THE CURSE OF HER LIFE OR A DARK SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 3103, 28 January 1909, Page 2

THE CURSE OF HER LIFE OR A DARK SECRET.

CHAPTER XXVl.—Continued. "Now," he asked, "can I see these wonderful rooms? You are not still bound by your late master's orders, I suppose. The place is Lady Disbro's now, is it not? I think I've heard so. Mr Heathcote is dead, is he not?" "Yes, it's Lady Disbro's," the old woman said, as she fumb'ed at the lock with her key. "The more's the pity; we shan't have any merrymaking here in her lifetime, for I heard her tell her cousin the morning she went av>ay that she hated •, the place, and meant never to come neatit again, if she could avoid it. Naturally enough, too, under the circumstances; though I don't see what the place has to do with the husband being murdered here. And he was such an old man, sir, too; I know she couldn't have loved him. Good mercy, sir, is anything the matter?" the dame cried as, having flung up the blind and swept the rich curtain aside, she turned towards him. Lord Disbro had advanced into the centre of the room. He stood staring with an utterly ghastly and livid face at two dark, irregular spots on the handsome carpet. He passed his hand nervously over his face at Mrs Turner's startled exclamation and looked up with a forced laugh. "Nothing is the matter, my good dame," he said. "What should be?" "Only you looked so white, sir. But I guess it's natural to you; or maybe you have been sick." "Exactly. Isn't that a queer spot to be in a handsome room like this?" pointing to the ink-stains. "Is there a story about them, too?" "Not as I know. Mrs Tyrrell spilled that ink the very night the old Captain was killed. She was sitting up waiting for him to come in and all the time he was lying murdered in the park. I don't wonder you shudder, sir. Would you like to see the place where they found him? It's four years since he was killed. And here's the very dressing-gown Mrs Tyrrell had on that night. You see, she spilled the ink all over it; and as she left it when she went av/ay. 1 told one of the maids she might xaka it and dye it, and it would make her a nice dress. But she was scared at the idea, and wouldn't have it at all." Lord Disbro gianced at the dress almost wildly. It was a gay, rich robe of silk, striped in purple and gold—Edith's favourite colours, he remembered. The whole front was splashed with ink. He knelt down and looked more keenly at the stains on the carpet. There was something under the inksomething that gave it a decidedly coppery tinge. ' "I was going to take the carpet up, but my late master swore at me when I proposed it. And [ wrote to Lady Disbro about it since the place fell to her, but she wouldn't have it done, either. She said the room never should be used in her lifetime. It's no wonder she feels so, of course, but it's a pity, to my mind, to see so much fine furniture and things going to waste." Lord Disbro rose from his knees at last. Mrs Turner was suffering to know what he wag looking for, but she did not dara to ask. Lord Disbro glanced again at the stake! dressing-gown, which the dame had flung upon a chair. Perhaps the ink on that covered bloodspots, too. He looked away instantly, shuddering from bead to foot, and turning so ghastly again that Mrs Turner rushed to him with a chair, thinking he was going to faint. For his life Frank Tyrell could not have scrutinized that gay silk robe as he had the carpet. "I don't believe she is guilty of that; I won't believe it," he muttered to himself, as he rose presently, and followed Mrs Turner from the room. But over his pale face had darkened a shadow that was not there when he entered this fatal room. He had seen enough. He told Mrs Turned he felt ill, and would not trouble her to go over the rest of the house with him. And then he went away. Mrs Turner watched him move slowly down the avenue. "I do wonder who he is," she said. "If ever a man was marked for trouble, that man was." Lord Disbro did not leave the Heathcote grounds. He went far enough to be beyond the view of any watching eyes at the house, ana then he turned aside and plunged into the jungle-like recesses of the park. Everything had been neglected at Heathcote for some years, and the undergrowth had run riot. Lord Disbro found a lonely nook where only thick rank grass grew, and threw himself down at full length. He had not eaten all clay, and it was past five o'clock now, but in his state of mind he never thought of being hungry. He only longed, with an unutterable earnestness of desire to colve the mystery of Edith's connection with that tragedy of her murdered husband's death. He was very tired, body and brain ached. He had not slept at all the the night previous, and scarcely for nights before. As he lay there in the thick grass a bush seemed in the air. Only the droning of an insect, the plaintive trill of a bird in search of its mate, fell on his ear. His eyes closed. In the stillnesH of the falling night sleep mercifully came to him, sweet and dreamless sleep. How long he slept he never knew. It must have been for hours. He was waked by a crash of thunder so loud it seemed to shake the very ground he lay ou ; by a flash of lightning 30 near and vivid it seemed to turn the air to for some moments. The rain burst in a flood at the same instant. Lord Disbro set up and gazed about hirr. It was sometime before he coi'ii! recall where he was. And all the while the rain was pouriny down *>s if the shuVe gates of heaven had .teen burse open. ~ .. ,

By HELEN CORWIN PIERCE, Author of "At His Own Game," "Carrie Emerson Wilde," "Badly Matched," "Tie Cheated Ihide," Etc.

He rose with a shiver at last, stiff, wet, and coid, and mere wretched than ever, for. with remembrance of where he was, came the horrible pane's cf other recollections. He stumbled along through the storm, looking for a shelter, and by the aid of the lighti.ing soon discovered something whien was that at least. It was a tort of shed, with tight roof and sides, which had probably at some time served for a tool house. It was empty now, and Lord Disbro took possession. The door was yone, but the wind came from the opposite direction, so that the rain had not wet the inside. Lord Disbro stood and watched the storm, and thought. His reflections were all with his wife, of that peerles" woman whom he had loved so dearly, whom he did love yet, in spite of all this cloud of guiit and shame that seemed to shroud her. She had guessed he was coming to Heathcote House, and had followed him. Did she guess why he came? Had she been here before him? '-'She can't be the wicked, lost creature that letter would have me think her," he said, "or 1 should not love her so. My darling, could I love you and doubt you at the same time? Could I ever grow to hate and dispise you even if I knew you the guilty, wicked one that letter called you." That question was to be decided soon —sooner than Frank had any suspicion. He stood and watched the storm, or paced the shed floor, to keep warm till the storm cease and the gray dawn began to streak the east. Then he left his shelter, and went sternly and thoughtfully under the dripping trees towards the house, which he could not see from where he was. He had a curiosity to look at the Nell Gwynne chambers from the outside. Perhaps he imagined he could thus form an idea as to the possibility of the existence of that secret passage through which the letter said Captain Tyrrell's body had been conveyed to the park, and al°o of that other secret passage which was said to lead from the Nell Gwynne chambers to the rooms occupied by Randal Heathcote at the time of the tragedy. He came presently in sight of the rambling antiquated pile called Heathcote House. What had become of that end of it in which lay those grand, stately and fatal rooms he was looking for? Lord Disbro rubbed his eyes and looked again. It was certainly gone. What had happened? Could he have made a mistake and approached the house from a different direction from what he intended? No. There was the Lady's Tower, which he remembered noticing yesterday, and what was that all about its base but a huge heap of stones and plaster, gaping timbers, and yawning walls? In a breath it came to him. The crash which had wakened him the night betore! Lightning had struck Heathcote House, and laid this whole end of it in ruins. (To be continued).