A TERRIBLE MISTAKE

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10029, 1 July 1910, Page 2

A TERRIBLE MISTAKE

CHAPTER XXXIII.-Continued. [ t "A good halt-hour's drive, sir," the cabman continued. Lord Manthorpe jumped into the cab. "Ten shillings if you can save as n.any minutes on the way!" he cried. The horse plunged forward under a stinging out of the whip, the vehicle swayed, and the quiet streets reverberated with the sound of the animal's hoofs, with tfie noise of the whirling wheels. Beyond the town a chill wind blew from the sea; the western heavens glowed like a furnace, and inky masses of cloud rolled upward like the eruption of a volcano. The solemn thurder of the ocean fell with rhythmical regularity upon the level stretch of shore, the seagulls uttered their plaintive cries, and Lord Manthorpe became conscious of a sudden overwhelming sense of depression. I "Dear Heaven,' 1 he murmured, [ pressing his hands to his brow, | "this suspense is tco ter'ible to I bear. Am I within a few minutes of my darling, or is the weary search to begin again?" "Rose Cottagp, sir," the driver said, pointing with his whip to a low building surrounded by trees. "In another five mirutes you would have wanted the hood of the carriage up. It's going to be a dirty night, sir." Lord Manthorpe did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the cottage, and when the vehicle pulled up he almost reeled out. "Am I to wait, sir," asked the cabman. "No," was the answer. I The man touched his hat, and looked up at the angry looking sky. i Great drops of rain were falling, and he buttoned up the collar of his coat; then the cab whirled away. Lord Manthorpe paused wilh his thumb on the latch of the rustic gate that opened ir.to ihe gaulen. His heart throbbed so violently that he felt half suffocated, and yet it seemed to be icy cold within him. A sudden gust of wind stirred the trees, anil a shower of dead leaves fluttered to the earth -it whispered among the vines of the honeysuckle which twined abnul the lattice woilc of the pnrch to the front door, it whistled around the ornamental pable with a mournful wail, and a vivid flash of lightning rent the mighty clouds that were rolling upward and overlapping each other. Lord Manthorpe stepped hastily over the gravelled path, and knocked pharply at the door. After a minute of intense anxiety, he became aware that he was bting surveyed by some one from an upptr window, then footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the door was opened a few inches by the caretaker. "Who is it you want, sir?" Mary asked. "I ,'t cpjn the door no , wider because of the dog. Have you ! an order to view the cottage?" To view the cottage? Great Heaven I what did the woman mean? "I wish to see Mrs Frost!" he hoarsely leplied. "I have travelled a great many miles—-I cannot go away until I have seen her. Do not tell me she is not heie!" "I can give you no information about Mrs Frost," Mary said shortly and suspiciously; then her heart was touched by the genuine anguish in the stranger's eyes. He clutched at the air despairingly. "But you had better come in, sir, until the storm is over. It won't last long. Wait one minute while I tie up the dog." Mary put the bulldog into one of the back room?, and then returned to the visitor. He was restlessly pacing up and down the garden path, heedless of the falling rain. "You may come in r.ow, sir," Mary said, "though it's little I've got to tell you." Lord Manthorpe eagerly obeyed, though it was with the air of a man whose doom was sealed. He followed the woman into the sitting room, where the roses peeped in at the window ; they were tapping sharply on the glass, helpless in the fierce wind. The sea boomed drearily on the shore. "I want you to tell me all that you know," Lord Manthorpe began. "I will pay you for any trouble that I may cause you." Mary interrupted him a little angrily. "I don't want any pay," she said. "Ask what question you like, and I will be as ca did with you as you are with me." He did not appear to notice the somewhat equivocal reply. There was mingled pity and distrust on the woman's face. "A lady named Fro/t rented this cottage until recently?" he asked. "Yes, sir." '£.3 he did not live here alone?" He put the question in a voice hardly above a whisper. "No sir; she did-not. A young lady seme with her," Mary replied. "Now, I want to know who you are, ar,d by what right you ask me all these things. lam a plain woman, and Mrs Frost was very kind to me. She warned me that a gentleman was lfkely to come making inquiries —a gcr.tleman in name and appear-

BY If. L. DACEE, Author 01—The Doctor's Secret, A Case for the Court, Sir John's Heiress, A Loveless Marriage, Trenholme's Trust, Etc.

ance, but not a gentleman by nature." He listened in bewilderment. Hope, however, was beginning to revive in his heart. "Mrs Frost was labouring under a mistake," he said, "a delusion. I have the best right in the world. The lady whom she brought here is my wife. Do you not see that this misery and suspense are almost too much for me? My darling wife left me under a misapprehension. I shall go mad if Ido not find her. If jou have a woman's heart, you cannot withhold anything from me now." Mary regarded him keenly. "You seem repentant enough now, sir," she replied; "but repentance such as lyours generally comes too late," "Tco late! Dear Heaven! let me know the worst'." "Mrs Frost told me how you had wronged the poor girl, with your handsome face and fiae ways-how you had prtt?nded to be a pnor musician, and all the while you were a lord. I ain't sure but what you're actin' now; but, if you are sincere, you've got it on your concsience that you have been the death of the child!" Mary wiped tears from her eyes, tears of genuine sorrow. A terrible faintness had se.zed Lcrd Manthorpe, a dumb horror. The room and all within it seemed to whirl. By an almost superhuman effort he recovered himself, and a wild laugh escaped his pallid lips. "Woman!" he cried fiercely, "would you tell me that my darling is dead? bah! You are mad! Why should I listen to you?" The strange light in his eyes unnerved her. He tossed back his head, and paced about the floor. The sitting room was almost dark now, except when the lightning came in fitful flashes and gleamed upon the young man's ashen face. "Woman," he said again, "you have lied to me—you are mad! What have you done with my darling? She is not dead, I say!" Then a great sob burst from him. It seemed to rend him; he shivered violently. His hand was laid upon a small, daintily bound volume of poetry. He recognised it at once as having belonged to his wife. It wa=< one of his first gifts to her; and he had inscribed her name on the title pag*. In a flash he recalled the sweet days that were gone. He sat down, weak and faint, the book clasped tightly in his, right hand. "Hiidred!" he sobbed. "My darling—my darling!" "I will tell you all that I know, sir—or—my lord," Mary's voice broke in. She was touched by his deep emotion, though in her heart she could fnd no real pity for him. "I ain't mad-very far from it. Mrs Frost left Rose Cottage nearly a week since, an' I don't know what's become of her. She promised to write tome; but the letter has not come yet. I believe that she's come into a lot of money. Anyway, she's been kind to me I'm sure to hear of her before very long, because she's going to have the grave re-opened, an', the body of the dear angel who died in the room above .us buried : near her new home." j^fjj^s* "Her new home?" he whispered hoarsely. There was a clammy dew upon his brow. "Do I hear that my wife is dead -dead and buried—or is this some horrible nightmare? Do you swear tnat she is dead?" "Dead, sir," Mary responded, forcing back a sob, "and bjried over there! You can see the the old church from this window. The grave is under the wall on the righthand side, and I put fresh flowers on it every morning. Mrs Frost paid me to attend to it. Tfcere is noston.', because she'a going to have the dear dead crerture I told you. If she was your wife, sir, I'm sure I'm sorry for you, because nobody believed it. If you'd like to see the grave, I'll take you to it. I ain't atraid of a drop of rain." . Lord Manthorpe did not speak. He sat with his head bent forward, his fingers clutching the book that had belonged to his lost love. It seemed that all the brightness of life hady gone from him—that he was envelop- ' ed in the blackness of despair. The ' future held not a single ray of light, and he had no wish to live. He had one duty "to perform. His marriage should be made public, and the body of his wile removed to Manthorpe; then he would know no rest until he slept by her side! .., . s^^ TO BE CONTINUED _