A GREAT WRONG,

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10033, 2 May 1910, Page 2

A GREAT WRONG,

CHAPTER XXVII.-Continued. *

Maud gave him a grateful glance. 'You are v c-ry kind, and i thank you, Sir Harry, but I must go myself," she said. 'And to think, Ambrose, Arthur Marlowe marries again on Thursday.' 'He does'

'Yes; Sir Harry came up to tell me. He has been making inquiries about poor Ishbel, but has heard nothing, onJy that!'

'The villain!" cried Ambrose, through his aet teeth. '1 told you all the while, Maud, ha was lying. I wish I had followed my inclination, and throttled hi<m when I met him in Lcncon that day Poor Ishbel! How scon the wntch forgot her when he is so anxious to marry again, in this brief time.' 'That's Lady Marlowe's doings,' Sir, Harry put in. 'She actual'y forc-s him to marry the Lady Bianca, they say. It is a strange piece of business altogether. I really doi.'t think he kr.owa where your sister is, Mis 3 Melville, I spoke to him about her, and he seemed to be bewildeied. He is not sound in mind, that's evident, and the most i::iserable-looki: g fellow--a mere shadow."

'And he marries on Thursday, nevertheless, a titled lady,' sneered Ambrose. 'Bah! don't tell me about him! A lying, cowardly villaii.-. Let him cross me again, and I'll settle the account.'

'Come and drink your coffee,' eaid Maud, 'and then you must go.'

'lf I start for Moreton House tomorrow, I have no time to lose.' They drank their coffee, and having biJ their fair hostess good night, set forth together.

'I shall be up again in the morning, Miss Melville,' said Sir Harry, raising his hat and standing uncovered in the white, wliirline enow; 'there may be some servxe I can do for you. You must bear in mind what a great tiebt I owe you.' Maud smiled, and her smile was indescribably sweet and winning. 'You , owe me nothing, Sir Harry. Goodnight.' The door of the Pciis tie farmhouse closed,, and tha two young men journeyed across the moor together. 'Suppose'you go on with me; I can give you comfortable quarters,' said Ambrose, when they reached the crossroads leading flown to the village.

Sir Harry thanked him, but refused, and they were about to separate when something caught the eyes of Ambrose—a twinkling light far above.

'Look up yonder,' he cried: 'there's a light in the old manor—there is, by Jove'

'So there is' Sir Harry responded. 'What does it mean?' tell? I must go up and find out.' 'Not to-nigln?'

'Yes, tc-night. Why no?'

'Well, one might get throttled by outlaws, or worse, encounter the ghosts.'

'1 do not fear either. I'm going, and I bid you good night, sir.' 'Not so fast,® my friend,' Jaughed Sir Harry. 'One would think you had had enough of that bewitched old house. But have your way, however, if go you will, you must permit me to accompany you.'

'Nay, there is no need. I am not afraid.'

'Nor I, and two heads are better than one. We will go together.' 'So be it,' said and side by side they left the moors and ascended the hill path toward the Haunted Grange.

As they Geared the old house the light grew more distinct. It gleamed from the window of a chamber that opened upon the Southern terrace. The young men .made their way up the steep ascent, crossed the dismal hollow, and entered the grounds. Sir Harry had procured a stout stick, which he carried in his right hand. 'We may meet with a warmer welcome than we care to have. At any iate, it will do no harm to be prepared for the worst,' he said. Ambrose took no heed, but strode straight on across the grounds and up the terrace steps, looking neither to the right nor the left. The window, half torn from its casement by the high winds, was accessible from the terrace. Ambrose. reaching it first, swung himself up to a level with the sill, and looked in,

The room within was only dimly lighted by a common candle, but on the ruir.edlhearth a fire burned, and before it crouched !wo human figures an old man, his white beard flowing to his breast, ar.d a woman—a small, girlish thing, with an infant clasped to hei breast.

Ambrose could see them distinctly in the circle of the firelight, and while he looked on in wonder and curiosity, the woman's voice arose, singing in sweet, tremulous tones, a lullaby to the child.

Something in the voice went straight to the heart of Ambrose. He gave a sudden start, and (he windowsill gave way.

The woman, startled by the sound,

* V Or, The Mystery of Black Hollow Grange. *j

2 BY EMMA GrARKJ ON JONES. Author of "Pelf and Power," "Stratlimore's Sin," Etc, etc. J

A SPECTRE AT THE MAKRIAG'E,

'This is home, and you won't let them come here and take my baby from me, will you Maudie?' was all she said.

'Poor little mother! her trouble has dazed her,' said King Lear. 'They all get that way at Moreton House, poor creatures!'

'Ycu are right,' said Ambrose, in reply to Sir Hairy's remark; 'there is no time t) lose. What do you say, Maud? Shall Arthur Marlowe's marriage go or, or not?'

'lt shall not go on she answered, her black eyes flashing. 'My sister and her child shall go to Marlowe Hall. We will start at once. Ishbel, dearest,' she continued, turning to her sisur, 'you'll go with mr, I know. Your child's father shall not cast you off and marry another woman.'

lehbel lifted her solemn eyes. Til do anythirg you say, Maudie,' she lephed meekly. 'But you'll not let them take n>y baby?' 'Wo, darling; no one shall touch your baby,' answered Maud. 'My poor little sister.' she added aside. "See what they have made her! Eer mind is quite gone! Do you thir.k I ehall let them go unpunished 9' Sir Harry flushed and looked embarrassed.

'No, Miss Melviile, rot if yu have power to punish them,' he said; 'but are you sure you can?' 'Why, what do you mean? Didn't Arthur Marlowe marry my sister?' *1 beg your pardon, Miss Melville, but we must have the proofs. There are such things as mock marriages, you know.

'lf he dared to dishonour her, I'l have his life for it,' said Ambrose. Maud's olive cheeks grew painfully red, but she turned resolutely to Ishbel.

'lsbbel, dear, you remember when you were married to Arthur, don't you?' she asked eently. Ishbel looked up, a faint smile lighting her sad eyes.

'Oh, yes, Maudie, I remember! The dreariest, stormy day it was, and I was so homesick, and he took me through ever so many smoky streets, to a great church, with candles on the altar, and music that made merry, and theie we were married.'

'Good, little mother; you're not so far gone as I thought,' cried King Lear.

But, love,' continued Maud, 'was there no wedding-ring, no marriagecertificate? Try and think.' Ishbel put her thin hand to her head, a bewildered look in her eyea. After a minute.she broke into a little gleeful sort of laugh.

'Oh. I remember. How stupid of me to foget. Wait one minute, Maudie,' she cried.

And putting up her foot on the side of her sister's chair, she began to unlace her boot

'They were such pretty boots once,' she rambled on childishly. 'Arthur bought them for me in London. He said 1 must have good, stout ones, to walk with bim abuut the. grounds. He gave me so many nice things, Arthur did, but Mrs Latimer took them all, mv pretty laces and jewels. I saw her wearing my opal bracelet a little while before I ran away! But I've had my revenge That was a glorious fire, wasn't it, King Lear? Didn't all the hateful cells blaze up! Mrs Latimer can't lock up the poor creatures any more, can she?' 'No,®indeed, they all ran away that night, I'll warrant,' laughed the eld man. Maud watched her sister curiously as she continued to unlace her wellworn shoe. 'Go on, Ishbel,' she said; 'what were you saying about the shoes?' TO BE CONTINUED

turned sharply round, and he saw her face.

'Merciful Heaven!' he cried out, leaping back to the terrace, 'lt is Ishbel!' CHAPTEU XXX.

'And to-morrow is Thursday, and Arthur's wedding day,' said Sir Harry significantly, as they sat around the heprth of the Fellside farmhouse on the following morning. 'I beg your pardon, Miss Melville, but whatever you decide to do must be done at once; there isn't a minute to lose.'

Ishbel sat in her father's old chair, with her babe at her breast. She had told the whole of her sorrowful story from beginning to er.d. She had heard of her father's death, of Arthur's approaching marriage, but her white, sad face did not change. She did not shed a tear, or utter a word of regret; she only looked about her with her grtat, solemn eyes, and nestled close to Maud, clasping the babe to her bosom.