THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 3114, 12 February 1909, Page 2

THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

BY WINTHROP B. HARLAND. Author of "Lady Elgin's Secret," "A Harvest of Shame," "The £ Elder Son," "Lord Ashton's Heir," Etc.

CHAPTER ll.—Continued.

"He might feel inclined to." the major said; "but such men as St. Hilary are not easily silenced. Ho has lived through the treachery and peril of the Indian rebellion, and is not likely to come t9 grl?f through an Unconvicted felon,", "No man can arm against n secret enemy," Mr Dacre saH, ''A'na stva'ri&b things are tloiie in England, evetlflUWj in spite of our twentieth century civilisation. If yo 1 were to hear, as I have heard, the history of undiscovered crime, as told in the records of the criminal investigation department, you would see that there is no such thing as safety from a hidden foe. Of course, I am merely pointing out a possible danger, based on an idle theory; but I am rather fond of curious theories, and like to investigate and follow them up. I regret to say that the detective instinct is strong in me, and in any unusually mysterious case I find myself involuntariiy supplying the motive, and tracking the perpetrator." "That same kind of study has had a fascination for many minds," the major said; "but I should scarcely have thought it was one that would interest you." "Why not? Most men have a hobby, and it is generally totally at' variance with the habits and pursuits of their everyday life. We should hardly expect to find a fine connoisseur of old paintings in a steel penmakers, a bric-a-brae collector in a dissolute nobleman; and it was surely an odd thing that Grimaldi, the clown, should be an ardent entomologist. Why should not I, aftdr the hard uses of a long life spent in business, find mental recreation of inductive speculation?" Maj. Lugard answered that goodtempered question with a smile of assent; and before the evening had passed he found that Mr Dacre's hobby had strong possession of him. An experienced lawyer could not have a more complete history of inexplicable and undiscovered crime at his fingers' enas; and he saw Miss St. Hilary listening, with an intensity akin to terror, to story after story of apparently motiveless murder and unexplained disappearance. He was glad when a diversion came in the person of Mr Dacre's sister, a tall, spare lady, rather stiff and reserved. She wore lace mittens, and had her own scanty iron grey hair twisted into ringlets; but though she was like her brother, she must have been very pretty in her youth. Her face was still a pure oval, her lips retained their perfect outline, and there was nothing hut kindness jn the faded grey eyes under her japecsacles. Sbgwore no jewellery, M so muck &9 I bfOCph at her neck, OV a ring on her fmgbV? He saw those faded eye's* brighten five minutes later, when a knociv" 3 na< ring announced the admission of 8 visitor; and Dora evidently knew the sound of that light, firm footstep in #9 hall.' .... I The major had been trying to picture what Leonard Dacre would be Jikc; and he had to confess that his attempt at &ii imaginary portrait was an qttQrfaibie. The y v ung-ms:i lie Saw Was highbred arid distinguished looking; ,he *'-*£ the accent and bearing of a gentleman, and though he bore an un- j ihistakable ressmblance to Mr Da.o*^ it was a resemblance in which every point was in his fav<*-u*\ fc* Mr Dacre was not a hnnd*#s9i Y man. Prepos"as tfe& fitter nad been, by his welcomfe, he found himself unconsciously making a study of that long, impenetrable, clean-shaven countenance, with its pointed chin, high, narrow forehead, and thin, detent iD-. Ed lips. Had they met under different circumstances he was not a man with whom the major would have been inclined to establish a friendship. But the soldier took a liking to Leonard before they had been together five minutes; it would have pleased him better had he seen more resolution in the almost effeminate softness of the young ma.i's face, more physical power in the slim figure, and he had a regretful impression that Leonard Dacre was one whose days were not destined to be long in the land; he was sorry even for the disappointment he knew his errand would inflict; be felt sure that any sorrow or tronble would go hard with Mr Dacre's nephew. "Youwill be glad," Dora said, when the brief ceremony of introduction had ended, "to hear that father i 3 coming home; he wants to be present at our wedding, Leonard, and we are not to be married until he arrives; but you will not mind." "That depends upon when we are to expect him," Leonard answered, with as cheerful a smile as he could command for the occasion. "I have heard or read somewhere that it is unlucky to postpone a wedding when the day has been fixed; still, in this case, we can hardly object, since we gain so much by a little delay. 'And you have always said you would like to see my father." "Always, Uora; it was a point on which I felt so strongly that I would willingly have gone to India for the sake of seeing him and obtaining bis personal approval. I only hope that when he has seen me he will not ba sorry for your choice, and think you might have done better." "You may make your mind easy on that score." the major saici; "I can answer for the colonel as for mysejf, and if Dora were a daughter of my ows you would not have to wait a day for her. Pardon me frr speaking of Miss St. Hilary as Dora; my friend has made the name so familiar to me." "I like you to call her Dora," said J c<-si- ; "you knew her when she v.,.- aJir," thongn she would be mi i r ola i.ow to be a daughter of

"I'm not so sure of that," the soldier said; "I am forty-three." "Then you would have had to marry very young!" "Not so very—no younger than you are now." "Pardon me, I am nearly twentyseven." "Then you do not look it," said Lugard bluntly, with a glance at almost beardless face; he w*s Very fair and his delicate features were only relieved by a slight' |m'on3tache or the palest auburn. 1 "At your age I looked as old as I |do now; I felt older; but that, I think is a way young men have. I toak life seriously, and to me a ma'.] ol ! forty was a patriarch; I had yet to discover that thi more we know of the world the less we think of it." "Or is it tnat you grow hardsned to it?" Leonard asked. "Possiby. At forty years a man can look back with equanimity at dangers and disappointments that were grave enough when he had to meet them, but, wnen seen by the light of experience, were hardly worth a second thought. You have not met many troubles in your life so far?" "None," was the bright reply, "I thought it rather hard, perhaps, when I had to go to the desk for a living; I wanted to be something different, of course. I suppose most of us do." "What did you wart to be." "They were idle dreams," said Leonard colouring, "not worth mentioning, but it did not aeem beyond my reach to be a poet, a statesman or a soldier, such a poet as Byron, a statesman such as Pitt or Canning, a soldier as Wellington or Give." "Poets are born poets," the major said, "and soHiers such as Wellington and Clive were men of iron in physique and disposition; but there is no reason why you should not be a statesman if your ambition runs in that direction. To my mind, however, there can be no happier lot than thot of the man who can settle down at seven and twenty with a sweet young wife, a pleasant home, and a moderate income." "I am more than content," Leonard said, "and very happy, since all these are mine, or will be soon, but you thinh the colonel will like me?" | "You need not doubt it for an instant," said the major, kindly, "he is not the man to care for rank or riches, and Dora has told him how, even in your boyhood' you worked for your mothsr. You lost ycur father at an early age, I think?" "When I was so young that I can scarcely remember him," Leonard said, with a thoughtful glance at Mr Dacre. "I was not more than six or seven when I paw him last, and so far as my indistinct recollection goes, he must have been like my uncle, Then I went to school, where I remained ! till I was fourteen —not at the same school; but when I was ten—l shall never forget that—my mother came to me, dressed in the deepest black, ,-ind told me my father was dead. ' [to be coim'-y 20 - 3