THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 3168, 20 April 1909, Page 2

THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

CHAPTER XXXVl.—Continued. "This is Mr Dacre, father," she said; "I am so glad that you meet atlas!." The next moment she threw herselt before the colonel and clung to him with a frightened cry, for his entire aspect had changed, and in another instant he would have leaped at her guardian's throat., "Is that your Mx Dacre?" he said, "the public philanthropist and private benefactor of his kind? Why, look ac him ag'sin, Lugard; that is the treacherous hypocrite and felon, Dallas Crombie!" CHAPTER XXXVII. "NOTHING ~LrJFT BUT THE BLACK RECORD OF MY SHAME." The terrible accusation, startling and unexpected as it was to all, except Lugard and De Vigne, was followed by such a hush as falls upon the crowd in a court of justice when the last sentence of the law is pronounced. That it was true they could not doubt; one glance at Mr Dacre s marble face told them to expect no denial from him; yet he stood there with an unflinching front; the concentrated scorn and bitterness of St. Hilary's ringing voice, the withering significance of the stern forefinger pointed at him were lost upon him. He might, by the proud and gentle resignation on his pallid countenance, have been a martyr rather than a felon, and there was nothing but sadness in hjs tone as he said: "Yes, 1 am Dallas Crombie. When you told that to those in this room, you did your worst; the rest that you can say is nothing. 1 spared you when you were at my mercy, because I knew that if you had your liberty you would bring this upon me; but, disgraced as I am, and ruined, too, I am not sorry that I spared you. Had you not made your escape, you would have been set free within the next twenty-four hours, and I should have left England lcyed, respected, ana regretted by all who knew me

here." "I can vouch. f*r the truth of that," said Ds Vigne; "MrDacre and I were leaving "England to-mor-row." "It breaks my heart," Dora said. "Father, he was so kind to me. and I loved him." "I must admit," the colonel said, "that the man's whole conduct is a mystery to me. I s?e him here, loved and honoured by tnosa who ai\i so eorry for him, that by their looks they seem to reproach me for having stripped away this saintly mask, and shown him fur the wretch he is, and must have been fur years. What can I say of him who, while he treated my daughter with most generous and tender care, had me enticed away from Liverpool,- drugged and caged like a wild animal, till sometimes I felt nearly as mad a3 I was supposed to be? He came to me, Lugard. soon alter I had been taken to Dr... Baracocci's asylum, told me what he had. done, spoke regretfully of the necessity under which he had acted, and offered to set ine fre=2 at once if I would give my simple ' word of honour never to betray hi-n." "I asked your pardon for what I had done," Mr Dacre said. "I bore patiently the scathing language with aihich you refiised to make any terms with me. I told you I had only taken you there for temporary detention, because I dreaded your relentless enmity, and I assured you solemnly that the"'circumstances under which I begged your forbearance were such as would have made you grant it freely, if I could have explained them."

"And I refuted to believe you. How could I? only knowing you at your worst, as I did-; and after such an outrage, caged as I was. could I make terms with the man who wanted to wring a promise from me by force, compel me to compound a felony as the price of my freedom? Had you come to me at the outset, and revealed your identity, told me that my enemy, the Dallas Crombie cf the past, and Mr Dacre, my child's guardian and protector, were ore and the same, I might and shoulr. for her sake, have shown you both merry and forgiveness." "It is easy to say that now," Dacre said, "and perhaps you think so now; but any one who knows you hare can understand the risk I should have run, and it seemed so hard to be torn down from the position I had won, to be disgraced and trampled in the mire as I am at this moment, to have my repentant years treated with derision, the new "name that was honoured by all men, swept away, and nothing left to me but the black record of my shame. That was what I feared, and that was why I wanted to make terms under such conditions as were safe for me." "You wanted to make terms with me while I was at your mercy," the colunel said, with manifest simplicity. "Had you forgotten, to had you never heard, that I was taken prisoner, and kept as hostage during the mutiny, my life in imminent peril every moment, a dusky horde of human fiends clamouring for my blood because I would not send a message consenting to be exchanged for one of the rebel princes my men had captured? I was rescued at the last moment, when I was led out to die, and did you think I could treat with you because I was in your power?" "When the Sepoys held you prisoner," Dacre said, "you were supported by a soldier's pride. You had to set an example to your men, and uphold the dignity of your profession and your country, and I trusted to your feelings as a father, the longing to sea your child again." J3I" You should have come to me when

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

I first landed in England, and told me the truth," St. Hilary said. "The ■('act that you were Mr Caere, my Dora's second fatln-r, would have been vour safeguard then, as it is now. " I will not say that I forgive you, but I shall forego the first revenge I intended to take. I cannot forge t that my child loved you, and for years slept in peace under your roof. Your whole character is a mass of contradictions that goes beyond my comprehension, but I am willing to believe that, as Mr Dacre, you tried to atcne for the misdeeds'of Dallas Crombie. I will not say that I forgive you. I simply leave you unpunished for the wrongs you have done to me." If he had wished to crush his enemy to the earth he could not have succeded more thoroughly than by extending to him that qualified form of mercy. Mr Dacre was prepared to stand at bay, defiant to the last, and die, as De Vigne had said, like an old tiger in his lair; but he was not prepared to accept a favour at, the hands of tha man who had hunted him down. Whatever generosity there was in it was lost upon him. He only felt its stinging humiliation and his own helplessness. "Your worst was done when you exposed me here," he said. "Such punishment as the law of man might inflict has no terrors for me. Whether I pass my few .remaining years, or months, or days in a prison, or under this roof, is a matter of little moment. My life ended when you struck me down, as you have stricken me from my place in the hearts of those who loved me and bel'eved in me." "Not from mine," said De Vigne. "I can only think of you as I have always known you, and lam only one of thousands who speak trumpettongued of your disinterested and thoughtful kindness. Even if I leave all 1 hold most dear behind me forever, I cast in my lot, with yours, and go with you anywhere." "A very poor lot, mine," Dacre said, with a glance of unspeakable gratitude and affection, "for I am ruined as well as disgraced, and I do not know where the journey I contemplate may end—but I shall go alone." "Let me add my word to Athol's/' Mrs Walton said, with a gentle sympathy that shook the unmasked man to his centre. "I knew Mr Dacre's identity from the first, and had forgiven him long before, and I did hope he would remain undiscovered, to the end of his days soothed by the respect and honour he had won so well." "1 thank you," said Dacre brokenly, and then he turned to Dora. "You," he added, "have you nothing to say?" He saw the angel's pity in her fact', and she tried to answer him. but the words would not come; then, with her head on the colonel's shoulder, she pleaded f r him. [to be continued.]