A GREAT WRONG.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10035, 4 May 1910, Page 2

A GREAT WRONG.

CHAPTER XXX.—Continued,

And there, crouching down in the prison cell, while the dreary morning waned without and the impatient crowd waited, she made hsr confession, detailing all the strange story of crime and sin which she huu known so long. 'He was my husband,' she said, in conclusion, 'ar:d J. havj saved him from the death he so richly merited. Let him go, Sir Geofirey Trevethoti is restored to his rights. Heaven saved him from the sea and from death by a miracle. I have known the truth all these yearn His body was cast ashore on the French coast, arid he was restored to life; but his mind was gone; he had neither rtason nor memory. * He vi as cared for by some humane sociely, and sent with many others to an English madhouse. All the particulars of the strange affair were told to rr.e by one who knew, and you ma.v rely on them. Heaven has restored Sir Genii'rey to his own, and you can affrird to let my wretched husband go.' 'And Sir Geoffrey's eo;t, Richmond; 1 have you heard nothing of him since you left him that night on the banks of the Loire?' asked one of her hearers. v " 'Yes, 1 found him again in the cotWe of a peasant woman! She had found him. and restored him to life, but he was lik* his father, itft without memory of the past. That blow on his temple had injured the brain, and his mind was a blank. The peasant woman could not kee'p him, and I took him with me, intending to hide him from Andrew, in the great city of London. The very day of my arrival,- while I was almost beside myself lest Andrew should find out that the lad lived, I fell in with a country woman, She was sitting on the steps of a church, and weeping fit to break her heart. I approached her 10 inquire the cause, for my own misery was so great I seemed 10 pity all human suffering. Seeing thy child at my side, she uttered a piercing cry : "Oh, he looks so n,ueh' hko my boy, I th aught he had come back from the grave,' she said, coming close to me, and soohitg (jiteously.

'I pitied her, aDd her to tell me her story. Her husband had gone off to sea, to be gone for years, and she, having accompanied him as far as London, was returning home with her son. But the lad had strayed out into the streets, and a runaway horse bad knocked him down and trampled on him, killing him instantly. 'He's dead, and they've buried him,' she continued, wringing her hanos, 'my pretty boy, and his father's last words were: 'TaUegoud care o' the lad; if harm befall him I'll ne'er come home to you again while I live.' And he's dead now, dead and buried, and how shall I ever face his father?'

'A thoußlit flashed into ray mind. I wanted to be rid ul the poor lad whose lite I had saved. I knew if Andrew ever found out that he lived, he would murder us both; so it struck me that 1 would' give the lad to this woman whose son was dead. I made the proposal to her, explaining: that the lad was friendless, and had been injured by a hurt ' She paused, her breath gone, her face livid. They administered restoratives and she recovered. 'ln her terrible trouble, the poor creature jumped at my proposal.' she went on; 'the lad was like her dead son,and she would take him, and train him up to look upon her as his mother, an easy enough thing to do, since his mind was like an infant's. Well, she took him, and '

She paused again, a deeper pallor on her lace, a hoarse rattle in her throat. Once more the restoratives were administered, but this time without effect. She signed for the crucifix, pressed it to her lips„drew a long, convulsive breath, and fell oaek upon the straw dead, her story left unfinished. Poor, erring, fond Clotilda; her life of martyrdom was ended at last. - « * * *• *■ * A week later, one stormy morning, the current of a swollen river washed the body of a man ashore, and when , the affair was investigated it turned out to be the body of the felon, \ndrew Bruce. Escaping from a fate j he deserved, he had met his death, j 'Vengeance is mine," saith the Lord; *1 will repay!'

CHAPTER XXXI. THE END. 'So ihi whole thing is settled, you see, Miss Trevethon,' said Sir Harry Tr. sham," relating the particulars of poor Olotilde's death to Lenore, in the library at Lyndith Hall. 'The poor soul died with the unfinished story on her lips, and, of course, we shall never hear aught else of Sir Geoffrey's son. He died, doubtless, Horn the effects of the injuries he received at that fiend's hands; or, if he lived, grew up an idiot. An awful pity for poor, old King Lear; his heart seems to set on finding his son. but I feel rather

*l Or, The Mystery o-f Stack Hollow Grange. n c ° I

/ BY EMJtA GAKKJ ON JONES. 7 Author of "Pelf and Power," "Strathmore's Sin," * Etc, etc. 7,

glad on your account, Misn Trevcthon!'

Lenore looked •■iown at the tiny golden hoop -the emblem of her youthful betrothal -with a suppressed sigh, whether of regret or relief'she could not have tola.

'You will feel to much relieved in your mind,' Sir Harry went on, 'all the trouble aboui; your poor lather's will is ended. You are free now to choose any mar, you fancy for your husband, and—and—-if '

He stammeruri, and then stood silent, flushing hot to tne roots of his blonde hair, Lenore looked up at him, an arch twir.kle sn her blue eyes.

'Don't do it, Sir. Harry, please don't' she laughed; 'don't renew your proposal, because you think 1 expect you to do so! if you do, I you vhe oH answer. I do not feel free to marry, I must wait. Were it otherwise, 1 could not marry you, because—there now, don t let it hurt your vanity, because—l don't love yau ! Now, that' candid. Come, Sir Uarry, be as frank with me. My -propbtcy has come true. You have changed your mind! Who is my rival?'

Sir Barry turner! all colours, and stammered furiously; but through all, his relief was evident. At last, he broke into an amused laugh. 'You're a witch, Miss Trevethon. I have changed my mind, though I am ashamed 10 confess it. The fault is all your own, however. You refused my offer, and sent nne off to that gruesome old manor, wheie 1 came within an ace of breaking my neck, and—and a pretty »ooc-nym

tound me an<i saved my life " l 'And you fell in > love with her-V interposed Lenore. 'You have guessed it, Miss Trevethon. Now, confess that you despise me for mv fiickleness,' 'Nay, I honour you! The worst of folly is to waste Jove where it is not wai.ttd, air Harry I am to glad.' A week later found Sir Harry again at the Pellside farmhouse. TO BIE CONTINUED