THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 3173, 26 April 1909, Page 2

THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

CHAPTER XL.—Continued. One evening, towards the end of the third week, Mr i)acre startled « his wife by speaking quite clearly when they were alone. "If I could have lived," he said, "would you have come back to me?" "Yes. Dallas; after I heard your defence, it was more easy to forgive you. I never knew till then how hard you had tried to atone." "You should never have left me, he said: "it is always the last thing a wife should do, and the worst that she can. Had you been with me we could have gone from England when I knew St. Hilary was coming home;' but he drove me to what I did, and that is why I am here." "But he has forgiven you." "His forgiveness came too late. Therie was the disgrace. Even with youi&love I should not care to live, but I can die in peace." She kissed him, and wondered at the strength with which he held her hand, and his articulation, though slow, was distinct. "Is St. Hilary in the house V he asked., < "Yes; every day," "And the'major?" "Yes; they always come together." "Is there anyone else?" "Only a Mr Darlington, a gentleman who was deeply interested in the search for St. Hilary." "And does he come every day?" "He stays here. He has the room the major used to have." "I thought so," the sick man said, with a sigh. "He is waiting." He knew exactly what it meant, and he was glad they had kept th« knowledge from her. He changed the subject, and spoke of some happier days in the past, singling out a few. each of which was fi<ed in boih their minds by some special circumstances.. They talked : till he seemed tired, and then, with more than one caress, she left him, thinking he would sleep. She told De Vignn of the I marvellous change. j

"It is a good sign." she said, "and I think he will soon be better if we .. could take him away." "He was perfectly intelligible, . you say?" "Perfectly." . "Did he ask any particular question?" She told him. and he looked grave when she repeated the remark Mr Dacre had matie when he knew that \ * the inspector stayed in the house, "I am not so sure that it is a good sign," he said, '"and I had better see him." The doctor had more than once suspected that Mr Dacre was not in such a helpless condition as they believed; for some purpose of his own he had.hidden the fact that the worst symptoms of his atttack had passed away, and De Vigne's experience of malingering tol 1 him how easy it would be for any one who had once been familiar with the symptoms to simulate them. "If he is thinking over a plan of escape, why does he not confide in me?" the doctor said to himself. "He evidently knows why Darlington ishere, but it would be easy to devise some stratagem by which he could be got out of the way for a few hours.'' ■.■■'■.' v. -■../■ A few, hours all the-doctor required. s With t,ha inspector safsly out of the way, it would no be difficult to smuggle Mr Dacre from the house, and, with the connivance of those on wjiom he could depend, act precisely as if he were still helpless in his room, till he had reached a country not yet affected by the law ,of extradition De Vjgrie had it iff his mind to suggest this as he. went \ip the stairs, and he could tell him of Crauliss' arrest, with other items of information that might be useful in the flight he contemplated. He entered the room quietly, and hadno sooner done so than he recoiled; the whole atmosphere was pervaded by a stifling odor of chloral, 'blended with the subtle taint of morphia; but it did not need them to , tell Athol what had happened; the white face on the pillow, tranquil and triumphant, with closed eyes and set lips, told the story silently.

Mr Daere had attired himself for the grave before th- drank the draft which" placed him beyond the reach of the law. Even his arms were straight down by his side, as if they had been arranged by those who attended to the dead. In spite of the shock he felt, and his regret as a Christian that the last «,ct of his benefactor had been the crime of self-destruction, the doctor was conscious of a sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. He had not dared to pray that his friend would die; he had not daipd to hope that he would live. Wt«en he had been most sanguine over Mr Dacre's recovery he had been haunted most darkly by the dread of the day when Darlington would have to come forward in his true character as a stern representative of justice. The sense ot relief he experienced was shared by all to whom he told what had happened; he had no doubt in his own mind that it was a deliberate act, but he kept that to himself. "Those drugs ought to have been kept out of his reach," he said; "suffering as he did from insomnia, it was so easy for a) man in his condition to take an overdose by mistake. It-was a dangerous habit, and I had warned him against it, many timet)." So it went forth to the world that the man whose name was a household word for all that was best in human nature, had died in consequence of taking an overdose of chloral, administered by mistake; there was no inquest. The medical man sent by the authorities did not inquire too curiously, and no shadow of a scandal rested on Mr Dacre's grave. Out of the scores of private friends

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

who'joined in the funeral procession, and the hundreds who waited in grateful respect at the cemetery gates, not half-a dozen knew the truth. Had the epitaph been engraved upon his monument as it was spoken in the heart of the, multitude, it would have been the noblest of all—that of a man who loved his fellow men. and was kind to the poor. The real inscription was a simple one, and could best be intrepreted by those who knew him best. It was "Requiescat in pace." It was strange that the one who mourned for him most deeply, was the one to whom, during his life, he had shown the least kindness. Patient as he had generally been to the faults of others, his sister Hannah had always acted upon him like a morbid irritant. It may have been that her eccentricities annoyed him, or her persistent and consistent self-denial was a reproach to him. But she was the one for whom he had the fewest words and' the readiest frown; yet she had loved him faithfully, and she began to droop and wither when he had gone. The one on whom the sadness seemed to settle like a perpetual gloom, was Leonard, though he did not grieve so much over his death as for the disappointment of his life. The shock of the discovery that the man he honoured and respected, as his uncle, was in reality his father, and a criminal whose name was held in execration everywhere, bowed him to the earth with shame. He wanted to release-Dora from her engagement, but she would not accept the sacrifice.

"No one can blame you," she said: "and even if the truth were known, I should not be ashamed of you, Leonard. Do you think that even if I did not care for you, I could give you up in your trouble?" "Do you think I could take advantage of your generosity," he said, "even if I were sure of your love, Dora? And lam not sure of it. You are always sweet and gracious to me, but you are not as you were when we were children together. If you were free now, as a woman, ycu would not 'choose as you did when you were a girl." "Is that so very long ago," she said, with a smile, though she was conscious of an evasion in her words, "and are you not the same dear Leonard to me? What can I say more than this, that I love you, and am as willing to be your wife as when I first gav^-you my promise?" Had it not been for the proud and sensitive spirit which made Leonard think that Miss St. Hilary was prompted more by her compassiun than love, he would gladly have taken her at her word; but he knew, by instinct, that she loved the major, though thpre was nothing in the soldier's conduct to show that he returned Dora's affection. In fact so far as could be judged by appearances, Mary Walton was the one in whose society Frederick Lugard found most pleasure. Even De Vigne, usually so keen-sighted, looked rather moodily at the prefect understanding which existed between them. [to be continued.]