FIGHTING HER WAY.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 982, 28 February 1910, Page 2

FIGHTING HER WAY.

BY ROSS ASHLEIGH. Author oil "Eleanor's Luck," "The Widow's Wager. "Pure Gold," Etc, etc.

CHAPTER XXVll.—Continued

( He was getting back in his owr i way all the revenge he wanted for ( the domineering insolence Derring had used in his scheme to marry the; ' girl. No one was more apt to appre- » ciatc this than Hubert Derring who was all the more enraged at being outwitted by a clumsy old igoor- : amus like Carrol. Absorbed in his irate feelings, Derring strode rapidly to and fro across the spacious chamber while Gertrude slowly perused the letter. Shocked as she was by the intelligence it conveyed, she was too much her father's child not to sympathise Keenly in the spirit of retaliation it breathed all through; she could fancy the old man's chuckle of satisfaction as he penned the kind, fatherly phrases, and she felt a thrill of pleasure in beholding her bold master thus checkmated at his own game. "There was a glimpse of all these feelings under the assumed indifference of her manner as she said, letting the letter fUi carelessly on the table: 'You see it is not quite safe to count too much on a banker's money —it comes easy and goes lightly; but I dare say it will not make a very great difference to you.' She regretted this* remark the moment it was uttered, for it caused Derring to halt just in front of her, where she could see the expression of his white, working face. He was shaking all over, as if in an ague, and his eyes were like burning balls. 'Not make a very great difference to me? Perhaps you'll change your opinion on that subject before you are many hours older.' Slowly and deliberately as the words were uttered, they took a terrible significance to the mind of the frightened woman, who sat in speech'* less anxiety as she watched her husband put on his ulster and hat, and silently leave the room without a glance in her direction. She waited an hour, thinking he would certainly return, or send her some message to dismiss the carriage that had been ordered to lake them to the theatre. At the expiration of that time she ordered the carriage away, and disrobed herself of the elegant apparel and jewels in which she had decked herself with unusual care to meet some eminent personages in whose box they had been invited to sit. Giving her maid permission to retire, Mrs Derring endeavoured to compose hei thoughts with a new novel. But the tragedy in which she was playing a part all tou real quite overshadowed the fictitious drama, and she abandoned herself to the thronging apprehensions that seemed to crowd in at every inlet to her mind. All the hours of the long night struck from the neighbouring steeple clock, and she counted the strokes of the brazen 'tongue of time' by the shrinking of her sore nerves as they received the sounds that came to her, 3olemn as death knells. a With the gray dawn she crept to her couch, too weary and too feverish to sleep, but stupefied by the protracted vigil and suspense. At the usual time her maid entered to prepare her bath, and handed her a letter that had been left at the door. She recognised her husband's hand- ) writing, and eagerly tore open the j seal. This was what she read:

'Madam: I congratulate you on the stoicism witn which you have received the news of your bankruptcy, and I trust your philosophy may be equal to the demands you will be compelled to make on it. I have the honour to bid you farewell forever.' Gertrude had tried to prepare herself tor the very worst that a man could do, but this precise form of infamy had not occurred to her. To find herself deserted, without money, and without friends, in a foreign land, to meet the odium and scorn that must follow, was just a little beyond what she had calculated on, and a little more than she could bear in her present overwrought condition. The maid heard a queer sound from the bed, and approaching it, found her mistress in one of those ghastly convulsions that sometimes accrue to certain physical organisms from intense mental strain. Mistaking it for the death agony, the servant sent forth such cries of alarm that in a few moments a crowd of the other lodgers in the hotel had rushed into the chamber. 'Stand aside' commanded a stout, grizzled foreigner, with a German accent, who forced his way through the excited bystanders with an open knife in his hand. I i CHAPTER XXVIII. > I MISS CASTLEBAR GETS A I LEGACY. I i After leaving Christine Ca3tlebar's rooms, Doctor Alcot revisited his patient, whom he considered to be in a critical state. Mrs Ellis was an elderly and very fragile woman, and \ the disease she had contracted was in all cases a dangerous one—in hers it threatened to be fatal. Promising to send an experienced nurse immediately, and to return at a very early

1 huur next morning, he left the sick [ woman in charge of a clever servant girl, whom he directed to warn all the lodgers away from the landlady's room. Having already given Christine such a peremptory command to keep, to her own apartments, he went away determined to insist on her removal from the house on the following day. | His dismay can be imagined when on his return at daylight to the bedside of his diptheria patient, he found Miss Castlebar standing at the pillow of the sufferer, and assisting the nurse in her treatment. 'My God! what do you mean by seeking your death in this manner?' he exclaimed, as he took her hand and drew her away from Mrs Ellis, who she had she had been supporting while the sick woman used a gargle that had been prescribed. Christine smiled sadly as she said: j t 'I have been here all night, it lam to take the disease it is too late now I to fly from it, but I have no fear.' j 'I begged of her not to stay by me, doctor,' moaned Mrs Ellis feebly, 'but she just would.' [ Doctor Alcot said nothing, but his face expressed the intensity of his fears, and his displeasure at Chris- ! tine's disregard ot his professional ! authority, but he knew she was , right, and that it was now too late to prevent contagion, if indeed she was liable to the malady. He could not help admiring the quiet heroism with which the girl ignored all danger for herself, to miniate-.' to the ! needs of the poor sufferer whose throat was already in so irightful I a state that suffocation seemed every instant more imminent. A very brief examination of the case assured the doctor that she had not many hours to live, and it was so pitiful to see how she clung to Christine's soft, soothing ministry, that he had not the heart to separate her from it in her last dreadful agonies. Even after speech had failed her, the dying woman would turn her eyes imploringly to Christine, and reach out her hands to de tain her if she stirred from her side. The only near relation Mrs Ellis had in the world was her daughter, who was living at the other end of the city, ignorant of her mother's state, and nursing an ill child with the same fatal disease — her friends, of course, refused to come near ner, and already the house was all in confusion with hurried departure of her lodgers from the infected place.

By seven o'clock every room, save Christine's, had been abandoned, and the servants had all deserted their posts. Although every effort was made to keep the knowledge of these facts from the sufferer, she easily divined the meaning of the wild commotion that reached her from the other rooms, and the indecent noises of porters removing baggage along the hallways with no sort of regard to the exteme condition of the unhappy woman. No longer able to utter an articulate sound, Mrs Ellis made a sign to Christine to leave her also, but the girl only drew closer to her, and said sweetly: 'Do not be afraid I shall be harmed, my good, kind friend. God will take care of me. As to the others, let them go. It can make no difference to you." By means of powerful drugs, Doctor Alcot relieved the acute j

sufferings of Mrs Ellis sufficiently to enable her to rest from the convulsions of pain that had for hours been exhausting her. She signaled her wish to have a pencil and some paper given her, and supported by the doctor and Christine she wrote these I words in a perfectly legible hand: I 'lt is my last will and testament that this house and every article of furniture it contains shall be the property in fee simple of Christine Castlebar, my lodger and my best friend. The rest and residue of my possessions I leave to my only daughter, Ellen G. Rantoll.' Having written this, she desired Doctor Alcot to read and witness it, making him understand by sighs that she did not wish Christine to know what she had done till after her death. With her own hands she folded the paper and put it into Doctor Alcot's hands. Alter this she seemed to fall asleep, and the weary struggle for breath became less and less for the space of an hour when a spasm more i violent than any she had yet felt an- = nounced the iinal strife between nature and the destroyer. Before noon, Mrs El is lay a white corpse ready for burial The day after the funeral was a dreary, drizzling, freezing one outside, and Miss Castlebar was so worn by her late exertions and the harassing scenes she had passed through, that she yielded to Doctor Alcot's entreaties and remained in her rooms, leaving Franz to do the best he could at the flower store. TO PW CONTINUED