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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10007, 1 April 1910, Page 2

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

CHAPTER XL-Continued. She is, or has been, a handsome I woman in her time, this mother of ,' the tall young mountaineer. She is i tall and straight as a aart, with sloe- \ black eyes, and cheeks which even yet retain nmie little of their youthful, bloom. Her husband, Donald Gerhart, has led a seafaring lite ever since their marriage, and Ambrose and his mother have been left a great deal to themselves, and are very tenderly attached to each othfir. Never but once has • the mother been parted from her boy, and that was when he made a voyge to Spitzbergen coast with his fa'tner. She looks at him now with a curious mixture of tenderness and regret in her dark eyes. 'To-morrow he is to bring home his bride; and she takes him in her arms and kisses him tenderly, her dark eyes running over with tears. Ambrose gives her a hearty embrace in return. 'Good-by, mother. Heaven keep you safe until my return!' He departs, and his mother stands in the doorway and watches him out of sight. •My brave lad,' she,n.uses, a curious wistful look i,i her eyes; handsome enough to be the king's son and wed with a princess. But Ishbel's a bonnie lass, and she'll bring him a snug little he'll be happy and prosperous. I could not part from him now. He is discontented as it is, but if he knew his history he'd leave me and go roving to the ends of the earth; and what would Donald say, after sailing the seas for a score of years, and hoarding gold tor his only son? Nay, nay!' throwing up her hands with an impassioned gesture, 'I cannot tell now; 1 never can tell him. I've locked the secret in my heart, and I'll carry it with me to my grave.' The night fell swiftly, and the storm gathered fury with every passing minute. The mother and father, the latter having returned soon after the departure of Ambrose, sat befoie their blazing hearth and heard the wHd riot of the blast. 'Ths a bitter night, Donald,' said the wife, addressing her bronzed and deep-chested hushand. 'I trust ■ the lad will reach Fellside all sate, i If he had only taken the colly along !' , Donald laughs derisively, as he J rubs his hands together over the 1 blaie. . 'As if the lad needed the colly, .wife. You think him a buy yet. J Why Ambrose could find his way ! bindfolded, though the drifts be n*ck- ! deep. Never worry for him. He's I safe at the Fellside by this time, and will soon be Ishbel's busnaud.' But at that selfsame moment Ambrose stood panting and irresolute at . the foot of a great snuw-tla-J peak. Surely he had lost his way. albeit he has roamed for years amid these ! wild border hills. | He paused and looked about him with bewildered eyes. 'lhe snow descended , in swift whirling masses that almost took away hjs breath. There could be no doubt about it; he had lost his way! He should be ■ down in the sheltered valley, and here he was climbing amid the stormshaken hills. He must have been bewitched or bewildered, he thought, to have lost so unaccountably his way; he "who had trod these hi 11patbs from his boyhood; he who had been in the habit of crossing these same wild mows every Saturday night, on his way to the Fellside farm! Standing amid the white, swiling difts, with the thunder of the blast in His ears, in imagination he pictured the gay company gathering at the Fellside, and saw Ishbel, in her white wedding robes, awaiting his coming. He had never been over anxious in regard to this marriage, though he was fond enough ot Ishbel. The match was of his good mother's planning. Ambrose would never have dreamed of matrimony of his own will; his desires and aspirations ran in quite a different way. From a lad he had been discontened, and longed to seek fame and fortune in foreign lands Flocks and herds, and 'gold and siller' 1 failed to satisfy his longigs; but his mother's persuasions bad kept him at the Highland home, and it was through her that he was evtr brought to make love to Ishbel and consent to a marriage with the prettiest lass in the county. As he thought of his bride awaiting him, he determined to strain every nerve, his every danger, to reach the Fellside farm in time. He smarted on again at a brisk pace. A great'.gusty drift drove him back; but he was on his feet again in an instant, and on his way; he was resolved net to keep his bride and htr wedding-guests waiting. But the darkness deepened and the snow shut him in like a winding sheet. He paused a second time, and strained his eyes to pierce the gloom. He could just make out the dark hillline beyond which was Black Hollow ! Grargt*. He had wandered miles out way, for the Fellside farm nestled in a valley far be-1 low. i

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

He turned to retrace bin ?t<?ps. when a glimmering light came before his tye. It evidently gk-ameci fiom the window of the Haunced Manor. Ambrose stood and looked at it with bated breath end distended eyes. For years he had trod these mountain paths, and never before had he seen a light in that abandoned and accursed dwelling. What did it mean? It was an old, old place, this Highland moor, green with mould and overgrown with ivy, the bom* of bats and owls, and ghosts, too, the simple hill-folk averred. Human creatures shuddered as they passed its ponderous gates, and few dared set foot in its mouldering halis. ilt stood there grim and ghostly tomb, abandoned since that day when the awful tragedy occurred which banished its lord and master forever from the sight of men. Ambrose knew the old place well. Once in his boyhood, being unusually daring, he had ventured within its s grim walls, and a great owl fluttering down the stairway frightened him, hero as he was, well-nigh out of his senses. He thought of it now, and of the eld stories he had heard from the lips Highland dames, as he fixed | his eyes upon the glimmering light, and wondered if the murdered lady | had come out of her grave to visit J the manor this stormy night. I But there was little superstition in his nature, and he drew a deep breath and started on again, fancying that he was going toward the valley. But that twinkling light in the window of the Haunted Manor I seemed to draw him upward with a ) strange power. For his life he could 'not keep his eyes from it, as he - j slowly struggled through the blinding snow. At last he fell, faint and breathless, and he rashly resolved to I rest for a few moments. Gradually : the high drifts covered him like a j winding-sheet. A sweet, luring for- ! gttfulness slowly stole over him, and his eyes clo3td. Suddenly realising that to sleep was to die, he struggled to his feet. ' He stumbled on .again, that glim- : mering light before his yes. It was ! close at hand now. and dazed as hie j was, he fancied he was nearing the I Ft llfeide farm, and saw the light I shining from his bride's window. He staggered on, with a glad cry, until he fell again, bis strength utterly gone. As he dropped upon the snow he clutched at some white, spectral thing which rose above the drifts. A chill of horror passed through him. He struggled tojiis feet, still clasp- , ing the spectral thing, and glaring about him with dilated eyes To his 'amazement he realises that his footsteps have led him to the shunned precincts of the Black Hollow; and a chill of horror creeps through his veins as he discovers that he stands beside the stone cross above the murdered lady's grave A hoarse cry breaks from his lips. He relaxes his grasp of the ice fold gravtstone, and falls face downward in the snow. How long he lies there he never knew; A shrill cry of agony brings him to his oenses —a I woman's cry. j 'Murder! Murder!' i Ambrose gains his feet, new life running through his chilled veins. I The yellow light twinkles in plain view, ana he makes his way toward it. He crosses the Black Hollow, climbs the snowy steep, and dashes j through the open gate i'jto the wide park. The jld manor looms up distinctly before him, all its turrets and chimneys darkly defined in the whirling snow. 'Murder! Murder!' Again that awful cry, shrill a.id wild, above the clamor of the storrin. He looks up, and at the lighted window he sees a face. Only for' an instant, but in that instant he recognises it as the face'that has haunted his dreams since the hour he jsaw it in the moonlit valley below, , White j and wild with mortal agony ?md terror, it flashes upon him for a moment; in the next it is gone, and the yellow light suddenly disappears. A great throe of pain and rapture stirs his breast. Tnrough {the drifts he dashes on. He will saive her or die in the attempt. {' He reaches the terrace.and gropes along to the front entrance. The door swings on its hinges, and he dashes into the wide, windy hall. A blast like the breath of the grave meets him.chilling the blood ih his veinß, but he does not pause. Her rushes on and his hand is on the railingof the black stairway when \ a last cry breaks the silence-a cify so piteous j so imploring, so full of portal terror and agony that it brings an answer from his lips. . ! . I Shouting until the vaulted arches ring with the echo of his voice, he goes leaping up the stairs; but ere he reaches the fhst landing something clutches him; a strong hand grapples his throat; a swift sjharp, blade pierces him, and he is huddled headlong down the broad stef)s. i I TO BE CONTINUED