A GREAT WRONG,

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10031, 29 April 1910, Page 2

A GREAT WRONG,

X Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange.

2 BY EMMA GAEEI ON JOKES. £ V Author of "Pelf and Power," "Strathicore's Sin," Jj J Etc, etc. /

CHAPTER XXVl.—Continued

'Private madhose, air—first-class institution. Would you like to take a look round? Strangers generally do. Pleased to give you a permit, sir. I'm one of the commissioners, you see. Visitors allowed from half-past ten till three." 'I wonder if he can be there.' thought Ambrose, his eyes wandering over the silent grounds a curious yearning at his heart. 'Poor old King Lear Moreton House was the place, and no mistake. I should like to see him again. By George! I'll try it. anvhow-, he might be there. Yes, sir", I'll take the permit, and I'm very mucn obliged to you.' The cattle-dealer tendered the uttle slip of paper which Ambrose received, and put away in his pocket, and then, instead of keeping the road he went down into the village and got quarters for the night, and on the morning following he presented himself at the gates of Moreton House. . The morning was raw and wincly, and Ambrose was sadly out of spirits, tired and heartsick, and hopeless, despite his indomitable will and energy He had been dreaming of home the live-long night, and of the woman he could not forget., Her rare, fair face, with the lustrous eyes and golden hair, was constantly before him. *'or her sake he was a wanderer and an exile, and she had not even thought it worth her while to thank him. or even to give him a glance of her proud eyes when they last met. And he loved her foolishly, fatally, as men of his temperament always love, with a passion that nothing short of death could conquer. Through the dreary fields, under the arches of the clanking trees, he pursued his way up to the grim iron gate. 'Poor old King Lear! 1 wonder if I shall find hira? Most likeiy I shall not. My trouble will go for naught; but what does it matter?' He was admitted and strolled up the central avenue; groups of fantastic creatures meeting him at intervals—ladies in court trains, gentlemen in powdered wiga, poor, forlorn, witless creature?, some in tears, some convulsed with laughter, others filling the grounds with the echoes of their shrill singing. He was ushered io the public recep-tion-hall, and into the presence of Mrs Latimer, who flashed a keen glance at Ambrose from her cold, shining black eyes. The youn B man bowed. 'Excuse me, madam, but m there a person here who calla himself King Lear?' Mrs Latimer gave utterance to a little psal of genial laughter, which showed all her fine white teeth. 'King Lear? Indeed, there is, sir. We couldn't get along at Moreton House without King Lear.' She put out her large, white band and rang a little bell. 'Santord,' she commanded, as a burly fellow appeared, 'go and fetch King Lear.' In five minutes King Lsar appeared, a fanciful wreath of autumn leaves surmounting bis flowing white locks. His vacant eyes flashed at sight of Ambrose, and he hurried [forward with both hands extended. 'Really, now, Mr Gerhart, this is kind of you,' he cried, 'and I'm very glad to see you—l am, indeed.' , . , They shook hands like old friends, Mrs Latimer looking pleasantly on. 'You've crossed him in Eome of his rambles, no doubt,?' she said, addressing Ambrose. 'He's always going about the country, and we never restrain him. He always comes back to us. Don't you King Lear?' The old man made a profound bow. 'Who could remain away from Moreton House since Mrs Latimer is here?' he said gallantly. Mrs Latimer laughed and shook her jewelled forefinger. •Who is he, madam?' asked Ambrose, in an undertone. •'Jhe best, soul alive, the gentlest and most harmless. That's all we know. Bless you, sir. we couldn't tell you the antecedents of one out of a hundred of the poor creatures committed to our care.' '1 suppose not,' the young man answered;'hue something in. the woman's gleaming eyes told him she was uttering falsehoods. King Lear accompanied him to the gate when his visit was ended, and they shook hands again with great cordiality. 'I liked you from our first meeting, the old man said. I't is your face. sir. It always remind* me of something that alios away from me—something like a dream. How kind it was of you Ito come and see me?! Well, I may step oowu to the Grange a«ain some I day, and " 'What made you run away that day?' interrupted Ambrose. ,'You did not wait to hear of my discoveries in the dungeon. Do you know that the mystery of Black Hollow Grpnge is cleared up at last?' The old man's face changed curiously, and he put his hand to his head. 'Did I run away?' he asked, in a bewildered way. 'Yes, 1 remember

CHAPTER XXVII

now. Sir Geoffrey Trevethon had a son, and his name is Richmond. That was it. You see, sir, I've made up my mind chat they're right here at Moreton House. I'm mad, you see, like all the rest of the poor creatures here,' touching his forehead significantly, 'and ail my fancies are dreams—mere dreams, sir!' 'What are your fancies, and who are you?' asked Ambrose, a sudden thought shooting like lightning

through his brain. The old man laughed in an embar- : rassed way. •Ah, no matter—no matter!' 'But it does matter,' persisted Ambrose. 'Tell me—or let me tell j you something first. I found a skele- j ton down in that dungeon from which you rescued me—the skeleton of Sir j Arthur Trevethon. The keeper ring of the Trevethons was on his finger and a roll of papers in his hand, which prove that he was thrown down there by the man who has for years usurped the Trevethon title. This man has been deposed, and tried and convicted of his crimes, and now liea in prison under sentence of death. The Trevethon title waits for the banished heir's return. King Lear, are you Sir Geoffrey Trevethon?' The old man's lace grew ashenwhite, his limbs tottered under him. 'My God!'he gasped, 'how shouid you know?' 'Come, King Lear, Mrs Latimer is wanting yuu, run along T cried the keeper, coming up at this moment, to lock the gate. 'Let me see him one minute longer!' entreated Ambrose. ,

But the iron key rasped in its groat i lock, and a courteous 'good day, air,' was hia answer. , Tne youDg man turned away, biluig his lips in anger. 'I must investigate this, he thought; but a shrill cry from a window far above startled him—a woman's voice calling hirn by name, j 'Ambrose! Ambrose!' •In t!e name of Heaven, who knows me here?' cried Ambrose, in amazement, staring up at tbe tower window. There had been a white face, but it was gone; only the black iron bars were to be seen. He seized upon the gate and shook it violently. 4 Who was that called me by name.' ha Homnndd.

'That sir, was a' poll parrot,' a crazy gentleman, wearing a King Charles wig, made answer; whereupon his comrades aet up a shout of laughter. . The keeper heard the question and response, but without deigning a backward glance strode away. Ambrose went back to the village, and reflected upon the events of the morning. 'lt might have been a poll parrot,' he reflected, 'and Jking Lear may be only a lunatic! If I meddle in this business I shall get laughed at for my pains, no doubt. I'll go about my business and think no more of it.' He shouldered his knapsack and took to the road; but before he had gone halt a mile on'his journey he turned back. He seemed to hear that imploring voice calling him, and the face of King Lear haunted him. He went to,the cattle dealer and demanded a second permit to visit (the institution, and was denied; he sought for the other commissioners, and met with the same result. He wrote a note and sent it up to Mrs Latimer, and received no answer. Evidently there was some perplexing mystery here—some reason why he wa3 to be kept away from Moreton House. 'l'll go back to London and have the whole thing looked into,' said Ambrose; and on he morning following he went.

THE MAD MOTHER. Under one of the great trees in the grounds at Moreton House sat King Lear, with a dull, vacant look in his eyes. 'How should he know' he repeated, over and over, in a dreary monotone. 'How should he know if it is all a dream?' While he sat brooding thus, and watching the yellow leaves as they eddied about his feet, there came flying down from the mansion a small, slender, female figure, the face, from which the dark hair was all cut away, so small, and wan, and pinched and piteous, that it was hard to tell whether it was the face of a woman or a child. He looked up as she went down on her knees beside him and clutched his arm with two small-hands. •It is you. little one? Why, what's the matter?' he said kindly. She caught her breath once or twice before she was able to speak. TO BE CONTINUED