A GREAT WRONG.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9991, 11 March 1910, Page 2

A GREAT WRONG.

/ BY EMMA GARRISON JONESV Author of "Pelf aEd Power," "Strathmore's Sin," j Etc, etc.

CHAPTER I.—Continued Andrew Bruce was apparently a great deal shocked when he heard the news. Compressing his lips with de-, termination, he took the heavy ring \ from his finger and hid it in hia breast. He kept away form the room where his dead friend lay, with a curious, guilty feeling, as if he had had some hand in his death, aid was in dread of being suspected, Ihe body was prepared for burial, and the second mate, who superintended the sad offices, came to Mr Bruce with this question : •There is a portrait and a package of letters on the poor breast. Should we bury them with him, think vou?' " 'Oh, yes; certainly, by all means, | answered Mr Bruce with hurried embarassment. The body was sewed up in its rude winding-sheet, and the portrait and letters were permitted to remain undisturbed on the silent heart. Standing on the deck that portentous evening, with the orphan boy at his side, Mr Bruce looked down upon the still form of his friend, his face indicative of bitter regret. 'Why was I such a thoughtless idiot? Why did I not secure that portrait and the letters when the chance was offered me? There's no telling what their import may be!' j These were the thoughts that tilled ! his mind; but the regret was too : late. The shrouded body was placed upon a board, preparatory to being dropped into the sea. and the funeral services were begun. The gray fog hung around and above them like a pall, and the ship flew on the mercy of the swelling I gale. By the of a flaring lamp the chaplain read the burial-service, while the crew and passengers stood near the body with uncovered heads.

The chaplain was naaring that solemn clause which begins, 'We commit his body to the seaj" and everything was iD readiness to raise the body and.let it drop over the Bide when there came a cry of alarm from above: 'A light on the lee bow !' The captain hurried forward, shouting to two or three of the crew to foliow him, and in five minutes the wildest panic prevailed. The dead man still lay on the deck, and the chaplain waited, with his open prayer-book in his hand. The captain issued'his orders, and the men, made desperate by a sense of peril., refused to obey them. : 'A pretty fix now. We'll presently be driven ashore on the French coast,' grumbled the old sailor. The captain grew fairly livid, and roared his orders in a voice of thunder, but not a man stirred. A mutiny seemed to be brewing as well as a SateBut after a lapse of some minutes comparative quiet was restored, and the passengers began to reassemble on the deck, where the shrouded corpse still lay. The chaplain once more essayed to read the service, but almost with his first utterance there came an awful crssh The shock that followed threw many of the assembled company flat on their faces on the deck; every lamp was shivered, every light put out. The Nautilus had struck a rock on , the French coast. The vessel quivered from stem to stern, and shrieks and cries of terror denoted the general panic. 'You wouldn't heed an old salt's warning,' roared the old sailor. 'Look ! alive, cap'n b Is this Yarmouth now, think ye?' The captain stood silent in a stupor of fright and amazement. A moment pi terrible silence followed, and then the great waves struck the doomed vessel rolling oyer her in mountain torrents deluging her cabins, and sweeping off several of the crew to sudden death.

CHAPTER 111. A NIGHT OF TERRUR. The darkness of sudden night settled down upon the doomed vessel and the desolate shore near which she lay. The sea rose higher and higher, great waves, like mountains, struck the ship, fairly lifting her up, and dashing her neavily against the rocks. Withal; the long'threatened gale,came on, tearing throjgh the black fog like a shrieking demon, and bearing the poor floundering Nautilus with such merciless fury that she began to show sure signs of going to pieces. Far away in the black distance hoarse thunders pealed, and at intervals a red flame of lightning leaped out, giving the poor souls huddled on the deck a glimpse of the awful doom that awaited them. ShrieKs and wails of lamentation rose above the clamor of the storm and every minutes some poor creature was dashed into the sea. The captain, driven wild with terror, sccurtii the only available boat, and with some half-dozen men deserted the ship, but the boat was swamped

Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange.

almost instantly, hastening the fate the occupants so desired to escape. In the midst of all this awful peril, while the Nautilus shuddered under him, and the great waves rushed over her, sweeping off dozens of poor souls to untimely death. Andrew Bruce made his way to that part of the deck where the dead man had lain, awaiting burial. The body lay there still, sewed up in its hammock, and thrown into a sheltered corner, where it escaped the full force of wind and water. While scores ot living men had been : swallowed up by the sea this dead man was spared. •Andrew Bruce saw the shrouded figure, by the flash' of the lightning, and pat forth his foot, and touched itjHis face, as he stood there in the stormy darkness, wore a strange look —the look of a man beset by some strong temptation to which ha was not wholly willing to succumb. For five minutes, perhaps, he hesitated, his face ashen white, his breath coming in laboured gaps, then suddenly he fell on his knees beside the corpse of the man who had been his friend. 'I may as well take them,' he muttered. 'Where's the harm? And there's no telling what they are.' He drew a small knife from his pocket, and opened the keen, slim blade. . Then, with a few rapid strokes, though he worked in utter darkness, he cut an opening in the hammock much larger than was necessary for the purpose, for he rent it more than half its length. With eager hands he groped for a few moments around the dead man's bosom. He found the miniature and the package of letters, and hurredly drew them forth. t The package w.as warm, so was thei ivory case of the miniature. So also was the bosom from which he had taken them, drenched as it was by the sea; but in his terror and hurry, Andrew Bruce took no note of these strange facts. He hid the miniature and the letters in his own breast, looked about him with startled glances to be certain this robbery of the dead had not been witnessed, and then fled away to make an effort to save hia own life. The dead man lay where he left bim; the hammock cut away, his chest and his face both exposed. An awfull ghastly face it was, as a sudden lightning flame illuminated the deeck for an instant—a face very like unto death. Yet on the right cheek there was a long gash, made by Bruce's careless and cruel knife, and from this wound a slender steam of red blood trickled. Andrew Bruce, having secured the papers he coveted, hurried forward just as the Nautilus parted amidships, with a thundering noise.; He had secured a life-preserver, and then made his way to that part of the wreck which was strewn with bits of. timber, and floating chests; and boxes, and to these dozens of poor souls clung, struggling for life, but being beaten down every minute by the restless waves--1 here was small chance of escape; little hope of life, but Andrew Bruce was resolute to risk his fate. He was a daring man, and an expert swimmer. While an effort remained to him he would not stand and wait for death. He was on the point of leaping off the wreck, which was momentarily goink to pieces, when a shrill cry arrested his attention —a child's cry. He looked down, and .the moon, wading through drifts of y black and throwing a fitful light upon the scene of horror, showed him a child just below him, clinging with both frail arms to the vessel's side, his poor, imploring little face looking up but a hand's breadth above the seething sea. The child was the son of the dead man lying on the deck beyond. Andrew Bruce recognised , the boy at a glance, and with a thrill of surprise. He thought he had gone to ois doom long ago. Seeing him thus, however., his first impulse was to save him. He could save him, and give him a chance for life. He actually made a movement -toward the child, as another entreating cry reached his ears; but a sudden thought struck him and he stood irresolute. 'lf i save him, he may come between me and—and—what I hope for,' he slowly muttered. While he hesitated thus, a great wave dashed over the wreck and the child was swept away. With a frantic lekp Bruce gained che open sea 1 beyond the wieck, a-J began to battle for his life, uut ids very face, 1 j as the pale moonrays revealed it, was cuatigea; tor in that awift moment. Andrew Bruce, hitherto a comparatively moral man, became a murderer. The Rubicon of crime was passed; and henceforth his caurse would lead downward. The opportunity had been given him to make his choice between right and wrong., and he nad chosen the latter. TO J"« CONTINUED