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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9996, 17 March 1910, Page 2

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

BY EMMA GARRJ ON JONES. Author o£ "Pelf and Power,"' "St rathir.ore's Sin, Etc, etc.

CHAPTER IV.—Continued. 'I won't; I'm going to JJlack Hollow Grange, Aa I said, the notion haunts me that once there I shah fin'.] some clue by which to solve the mystery of my poor father's fate. I had this object solely in view when I planned this excursion; for once I have outwitted Sir Geoffrey. Cume, we've/io time to idle; the station cannot be far away. We have the day before us, and even if we do i.ot succeed in getting back to-night there will be no great harm done. Will you come, Clotilde? Do you hear me? Why, then, do you stand and gape like an idiot?'

'I can'tgo, Miss Trevethorj.' 'Do you mean it, Clotilde Can it be possble that at last for once in my life, I am to be free of your shadow? 'I am rejoiced at the prospect I assure you, and I bid you good morning The young lady turns on her heel with a scornful laugh, but Clotilde's tremulous lDuch detains her.

'I beg your pardon, Miss Trevethon, but I have tried to make myself useful to you all these years.' Her white lips quiver and her eyes fill with tears. Poor, desolate, soul, bereft as she has been of eveiy earthly tie and forced to enduie a living martyrdom, the one solitary comfort of her wretched life isherlo\efor her ycung mistress. Lenore sees the pain in the poor, meek face, and instantly repents of her unkmdness. have been useful, my poor Clotilde, and I would not be without you for worlds. There, forgive me, and do not take my silly words to heart.'

She gives her a caressing pat on the cheek with her slender, soft hand, as she continues:

'Come. now. £we are friends again. We should never fall out., Clotilde, if you would only keep in mind the ! fact that I always do have my way i in the end; and certainly it would be wise to permit me to have it in the beginning, and thereby save your breath. Come, let us hurry on.' 'Miss Lenore, I cannot go. For the love of Heaven, do not think of visit ing that awful place!' Miss Trevethon's swift anger blazes up afresh. ' Why not? For fear of encountering the ghosts of my poor murdered father and mother?' she demands. Heaven send 1 might see them! Alive or dead, in the body or out, they would be most welcome. Why, Clotilde, you are actually shivering. What a coward you must be. Or, perhaps," she adds, struck by a sudden thought, 'you know something of that terrible mystery? I have long wondered what secret you carry locked up in your heart. It must be a dreadful one. judging from the look of your face. Is it concerning the mystery of Black Hollow Grange? Can it be possible, Clotilde, that you know something and kept.it from me all these years?' The woman whitens until her face ia like ashes, and she utters a piteous <rasping cry. 'Oh, Miss Trevethon, how should I know? It is cruel to think I do.' Lenore throws aside the nand that clutches at her arm.

'Perhaps it is cruel,' she replies; 'but, then, if you know nothing of the mystery, you need have no fear to the ghosts. Once for all, will you come with me or not?' 'I cannot'

'Then I shall go alone.' 'Oh, Miss Lenore, stop! You must not. Sir Geoffrey would be so angry.' 'Sir Geoffrey's anger can cool. Stand aside, Clotilde!'

She pushes her companion out of t.;e way and walks rapidly onward, not deigning another word or glance.

Clotilde follows, wringing her hands in an agony of distress. Lenore goes on at a rapid pace. She has made up her mind to visit Black Hollow Grange at all risks, and in the teeth of all opposition; and, like ah her race before her, Miss Trevethon has an iron will. Presently the shrill shriek of a locomotive greets her; ear, and she sees a thin cloud of smoke hurling over the summit of a brovn hill. The train is coming. She quickens her steps', her heart throbbing with pleasant excitement. A turn in the road brings her in sight of the way station, with its red flag fluttering in the breeze; and she succeeds in reaching the platform just as the snorting engine comes up. 'Passengers for Piedmont,' shouts the conductor. Lenore has no desire to visit Piedmont, but she sees the blue highlands beyond, and fancying that Black Hollow Granee roust be somewhere in their midst she determines to go

With an elastic spring she gets aboard, and the train thunders just as poor, panting Clotilde comes up. 'Miss Lenore! Mis 3 Lenore!' she shrieks, but the roar of the wheels drowns her frantic cry, and Miss Trevethon, looking from the window of her carriage, nods and kisses the tips of hf.'V white fingers as she is wmrled away. 'What snail I do?'moans the wo-

man ringing her hands. 'He 11 take my life if he ever knows. Oh, what shall I do?' Meanwhile Lenore flies on, over miles of golden gorse, and purple heath-bloom, a strange sense of liberty thrilling her.

The young lady removes her jaunty hat', and lies back in her seat, while the breeze stirs her tresses into a mass of riotous gold. Heiress and bride-elect that she is, she finds her life insufferably dull and stupid. The constant adulation and homage of men and women, who set more store by wealth than herself, has grown to be an old song, of which she is thoroughly weary. 'I wish i could run away,' she repeats, watching the flying hills witn dreamy eyes. I have half a mind to try —run away and seek my fortune as the heroines in novels sometimes do, and leave all my possession to Sir Geoffrey. I suppuse, however, he would follow me, and fetch me back to marry Richmond, Dear, dear, how awfully stupid it all is—this marrying business above all. It really turns me sick to think of it. I sincerely hope that Kichmond may be shipwrecked!' 'Piedmont Station!'

She springs to her feet, and adjusts her hat and tumbled tresses. 'lf you please sir,' she inquires, as the conductor hands her out, 'is there a place anywhere near here called Black Hollow Gange?' The man turns round and looks at her before he replies: miss, there is; the 'Haunted Manor,' it is called nowadays.' 'Precisely, place I mean. Will you have the kindness, sir, to tell me the distance, and in which direction it lies?'

'Over yonder, miss, the other side of those biue peaks, to the left a matter of a couple of miles perhaps, and a prety straight road. ±Jut begging your pardon, miss, you don't think of going there?' 'Yes, sir, I am certainly going to the 'Haunted Manor,' if I can find it, and I'm much obliged to you.'

'Perhaps you doD't know, miss, that the manor's been deserted this ten years and more, and folks say 'tis haunted?' continues the conductor, with the very best intentions. 'Yes, sir, I know all about it. Good morning!' Lenore trips away, while a dozen heads protrude from the carnage windows, and as many pairs of eyes, watch her with staring curiosity.

She hurried on, more determined than ever to accomplish the object shehas in view.' She has walked a full mile, and the sun has passed the zenith before she comes in sight of a single dwelling, or the least sign of civilised ilfe. At last, in a green hollow* beneath the hills, she sees a small hut, in front of which an old woman sits knitting. Lenore is growing weak from fatigue and hunger; hence she determines to turn aside and buy a draft of fresh milk, and find out if she is pursuing the right way. The old dame rises up at her approach and proffers her a seat, which the girl gladly accepts; but she has scarcely removed her hat and pushed back her damp hair, when the woman utters a shrill screech,

'What is it, good mother?' questions Lenore.

'The saints protect us!' cries the dame, with uplifted hands and affirighted eyes; one would take ye for the lovely murdered leddv herself, come out of her winding-sheet. Are ye a ghost or a living woman?' 'A living woman and a hungry one, too,' laughs Lenore. 'My good creature, what.do you mean? surely you don't take me for a ghost?' 'Nay, nay, but ye look loike her, the poor murdered leddy as sleeps in the Black Hollow up yonder. I seen her wi' these two eyes, the blessed night afore she was murdered, awalking up and down the terrace, her yaller hair all a-streaming, and the flowers on her breast, and you be as like her as two peas.' Lenore's eyes quickly till with tears, and her breast heaves. 'Poor lady,' she replies, steadying her voice by a great effort,' I've heard of her. Tell me about her, please.' 'There is little to tell, raiss, saving as she walked the terrace that evening, so fair and so smiling, and the next blessed morn they found hex- lying dead >n a puol of her own heart's biood, and the master gone, and from that day to this he has not been heard of. But they do say,' bhe adds, with a sh'idder, 'as he it was chat murdered :er, because she had a smiling face for other meil than him, and that's why they buried her in the Black Hollow, with only a stone cross at her head.'

Lenore presses her hand against htr heart. She has never been told be fore that her mofchjr lies buried in the Black Hollow beiow the Grange. 'And no one ean tell what became of him?' she falters. TO CONTINUED