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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10004, 29 March 1910, Page 2

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

CHAPTER IX. Conti .ued. I i i i A brief, but excperiirgly courteous I epistle. . Ambrose Gt-rtibir acKtiow- < ledged the receipt of her ! uer, and would take great ph-amre in assisting her. He thoughr, nay. ne was sure, that he . held the key to the "mystery" of which hor letter spoke. | He had lived in the neiphnourhcod of J black Hollow Grange all his life, and j he had discovered many u.ings rela- I tive to that weird mansi<«r. of which I he had hitherto deemed it unwise to | speak. Even now, he feared to trust j what he knew upon paper. It would be wiser and safer to all concerned for Miss Trevethon to make a second visit to the Haunted Manor. He would be at her service at any time, on any day she chose to mention. If she saw fit to come on Wednesday, the fourteenth, or any day following, until the close of the week, ne would be there in waiting and on any one of these days Mies Trevethon would find a carriage at Piedmont to convey her to the His mother's cotage was near at Hand, too, wtiere &he would receive every hospitable attention. In conclusion, Ambn.se Gerhart subscribed himself her humble and devoted servant, and begged, if Miss Trevethon proposed coming, she so without delay: as in a few days important matters wouH compel him u> leave ior London. Lenore's heart beat with excitement as she read and re read this letter. It was a daring step for a young girl to make such a journey alone; but as we have already hinted, with all her beauty and her gentle breeding, Miss Trevethon was something of a madcap Almost instantly she decided to go. She arose, and placed the letter in her pocket. 'lf you will do me the kindness, Sir Geoffrey, I would like pony carriage ordered round ac once." Sir Geoffrey bowed profoundly, as j he rang the bell. 'The pony carriage, James, for Miss Trevethon,' he commanded" then, turning to his ward, 'Lenore, my dear, you are surely not leaving Lyndith Hall? It n all a jest to worry me ' I am leaving LyndiMi Hall, Sir Geoffrey, as I told you I should! I may return rgain to claim my few effects, or I may order them sent to me. In any case, Sir Geoffrey. Irepeat it, our relations are ended, for--1 ever, and I bid you good morning.' ;■ She swept out of the breakfast ; room with a regal bow. ; 'As the queen wills,' murmured j the baronet, bowing in his tun.; but as the dour closed upon his imperious , ward he broke into a chuckling 1 lugh. J 'What a fool she is,' he chuckled; (like all women! how readily she swallowed the bait! She fancies i she has e-capcd me! Well. w»ll! we shall see. Ad the qu.ei willd! Ha! i ha!' 1 'Send Clotilde,' commanded Miss j Trevethon, as she entered her dress-ing-room and in two minutes Clotilde came, her face doubly aged and wearing the hue of death. Poor Clotilde, how ill and wretched you look.' cried her mistress. 'I am sorry I was so harsh to you yesterday. I have the' letter I expected, and I beg your pardon if I accused you wrongfully. There, we are friends again, and I want you to dress me at once. lam going on a journey.' 'Mies Trevethon, do not go!'implored Clotilde. 'Oh dear, I must; so not not fret, Clotilde. Dress me quickly; that's a good soul. I'll wear my brown mo- ■■ hair, and my sable cloak, for the air is keen this morning.' 'Miss Lenore, do not leave Lyndith Hall,' continued' Clotilde, her I eyes piteous in their imploring agony, 'or if you must go, lee it be to Fern Hill. Don't ' The young lady's scornful laugh interrupted her. . To Fern Hill—to Lady Halstead's? Thank you, no! One season of her chaperonage was sufficient. I want to be free, Clotilde—not Lady Halstead's prisoner. There, there—not another word I Dress me quickly, and don't cry. I mu-rt catch the train, for I am going to Scotland, Clotilde.' The woman uttered a gasping cry and fell on her knees at Lenore's feet. ,Oh, Miss Lenore, I entreat you not to go,' she cried, wringing her hands. 'Take my advice, and go to Pern Hill.' Miss Trevethon turned from her impatiently '1 must dress rnysrlf, I see, aince you are not obliging tuough to assist me. If you were not looking so wretchedlv ill. Clotilde, I should scold you soundly. Have I not said that I will not go to Fern Hill? But cease weeping, you poor, silly soul. lam not leaving you for good. You shall take care of all my treasures until I return, and perhaps, by that time you will have changed your mind and will cheerfully go with me!' But Clotilde shook her head in despairing silence. 'My hat now, and my sables, and an extra shawl,' continued her mistress. 'There I am already, and I hear the carriage coming up the \ drive.'

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

TO BE rONTINtfED

And with a nod and a smile the youne lady passed out of the room and went down to the waiting carriage. 'lf I had dared to tel her! Ah, Heaven! if coulH have saved her—my poor, pretty Miss Lenore'.' gasped (Jlotilde, pressing her ghastly face against the gla?s and watching the carriage as it rolled awav. CHAPIEK X. BETRAYED INTO THE TRAP. 'Perhaps I am taking a very rash step,' mused Miss Trevethon, looking from the car window at the oistant Highland peaks white with snow. 'This is a wild journey for a girl like me to make alone Ana what a dismal afternoon it is. We'll have the snow thick about us in another hour; and I have heard that these Highland storms are furious, but I must go on, in spite of wind andjweather, for 1 am determined to fathom that awful mystery.' As the afternoon waned, and the winter storm gathered and darkened, the lovely face and brilliant eyes lost something of their wonted vivacity. She shivered and drew her sables close, straining ber eyes to catch a glimpse of the hills beyond which the Haunted Manor lay. "1 hope that promised carriage will meet me at Piedmont,' she thought. 'This is certainly a dreadful evening for a journey. 1 am almost sorry now that I came. Surely Ambrose Gerhart will not fail me? Recalling his face, and the service he did me that night, how can I doubt him. And he I gays he holds the Key to the mystery? j Shall I be able to lift the cloud of disgrace from my poor mother's I name? If so, I sball regret nothing I that it costs me.' I Her cheeks bloomed with excitement, her eyes filled with tears, and her heart gave a rejoicing bound as the train came to a sudden halt and the ahrill voice of the conductor was heard shouting: 'Piedmont Station.' She arose, gathered up her wraps, and passed out to the platform. The snow was falling rapidly, and the wintry darkness had already set in; but before Lenore had time to look about her, a lad touched her arm. 'Please, ma'am, are you Miss Trevethon?' 'I am Miss Trevethon.' 'Then come thi& way, please. Yonder's the carriage, and Mr Gerhart's waiting.' Lenore followed him without an inquiry or a doubt. About twenty yards distant stood a closed carriage, with a pair of stout grays, and as the young lady drew near, a man enveloped in a huge cloak suddenly appeared and threw open the door of the 'Let me assist you, Mias Treve- , thon. We are having wild weather to-night,' he said hurriedly, as he grasped her arm. And before she could utter a word in answer—almost before she knew what was occurring, Lenore found herself in the carriage, and the doors closed upon her with a sharp snap. 'One minute please, Mr Gerhart, she cried, seizing the knob of the door and trying to open it. But the door was locked. 'All right, Miss Trevethon,' a mocking voice answered, and in another breath the horses dashed off at full speed. 'Great heavens, what does this mean?' the girl exclaimed, her cheeKs white with terror, as she fell back upon the cushions. But in the next. inHtant her fearlees spirit rallied, and she bounded to her feet. 'Driver, stop the horses this instant, I command you,' she cried, shaking vigorously at the carriage door. OnJy the wild wail of the winds, and the roar of the gathering storm answered her, and through the pitchy night, which had fallen suddenly,, the carriage rattled on at a reck.ess pace. She called again and again, and beat against the panels till her dedicate hands were bruised, but all to no purpose. The carriage did not, stop, and only the winds and a burst of exultant laughter answered her. She sat down in the cbill darkness, the snow beating fiercely against the thick glass of the carriage window; sat down, calm and silent, but with a dreadful presentiment creeping over her, I What- could it mean? Into whose j hands had she fallen? Not for an inI atant did she believe that Ambrose I Geihart, stranger though he might be,, would take such a terrible advantage of the trust, she had reposed ' in. him. JBut who was her driver and where was she going?