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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10016, 12 April 1910, Page 2

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

CHAPTER XVI —Continued. 'Never see him again?' she repeats in a husky whisper. 'Never see him again!' There is a disagreeable smile on my lady's lips—a smile of triumDh, but not a spark of pity in her eyes as she answers: 'You will never see him again; you have parted from him forever!' The gir! tries to speak,- and her white lips move, but utter no sound; she niaKes one step, and then falls headlong, mute and white, on the golden lilies that uild the velvet carpet. Lady Marlowe risec and rings. 'Will you remove this person into one of the rooms across the corridor, Jane? And ask the-housekeeper to see that she has proper'attention.' Jane curtsiefl, ana replies affirmatively.

£ My lady then sweeps out, and down to the wax-lit drawing-room, and midtiight finds her in the inidsc of her admiring ' guests, handsome, and stafe.'y, and smiling, as if nothing had happened. Another day comes, hut it finds Isabel too ill to leave her bfd. Exposure and excitement, and this last cruel shock, have done their work. She is utterly prostrated, and in high fever burns in her veins But she lies as quiet as a babe, her hands clasped, her small face white and pinched with agony, . a look of unutterable her great, -wistful eyes. All day long she lies thus, as motionless as if she were dead. What they offer her she takes uncomplainingly, but she utters no word, asks no question, save once, and that is when the Hall bell rings for noon. She lies and counts the resonant peals as they strike; then she turns her eyes upon the housekeeper, who sits by he pillow. 'Twelve o'clock,' she whispers; 'the day is half gone, and Arthur does'not come! Do you think he will ever come back to me?' The old woman's eyes fill with tears, and she lays a gentle hand on the girl's throbbing forehead. 'Poor child. I can't tell; I'm afraid not,'she replies. 'lt is pity—a sad pity, he ever brought you here.' 'I wish I could go home to father and Maudie,' she sighs wistfully. Then she falld into ailence, and the wretched winter day drags on. Late in the afternobn Lady Marlbwe herself visits the rooin. 'ls she very ill, Rodgers?' «he asks of the housekeeper, glancing icily at the wan, small face amid the pillows. 'Very ill, and likely to get worse, my lady,' answers the old woman. 'W.ell, she'll have medical attention directly. I'm expect ng the physicians every minute, and after we hear their opinion we must try and get her back to her friends. See that she wants for nothing, Rodgers.' She is sweeping out again, haughty and unmoved, when lahbel rises to her elbow. 'My lady, please, one^moment!' My lady looks back. 'l've been thinking it all over,' falters the piteous young voice, 'and I see that you are right. I am not fit to live in a place like this. I should never have married Arthur. Papa knew best; but, oh, my lady, i loved him so! Let me see him once more—just one time more, my lady, and I'll go home to the FeJlside farm, and never trouble you again.' [ The simple pathos of this appeal might melt a flint eye, it does not move my lady. She looks on with quiet, resolute eyes, and listen politely till Ishbel has finished. Then fahe turns to the housekeeper, and touches her fingers to her white forehead significantly. 'Her mind wanders,' she says serenely. 'Look to her well, Rodgers, till the doctors afrive.' Then she passes out and returns to her drawing-room. In half an hour the doctors appear —two eminent .London practitioners, summoned by a special message from her ladyship. My lady receives them,with T stately grace snd broaches the Bubject at once. •We have a njost unfortunate case on hand. Doctor Carroll,' she explains with high-bred calm and dignity, 'a poor girl not out of her teens and her mind quite gone!' Doctor Carroll bows and says: 'Ah, indeed!' with evident relish. Mad asylums and mad peqple are his hobby. 'A friend of ours, too,' proceeds my lady, 'a pretty child and so sweet, •submissive and gentle, with but one delusion. She fancies herself my sonls wife!' Beth doctors look at each pother meaningly, and indulge in a light laugh. " *My son's wife,' repeats her ladyship. 'Wiih all her gentleness, she is , quite firm on this point; and insists | that Arthur shall come to her, and I frets herself into a fever if he rc- | fuses. Rather an embarrassing state of affairs, as you may fancy, genlle- ' men; and unspeakably annoying to 1 Sir Hereford—so much so within the la«t few days that ( have been forced to send my son from home. ' The poor grl has pined herself quite

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

ill in consequence and now, gentleI men, my object in calling you down is to have her case thoroughly examined and if you think the evil can be remedied, why the sooner it is done the better. The poor girl, as I have mentioned, is a friend of 6urs. I am quite fond of her, and would never consent to her to go from under my roof, if I thought ' 'My dearest Lady Marlowe,' interrupts the senior doctor excitedly, 'don't think of such a thing I beg. Put her in an asylum, by all means, if you want her cured. Mow, I know something of such institutions, and can recommend the veiy best. There's Moreton House under the admirable treatment there her recovery would be certain in six months.' ' Very well, gentlemen,' replies her ladyship 'your judgment is superior to mine, and I desire you to exercise |it in this case. I hold the poor | child's interest very dear, and I wane her to have the best of treatment, regardless of expense. Walk up and see her, gentlemen, and whatever decision you come to I will auide by.' My lady rings and a powdered footman conducts the ductorn to Ishbel's room. They are very impos ing-looking gentlemen, after the fashion of London doctors and the poor, forlorn forsaken little bride is greatly awed and terrified at sight of them. She fluahes and pants, and grieves, and answers their manifold questions with great incoherency, and in less than a quarter of an hour they go down, unanimous in their opinion. 'Very mad, my lady,' says Doctor Carroll impressively. 'Very mad, indeed,' echoes his partner. My lady carries her lace handkerchief to her eyes. B 'l'm grieved to hear it, gentlemen,' she falters. 'Poor little thing so young, and so gentle!' Yea, gentle now, my lady,' pursue the senior doctor, 'but liable to grow fierce and unmanageable at any moment. I have had experience with these mild cases. I judge by the eye, and this girl's eye, is very threatening. She requires immediate treatment, a little delay and her case is hopeless. Take my advice. Lady Marlowe, and put her in Moreton House at once.' My lady yields with reluctant grace and a few tears, and then the preliminaries are settled the doctors rsceive a golden fee, and take their departure. i .r" CHAPTEK XVIII. AT MORETON HOUSE. *« Another winter morning and lshbel is just able to creep out of bed and sit by the window, watching the yellow sunshine on the tips of the cedars, and listening to the hoarse roar of the sea.

She has given up all hope of seeing her bridegroom again, and the one yearning desire of her broken heart is to go home. The glitter of the grand rooms, the sweep of the noble park below, the bare thought of all the grandeur of the life she once coveted and dreamed of, have grown hateful to her homesick, childish soul. She is weary and disappointed, and longs for nothing but home. 'Oh, if they would let me go home''! she sighs, looking out at the wintry sun rays—'home to papa and Maudie!' Her door opens, and Lady Marlowe enters. The shrinking little figure turns slowly round at her approach. Such a white, desolate face, such hollow, wistful eyes! Her ladyship 'starts slightly, the. change in the girl is so marked but there is no sign of pity in her voice or in her eyes as she addresses her. What she has one my lady would do again. 'Well, and how do you feel this mprning?' 'A little better, thank you, my lady. * 'Strong enough to drive, out, tnink you'? Ishbel s despairing face lights. 'Yes; yes, my lady,' she answers eagerly ,Mt would do me good. If you would send me home —oh, my lady, send me home to papa and Maudie, and I'll never come back, never trouble you again !' My lady lifts her aristocratic brows. She would prefer to send the girl back to her people, and [hav tfie whole thing well off her hands, but she knows her son too well to run any such crisk. He would seek her and claim her for his wife in defiance of the whole world. It would not do she must adhere to her own plan. TO BB CONTINUED