said Rial shrewdly, as he looked after her, "that it's a drawn game of lying between Miss Rose Altman and me." * * * * * Three days later Lord Disbro was the recipient of an anonymous letter, which he concealed entirely from his Wife. He had striven to trust her, and to believe in her; but the demon of doubt takes up his abode wherever he will, and in spite sometimes of the hapless owners of these abodes. Frank Disbro did not believe, as Edith fancied he did, that Randal { Heathcote was dead. In fact, he i knew to the contrary. He believed he did, at any rate. He had seen, the blond, blue-eyed face, jf that detested gentleman, he was very sure, since he had been in London, and Frank Disbro did not believe in ghosts, and he was still horribly jealous of Heathcote. The letter he had received now was in a very different hand from the first, but contained similar matter. None but the jealous man he was could have entertained it for a moment, artfully as it was gotten up_. Lord Disbro held this | letter in his hand some time before he opened it. It had come in the same way as the other, though it was directed in a different hand, and something whispered him that it would be a very sensible thing to burn it without reading it, for that very reason. But when was ever a jealous man sensible? He tore it open and found first a copy ot that wicked and fatal letter which had summoned Captain Tyrrell from a brother's sickbed to his own doom. It was labelled: "True copy of a letter taken from Captain Tyrrell's murdered body, within an hour of his death." On the sheet enclosing this were scrawled, in a hand not Heathcote's, the following words: "Captain Tyrrell followed the advice contained in this letter. He returned to Blackmere warning, and Hurprised Heathcote in his wife's room. Heathcote escaped. The husband and wife had a fearful quarrel, and the husband swore he'd divorce his wife and trumpet her infamy to the world. "He did not live to do it. At mid- : night that night Fdith Tyrrell presented herself in Heathcote's room, which she had reached by means of * the secret passage, and told him what she had done. He, with the assistance of another, conveyed the body through the secret passage into the park, wnere it was afterwards found. "In the room where Captain Tyrrell was murdered there a'-e two spots still upon the carpet, which Edith Tyrrell vainly tried to cover with ink that night. There is something else under the ink, as you can satisfy yourself by examination. "Heathcote preserved, in his own self-defence, some other mute witnesses to the real perpetrator of the crime, not knowing nut he might, some day be accused of it. These can be produced, and wili, if it ever becomes necessary." Lord Disbro read this letter and its ominous enclosure entirely through once. Then he tyent back to the beginning and read them both through again, looking all the time like a man in an awful dream. There was no signature. This letter, whose news had coiled itself suddenly like a cold and deadly serpent at his heart, was that meanest, most unworthy of notice, yet most terrible of emissaries—an anonymous letter. He was ashamed of himself for entertaining for a moment the suspicions it aroused, as soon as he fairly thought of it, and accordingly walked straight to the fire, meaning to burn it and forget all about it. But even over the flames something seemed to arrest his hand. He thought he would just look at it once more, and see if he could not recognise the hand in which the vile scrawl was written. This passage caught his eye and sent the colour out of his face again : "In the room where Captain Tyrrell was murdered there are two spots still upon the carpet, which Edith Tyrrell tried to cover with ink that night. There is something else under the ink. as you can satisfy yourself by examination." His chin fell upon his breast. His eyes gazed gloomily down upon the hearth. In his mind he saw afar oft | that fatal room, sumptuous with silk and velvet, as he had been told the Neil Gwynne chambers were, but defaced with those two awful stains which, like, the spot on Lady Macbeth's satin hand, would not out. "Oh!" he groaned, "1 wish I had r.evpr lirard it," and a strong shudder Tan Iniough him. -rmrr-yimrr^rg He leaned his elbow u; o:i the j imhh'.cl above the fire, ar.d taking out (

By HELEN COKWIN PIERCE, Author of "At His Own Game," "Carrie Emerson Wilde," "Badly Matched," "The Cheated Bride," Etc.

hi 3 white handkerchief, wiped his damp and horror-stricken face with it. Suddenly he flung both handkerchief and letter down. "I won't believe it—there! Such frightful lies! Who could have dared to write it?" The letter had fallen outside the grate, but within the fender. It seemed to watch him malignantly from between the brass wires. He heard steps approaching hia door-his wife, perhaps—•■>nd in an awful panic he snatched the letter and hurried it inside a secret drawer in his desk. But the steps event by. It was almost like a reprieve to this miserable man. How could he face Edith' 3 clear, searching eyes with such thoughts in his heart? He went to the window and stood lookine out some moments; hut he saw nothing save that silken, sumptuous room, with its two wicked stains on its velvet floor. "I shall n<;ver be able to get it out of my head." he muttered, "till I have seen thai they're not there. Yes, I'll go; I'll make some excuse to Edith and go at once." At that moment his wife came into the room. CHAPTER XXIV. A WARNING FROM EDITH. Frank made a valiant effort to restore his calmness, and advanced to meet her with a smile that was meant tj be gay, but was only lyEdith held him off and looked in his face with a sad and alarmed scrutiny. Then her anxious eyes scanned the room. | "You have had another letter," | she said, "or Heathcote isn't dead, and you've seen him, or else you've been talking with Rose about me." Frank hung his head at the first suggestion. At the last he lifted it again with a startled expression that puzzled his wife. His thought was—Could Rose have written that letter? But he j dismissed the fancy at once. It was not in her writing. "You have been talking with Rose; you've let her tell you lies about me again. Oh, Frank, how could you?" "No, I swear to you. You know I would not. I detest Rose, and you know it," Frank said, with irritation. "What, then? Another letter from that always dying, but never dead, cousin of mine?" she asked bitterly. "No, no—indeed, no—nothing from him." "What, then?" "Nothing." Edith compressed her lips a moment. "How, dare you tell me that? Your own face contradicts you. You must tell me what it is, Frank. Oh!" she added vehemently, "how unkind, how unjust, how cruel you ar^. (To be continued).