A GREAT WRONG, Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9995, 16 March 1910, Page 2

A GREAT WRONG, Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange.

CHAPTER IV. —Continued. She well knows the conditions of her poor father's will, lias known them since her childhood. She knows, too, that years a?o, when she was scarcely more than a baby, she was almost solemnly betrothed —indeed wedded —to her Cousin Richmond. From the neat gold chain that slitters on her white bosom the tiny symbol of that childish marriage still hangs. In his last will her father implored his only and dearly beloved daughter not for any cause to set aside that childish marriage, but, in obedience to his lifelong wish, to become her Cousin Richmond's wife. Failing to obey his wishes, Miss Trevethon iorfeits her right as heiress, and the Trevethon fortune goes to a remote scion of the family, and she and her cousin are both left penniless. But Miss Trevethon has no thought of disobeying her dead father's last wish and will. She holds that marriage of her childhood sacred and binding; the tiny betrothal ring glitters on her bosom, and when Richmond comes home she will marry him.

Her guardian knows this well, and, trusting to ber integnty, allows her unbounded freedom. Since her return from the French convent, where the, better part of her youth had been passed, her ill'e has been a series of successes. Her first season was a triumph, and she has received some of the very best offers that Beigravia can afford. An earldom with its tempting coronet has been laid at her feet, ana she has rejected it, as she rejected all the others. When Richmond comes hon.e, she will become his wife, and make him master of her splendid heritage, the heritage so rightfully his own. Richmond lingers abroad, has lingered for years, with the fairest and richest bride in wide England awaiting his coming. But Lenore is by no means impatient; she rather dreads ' his return than otherwise; she loves her girlish freedom so well. She knows little of the man who was her boy bridegroom, and is to be her future husband, for they have seen each other only a long intervals, and for very brief periods. What he is or is not she has had little opportunities for learning, yet, despite her repugnance, her utter indifference when he comes, she will obey her dead father's command and become his wife. The baronet knits his brows a trifle darkly at her laughing response, but { his answer, is entirely pleasant. 'Well, well, he is certainly on his I way to England this time. We may look to see him any day now m a week's time, and once here, he adds, with pointed gallantry, 'he will never care to leave again.' To which flattering assertion the young lady makes no response whatever; but ber chaperon, and the baronet's bosom friend, Lady Halstead, arises as she remarks:

'lt is most devoutly hoped he will, for the good of all concerned, myself especially. The socner he gets here,and the sooner the legal wedding is well over, the better i shall be phased.' 'May I ask vshy?' questioned the young lady serenely. The dowager shuts her snuff-box with a sharp snap. 'You ask why, as if you didn't

know. Why, 1 shall be as gray as a rat in another momh or two if I don't get you wtlJ off my hands. Catch me in such a fix again ! There's not a day in the week, Sir Ueoffrey, but she throws me into a fever with her follies. She is the very maddest madcap outside of Bedlam.' Miss Trevethon shrugs her white shoulders in imperial scorn, and the baronet only smiles. The dowager smoothes her skirt and continues: 'And now, in view of Richmond's return and the approaching wedding, to know, in the name of common sense, if you do not intend to abandon that absurd trip to the Highlands? Sir Geoffrey, for anawer, merely bows toward his ward. She lifts her radiant glance from her open book. 'Our Highland trip cannot be abandoned,' she replies. 'We shall leave Lyndith Hall within an hour.' 'As the queen wills,'responds the baronet, with a second bow.

It is part and parcel of his policy to indulge his fair ward in ail her whims, and this trip to the Highlands is one of them. '4s the queen wills,' is his gallant answer to all her requests; he only asks to manage tar vast fortune according to his own will.

'As the queen wills,' echoes Lady Halstead. 'Well, Heaven be praised, the queen's reign will soon end, unless Richmond Trevethon is as great an idiot as his father. I'll make it my business to give the young man a hint or two when he arrives.' And.

she nods severely toward Lenore, her black eyes twinkling with a grim humour that softens the asperity of her speech. 'l'll go to my room aijd make ready for the journey. We will go, and grill, .■starve, ai.d sleep on the ground like cattle, and mix with b-übarians, because the queen wills, and before a

BY EMMA GAKRJ ON JONES. Author of "Pelf and Power," "St rathinore's Sin," Etc, etc.

week ends the queen will come home, heartily sick of her folly, and with her complexion finely tanned for her wedding-day." 'My wedding-day !' repeals Lenore, tossing aside her book. 'l'm sick of the SGund of it already. Dear, dear, I do wonder where the narborous custom of marrying and being given in marriage ever originated?' 'Why, in the Garden of Eden, to be sure,' laughs Gir Geoffrey. 'I only wish it had ended there,' retorts his ward. 'Pray, Sir Geoffrey, ring the bell, and I'll have Clotilde come and dress me.'

Sir Geoffrey rings and bows low to his ward, as if she were indeed a queen ?nd himself her most devoted subject. And within an hour a large party leaves Lyndith Hall tor the Scottish hills.

Sir Geoffrey's party have been in the neighbourhood of the baronet's shooting-bo.v some days before Lennre sees her way clear to accomplish the object she had iu view, when she planned the excursion. It is a glorious mornng, the air pure and bracing, the sunshine lying warm and golden over the purple mcors and shaggy hills. Miss Trevethon is out for a long walk. She pause?, ankle-deep in yellow gorse, when the blue smoke from the shooting-box fade 3 behind the line of black firs." 'Clotilde,' addressing her attendant, 'we are out of sight of the whole stupid party now; Sir Geoffrey has gone deer-stalking; Lady Halstead has sprained her foot, and the day is grand. My opportunity has come at last-I'm going to Blaok Hollow Grange.' The woman locks up, with a sudden start, her, sad, worn face growing a shade more ghastly. A strange creature to look at is this companion of Miss Trevethon's a creature upon whom the blight of some awful crime, or terrible sor- ' row, must have fallen. She is not much past her prime, yet her abundant hair is as white as snow, and there is a curious look in her introverted eyes, a sphinxlike mystery in her frozen face, that suggests the condition of a somnambulist. But Miss Trevethon is quite fond of this, her ghostly companion, for since her earliest recollection Clotilde has been with her like her own shadow, and we grow to love the creature with whom we have been long familiar, no matter how ungainly they may be. Lenore loves this woman, who follows her day and night, with the dumb, watchful devotion of a dog; and if at times, growing impatient of her constant surveillance, the young heiress treats her unkindly, she h sure to repent the minute after, and beg her pardon, which Glotilde readily grants. For, despite her sphinx-face, the poor soul is tender and gentle, and devoted to her lovely young mistress. •Black Hollow Grange, Miss Trevethon?'

The words fall huskily from her ashen lip. 'Black Hollow Grange,' repeats Lenore, with a defiant laugh. 'lt is over yonder somewhere, in the midst of those black hiHs! I shall be sure to find it! There, hold your peace. Clotilde, I know what you would say. I know all about the gruesome old house, shut up since the day and hour of that awful murder —I've heard all about the ghosts, and all that, but I'm going, nevertheless. 1 will go,' and she brings down her pretty foot with decided emphasis. • I've longed to see the place all my life; (think of it all day, and dream of it at night; I have a notion, Clotilde—l have had ever since I heard the awful story, a strange notion that if I can get into that old Grange, I shall find some clue ' 'Miss Lenore, for the love of Heaven, hush!' 'And, therefore Why, Clotilde, you always are ghostly to look at, but now your face is like chalk,and your knees shake under you. What's the matter?' 'Come home, Miss Trevethon, I implore you!" 'Not I! My opportunity has come, and I've waited for it too long, to let it slip. I'm going to Black Hollow Grange!' 'But Sir Geoffrey—if he should find out!' Miss Trevethon snaps her slender white fingers. •Sir Geoffrey won't eat us, I've asked him dozens of times to let me visit the old place, but he always frowned like an ogre, and said no. So did Lady Halstead. They don't even know that; I'm acquainted with the awful particulars of my poor mother's murder and my father's strange disappearance, but I am. I know the whole story from beginning to end; old Kisby told me everything. ! What an awful thing it was, Clo--1 tilde!' Her fresh young face whitens as she turns it toward her companion, and » shudder runs through her lithe frame.

'Yes, an awful thing, Miss Lenore; you should never have heard it, and you must not think of it now. Come, let us go back.' TO PK CONTINUED