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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9998, 19 March 1910, Page 2

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

BY EMMA GARRT ON JONES. Author of "Pelf and Power," "Strathmore's Sin," Etc, etc.

CHAPTER V.—Continued. A ra\en flaps its wings in the black branches overhead arid utters a dismal croaK. The girl rises to her feet with a shudder, plucks a sprig of blooming heather from the lonely grave, and turns away with a heartbroken sob. The winding path that once led up the bluff is all overgrown, and it is with considerable difficulty that she makes the ascent. Panting from her exertions, she at last stands before the huge iron gate. It is closed, but at the touch of her hand it swings open with a hoarse creak. She crosses the grounds and gains the terrace upon which her mother walked the evening before her death. The flagstones beneath her feet are green and slippery with mould, the old house looms up above her like a huge gray tomb. She looks up at the silent windows and an awful terror comes over her. Her cheeks blanch and her very knees shake. But she clenches her hand and sets her teeth, the' old Trevethon will risine up strong within her. 'Never look back,' was an ancient motto of her house. She will not look back now. She makes her way round to the front entrance.

The yard is overgrown, and here and there a broken urn or a fallen statue gleams through the long grass, and over the huge pillars of the portico wild vines trail in luxuriant growth. Lenore ascends the mossy steps, passes the vestibule, and tries the | massive oak door. It opens readily, | and ohe passes through into a wide i hall, all hung with hunting-trophies, j and here and there a piece of ancient | armour. Through a stained window at the remote end the afternoon sun i shines, rilling the room with lurid ! splendor. Miss Trevethon moves on with bated breath and distended eyes, awed, and yet strangely fascinated. I She comes to another door, which admits her into the spacious double drawing-rooms. The lurid glow from the stained window penetrates even here, disclosing the tattered silken hangings and the faded carpet, in the very centre of which, under the rusty chandelier, is a dark stain, which all the years have failed to obliterate.

The girl sees it, and a cry of horror breaks from her white lips. It was in that spot that her mother lay murdered. She turns away, sick and shuddering, and returns to the hall. The broad staircase goes windng up just beyond her; and possessed with a foolish fancy that in some part of

this dim old house she must find a clue to her father's mysterious fate, she ventures to ascend.

Her light steps ring sharply in the terrible silencer On the first landing a great bird flutters out from a sequestered nook, and flies past her with a scream, The girl's neart beats so rapidly that [she can scarcely breathe, and a cold sweat bedews her

brow, but she goes on. She cornea to a long suite of sleep-ing-apartments, the first of which she enters. It is a spacious chamber, which must have been splendid in its day, the couch all hung with tarnished white, the dressing-table strewn with feminine trifles. 'Can this have been my mother's chamber?' the girl wonders.

She approaches the table to select some little Bt>uvenn from the faded toys, when a sudden sound, a mesmeric sense of some near presence, thrills her with deadly terror. She turns round, just in time to see an opposite door swing cautiously open and a face peer through the aperture. An awful face it seems to the terrified girl, white and spectral, with a beard flowing down like a frosty cloud. One wild, wideeyed, glance, and then, with a shriek of mortal tear, Lenore flies out of the chamber and down the resounding stairs.

'Stop, stop! I'm not mad, my beautiful maiden; I won't harm you, calls a gentle, musical voice.

But if Miss Trevethon hears she does not heed. She flies downward with*headlong speed until she reaches the terrace below; there she pauses and reels giddily for an instant. Her overtaxed powers fail her, and with a second terrified cry she falls down upon the mossy flagstones in a deathlike swoon.

CHAPTER VI AN ILL-STARRED MEETING. Wnen Mi«s Trevethon awoke from her trance of terror the sun.was quite down, and the silvery mist of a September twilight hung over the dark old manor. She lay where she had fallen on the damp atones of the terrace, and it was sometime before shejcould collect her senses sufficiently to remember what had happened, or where she was. when she did fully remember, all her wild terror was revived, arid she scrambled to here feet, and went scudding across the grounds like a hunted hare.

Beyond the great gate she paused, and ventured to look back.

The sun was down, but all the west

was in a flame of crimson fire, while over the blue peaks of the Highland hills a golden harvest rnoon was rising. Every window in the old manor, every gray turret, was gilded with reflected lifeht. Lenore gazed upward experiencing a feeling of admiration, despite her terror; but while she gazed, a turret window was thrown open, and that same awful face looked out.

A phantom hand slowly beckoned her, and that luring, musical voice cried again: 'Pretty maiden, no need to run away; this house is mine, and you are welcome. lam not mad, as they tell you!' At any other time the girl's brave blood would have sustained her; but wearied and unnerved as she was, she succumbed to the terror that assailed her; never dreaming that anything short of some awful supernatural presence was looking down upon her.

She turned and fled,fas if for her very life. 'Clotilde wasjright,' she murmured, as she ran along; 'I should never have come'!

She had gone a mile perhaps, when she began to feel doubtiul about her ability to keep the right path. She paused and glanced about her, hoping to see some human habitation. Alas! there was none in sight.

By this time the sun had gone down, and the moon was bathing the earth with its silver radiance. While she stood irresolute, a footstep sounded behind her. She turned swiftly, and faced a gentleman, with his hat in his hand, and a cigar between his lips. A tall, dark, and rather handsome person he looked in the moonlight. Lenore decided to address him.

'lf you please, sir,' she said, as he aproached her, "I am trying to reach Piedmont Station, and I feel somewhat doubtful whether I am on the right course. Will you have the kindness '

'Now, this is jolly,' the stranger interrupted, in a harsh, familiar voice. 'Piedmont Station—the very confounded place I'm in search of! Come, my dear, you are too pretty to be wandering alone at this hour, so we'll bear each other company. Give me your hand, my dear, and we'll soon reach Piedmont, or some other place.' He advanced quite close and attempted to take her hand; his breath, wreaking with brardy, coming hot upon her cheek\ Lenore drew back in disgust and i anger.

'Thank you. sir, but I have no desire for your company; I merely thought you would be civil enough to direct me which way to go. Let me pass!' But he planted himself before her like a wall.

Her blue eyes began to flash, like steel, and the rich colour leaped to her white cheeks. She had fled from

what she believed to be an appari< tion, but she had no fear of morta man.

'Let me pass, sir!' she repeated, her imperious voice ringing like a bugle. 'Yet you pass?' the man repeated, catching at her hand again. 'Why, what d'ye take me for? What's a pretty creature like you strolling about at this hour for, if not in quest of company? And I'm good company, I am. Come, now, give us a kiss, and take my arm, and we'll jog on ogether as jolly as you please!' 1 A sudden sense of her thoughtless indiscretion in putting herself in such a questionable position smote Lenore, but she felt no fear.

'Will you let me pass, sir?' she agian repeated.

For answer the man seized her left arm, and drew her close to his side, and bending over her made an effort to pollute her cheek by contact with his lips. She did not cry out, or even struggle, but her blue eyes darkened until they looked almost black in the moonlight, and she put her right hand to her bosom.

The next instant something bright flashed out like a gleam of lightning, and the man, releasing his hold, staggered back with a loud cry. 'Why, whafs this? What are you doing?' demanded a resonant voice. Miss Trevethon turned quickly to meet this newcomer, returning the slender dagger to her bosom, as she did so. It was a curious, costly little toy, that had been in her family for ages and it was Lenore's habit to carry it about her person. 'He insulted me, r.nd I stabbed him,' she explained, as she turned toward the newcomer—V.ot seriously, however, as I Btruck him in the shoqlder. I think he has fainted!' Tto, I haven't,' growled the wounded man, getting on bis feet again; 'but you've given me an ugly wound, and I'll have you life for it.'

'Stand back, sir!' thundered the other man, his tall head towering above them. 'lf the wound Was in your craven heart, 'twould serve you right. How dare you insult a woman?' Then turning toward Lenore, he removed his Highland cap, and said: 'SO PJS COKTINUED