"The Chains of Bondage."

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10043, 18 July 1910, Page 2

"The Chains of Bondage."

CHAPTER ll.—Continued. "You'd only ,\dve lost all your winnings, and more besides, on the next race. I remember father!" Lottie said sagely. "Oh, I know what men are!" Tom and his fiancee had drifted away again. Jim was talking to Elsie, when he glanced up, to see with surprise the figure of a tall, el derly man approaching, whose keen, steel-gray eyes seemed tu be bent with an odd, searching intentness on the girl's face as he passed. It was his father. There was a frowning look in Paul 1 Rals on's face, and the hard, grim moutii was more compressed than usual, as he barely acknowledged his son's salutation. "Who—who is that?" The question broke as if on a»T involuntary impulse Irom the girl. There was an odd note in her voice that surprised Jim as he turned toward her. "That; oh, that's my father." ; Just for a moment, it semed to j Jim, in the short silence that folI lowed, as though for some reason the animation had suddenly died out of Elsie's face. Presently Saxon and Lottie rejoined them. The next race was the big event. The horses were already cantering to the post, and Jim realised that he would have to tear himself away, if he were not to displease Sybil Ellstree beyond pardon. "Got to get back to your swell friends in the grandstand, I suppose?" said Tom. "I'd rather have stayed here," Jim said. Miss Ellstree received the truant rather coolly. "I hope I am not the cause of taking you from your friends," she said I coolly, and turned to resume her talk with Trevena. The preliminary canter was over, the norses were waiting at the post for the flag to fall for that race that " meant so <nuch to Sybils brother. : There was a moment's breathless pause; the heterogeneous jumble that the turf brings together—beautifully dressed women, and stanleboys, peers • and louts —all were waning tenstly, » only the discordant shout of a bookmaker from the outside ring broke the sudden hush: "I'll take the favourite two to one! Two to one on Mtriel!" Then a shout arose: "They're off!" And through his field.glasses Jim could see the sudden line ti coloured jackets sweeping forwaid. Then a disappointed murmur: "False start!" And the coloured jackets went back tu tlie post again. "I wish I ft-It as confident as Wilfred!" said Sybil, with a nervous laugh. The faint beat of the horses' hoofs could be heard approaching. Through his glasses Jim saw four animals draw out from the rest, among them Meriel running third, the jockey sitting motionless —he had made no effort yet to stretch the horse. Mow Meriel was second, a big black outsider leading. The crowd was cheering: "The favourite wins!" Nearer t and nearer, coming up with a furioua thud of hoofs, MerieJ racing neck and neck with the black horse, the rest of the field outdistanced. Neck and neck to within tw-enty yards of the judges' box—and Sybil uhut her eyes in the torture of suspense. The horses, with their gleaming flanks, passta like a shot, with the tense, white faces of their iiders. And then a great burst of cheering from the crowd, roar upon roar, as the favourite's dilated nostrils flashed past the post, snatching the race out of the fire by a short neck. "A pretty close thing!" said Ells- , tree to Jim, dropping his glasses, ; as cool and imperturbable as ever. | "Anyway, that short neck's saved , my stud from being put up at auction at Tattersall's!" with a laugh, j as he went to lead in the winning < horse. ; It was a little later when Jim ran j up against his father. f "Hello, Jim! Glad your friend ( Ellstree pulled off the race! I've just | been congratulating Miss Ellstree," i said Ralston senior. Like his face, \ his voice was curiously hard, and t lacking in sympathy; there was a i rasp of steel in it. "You came j down with Ellstrea's party, didn't c you?" , "Yes." Paul Ralston appeared as if about ( to pass on. Then, as if casuaily on e an impulse—though Jim knew his f father well enough to feel sure that i it was a deliberate question—he ( asked: £ "By the way, who was that girl I saw you with an hour ago?" "A friend of mine—a Miss Hood." J "Not one of Ellstree's party? But I needn't ask. Who is she? What is £ she—girl clerk, or something of that ; * sort?" i-iis keen eyes bent upon his . son. j ' Instinctively Jim realised that the .1 last words were no mere shot in the ; J dark. In gome way Paul Ralston' ' knew something of this girl whom '

jj BY EMILY B. HETHEKINGTON. jj to Author of—" His Colleg3 Chum," " "Worfchington's Cp £ Pledge," "A Kepenfcant Foe," etc. «£

Jim had believed a si>'*-:r.;'es: to him-1 And Elsie's own ehaiigeii manner aft. J er that meeting suddenly recurred in hi 3 ihoiißhts. "Yes; Miss Hood is a typewriter,'' he said quietly, "and she is a lady for whom I have the greatest respect." "J think you're rather a fool, my lad!'' broke out Paul Ralston, in a harsh, suppressed voice. "The ball of the social world's at your i it; you have the entree to plenty of the best houses, ar.d yet you deliberately pick your friends as though you were some clerk earning thirty shillings a week!" "Surely I can be trusted to choos my own friends?" Jim said lightly. "If you refer to Miss Hood, 1 can only say that she. is a very charming girl, and a lady, even if she . earns her own living. We'rs en- | lightened enough, I suppose, in the ' twentieth century, to realise that there's nothing for a girl to be ashamed of in doing that?" he added. Paul Ralston gave a little, unpleasant laugh. "I shan't quarrel with her for doing that, so long as you keep clear of any foolish entanglements," he said curtly. Jim was silent, controlling himself with an effort. "You're' ', a full-fledged lawyer, who is spared the necessity of practicing, because , he has a rich father; only don't forget you are entirely dependent upon me. ' I The words sounded like a threat. "You mean " "I'm a self made man, a man of no family. Well, among my ambitions for you in the career my wealth . opens for you is that you shall make a socially brilliant match—link the money I've made with some old proud I family; I've spoken of this before. . And you know, unless you're a fool, that the opportunity is yours now. 1 won't mention any names; you know ' whom I rcear." l "Yes, I thir.k I know." said Jim quietly; "but I have no intention of ' making any woman my wife unless t the element of love enters into the question." Old Paul Ralston stared at him in half incredulous anger. ' B " You don't meau you're such a fool , as to refuse to take this chance—a marriage that would link our name , and my wealth with one of the oldest titled families in England!" cried tuis man, who, above everything in the world, worshipped rank and wealth. "Perhaps you even con- ■ template marrying this typewriter girl?" he added, with a bitter sneer. "Perhaps," said Jim quietly, "if she'll have me!" The glance that passed between father and son was like the flash of a knife blade. "I tell you this—and I'm a man to keep my word," Paul Ralston said, in a low, intense voice "If you marry this girl, I disown you. Understand that! Thwart me in this, and you have nothing more to expect or hope tor fiom me! That's my final word." And without waiting for an answer, Paul Ralston strode away. CHAPTER IV. FATE-AND THE WOMAN. It was striking eight o'clock as Judith Hardrees passed in from the street, and went up the stairs of ! the dingy block of small cheap flats in Battsrsea, where she and her husband lived when in town. It was the Monday night after Epsom week—the day on which George Craven, the millionaire, crossing from Australia, was due to reach England—this man who had been in Judith's thoughts and plans ever since she had, in that squalid lodging house at Epsom, come across that an.nuncemeut of his expected arrival. Judith had just returned from part- ; icg with her child; to-morrow they would be leaving London again, she • and her husband, for the week's rac-, : ing—that life she loathed, and also I : separated her so much from the boy I - on whom all the love of her starved heart expended itself. It wai out of ; the question, of course, for the child ; to accompany them on their journ- '. eys from race meeting to race ; meeting. Little four-year-old Gilbert remained in London in the care of ; some relatives of the boy's father, who lived not a streets away, i Her husband Lad been in a mor- ; ose, sullen mood all the day, had ] spoken angrily to her in the child's 1 presence, making little Gilbert cry ] and cling to her in fear. If only ! George Craven would help her when - she made her appeal to him!" TO BE CONTINUED