"The Chains of Bondage."

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10048, 23 July 1910, Page 2

"The Chains of Bondage."

CHAPTER IV.—Continued.

"Yes," I've met Miss Fairfax. She and the Ellstrees have become very thick, you know," said Jim. "A handsome womar, and I'm sure very charming. Only," he addso ihoughiiaily, "there's something about her eyes that strikes me sor. e'Juus " "What do you mean?"

"I hardly know," admitted Jim with a laueh. "Possibly it's all my imagination, but more than once a look in her eyes struck me as though they were looking back into some great fear or some deep sorrow in the past. It may Le my fancy, of ouree. - '

"Wtl', if, as you say, hfr eyes seem to be looking back, or.e can hardly wonder—eh?—wh< n ore remembers lhat bad scandal about her father," said Trevena. "Wonder what happened to Fairfax when he went i i.iitr? Changed his name, I suppi'Si. Anyway, he disappeared from tvery one's km. And now fate comes alone and chucks a couple of millions into her lap by way of recompense! ind I'm jolly glad! It was too bad that she had to suffer for what her fathei did, poor girl!" "A couple rf m.liiors! Oh, more than that, I <>! rejoined Jim lazily. "And cu n g on the top of poverty, too! Jim ueen earning her liv ; ng as a I het.rd, soiutwhere in the south of France; was out of ; iMif,und when the news came. A c uple of millions! Jove! I wonder v.nfat bhi Ml i.o with the dust?"

''i «.xp«.ct £1 stree would know what to do with a windfall like hers at the present moment," said Trevena. "He was pretty well on his last legs when Meriel won him the Derby, I fancy. He's a gambler ingrained, is Ellstree—more's the pity. And I fancy some of those bucket" shops people burnt him to a pretty big tune.'' Elsie looked un suddenly from playing with Jock. She reme'mbered what she had sten when, for a few weeks, she had been employed in a concern that called itself "The Legitimate Investments Company"—a

gigantic trap fur dwindling the unwary by "blind pools." "That's what jou're going to have a tilt at, Jim, when you po into the House—bucket shop?, eh?" add> ed Trevena.

Jim laughed, but there was a thoughtful look in his face.

"Yes. I'd sweep every one of 'em off the face of the tarth, and their promoters into Portland prison if I could," he said. "My father doesn't agree with my views a bit, you know ; he says I'm a fool tq trouble about it—that if people want to dabble in 'blind pools,' it's their own lookout if they lose. But that doesn't alter my views," he added. They stayed talking on Trevena's lawn for half an hour; then Elsie and Jim left their host to finish the nap that their coming had interrupted. About live o'clock Jim padaled to an old inn of his acquaintance where tea was And while (t was being prepared he and Elsie wandered through the little riverside town to explore the church. The town, with its one quaint, irregular street, was delightfully rural; even the police station had a climbing rosebush sprawling over the front of it. Jim paused to glance at the bills on the board by the door. Among the bills was one, weeks old,, offering a reward for "Information leading to the arrest of Judith riardress," and followed by a description of the suspected murderess, whom, so far, the police.had utterly faled to trace

They had tea in the garden of the inn—a garden, overlooking the Tiver, fragrant with thyme and old-fashion-ed flowers, screened by a hedge of lilac. To-day they were the only visitors, a fact on which Jim congratulated himself.

It was' a delight to him to sit here and watch Elsie daintily dispensing tea, to hear her gay iaughter, to watch the dancing light it brought to her eyes. After tea, they lingered in the garden, while the sun sank lower and lower behind the distant woods, its dying glory touching the girl's face, and finding wandering gleams of gold in her hair. "And now the day is over, and we shall have to think of London again" she said, with a half sigh, breaking a sudden silence. "But I shall look back on this perfect day you've given me when to-moirow comes—" It had been a perfect day for him, too; this girl, winsome and sweet, attracted him as no other woman had ever done. Tdb remembrance of his father's words ori the day of the Derby was back in his mindthat and his own reply. To-day had made him surer than ever that it was no mere passing fancy—that he loved this gin hy hid tide as he could luvo no Jim knew his father's ambitious plans for him—that self-made man v. ho wanted him to make a socially brilliant marriage, to ally blue blood with his riches. And Jim laughed.

His own wishes surely ought to be considered. It was unfortunate that riis wishes and old Paul Rasston's ambitions did not "jurap together." And his father's threat— was

BY EMILY B. HETHERINGTON. Author of—"His Colleg9 Chum," " Worfchington's Pledge," "A Eepentant Foe," etc.

not to be taken seriously. It was absurd to think b:* father could have meant it st, i<v:sly. But even if he did

A sudden gleam came into Jim's eyes. Even if his father kept his threat, that would not deter him from his own set purpose.

"To-morrow!" Aft, but to-morrow may bring us mw gifts!" he said suddenly, his eyes on the beautiful face, the colour on which d ppened at something in his look. "I shall look forward, not back, Elsie —to the hope that to-morrow is to bring t> i- a t>ift that I long for above everything els°."

All through that sunlit day it had hardly been m his" thoughts to put his fate to the test; he had known her so short a time. There was happiness enough for the present in their deepening intimacy. But now, suddenly, a resistless impulse like something outside himself seemed to force him to speak.

As ha touched her hand, at the contact a swift thrill ran through him. Ihen suddenly, swayel by a rush ot fueling, by a fierce passion of tenderness that swept him away, tie caught her in his arms—that slander, girlish figure, round whom he had woven those dreams that belonged to youth and love—held ber tight to him.

"Dear, you know —you must know —thst I care f»r you! Will you be my wife ? " he whispered, his voice not quite undfr his control.

"Jim!" There was a little startled thrill of gladness in the cry tbat told him all he «»aDted to know—that told him she loved him; gladness, but with it a note of doubt, almost of fear. "But —but your father?" sLe suddenly whispered.

Instinctively she knew that his father would oppose fuc" a marriage. She loved Jim too weil to want to be the cause of a disagrctme.it between father and s<it;, that might injure Jim's future, his career. He laughed.

"You've tf'ld me that you love me, sweetheart—you voice, if not your words! And it in my wish, not my father's, that matter in such a case as this. And even if —if you have to marry a poor man, sweetheart'" —as the remembrance of Paul Kalston!s threat flashed across him suddenly —"well, I'm strong enough and able eijoutr'i to work for the woman 1 Jove!"

Just fnr a moment she thought of Jim's father, the sight of whom had seemed to startle her that day at Epsom. Then this new, overwhelming happiness claimed ■ her, blotting out the memory of Paul Ralston's grim face, as she surrendered herself unresistingly to his arms, while $h e wind, whispering through the sedges of the river, wove their love story into its murmured song.

CHAPTER VII.

THE NEW WOKLD.

The big white-and-guld dining room of the Bourbon Hotel was crowded, as Sir Wilfred Ellstree and two ladies entered, and were obsequiously conducted to the tables laid for four, that had been reserved for Elstree's party, by one of the win dows looking out across the h gardens to the Embankment river The ladies he was es: his £sister Mist, . the latter one of the mo3t i figures in society, since the cssion to George Craven's eno- ous fortune had brought her out of the obscurity in" which she had lived since the painful episcie of her father's disgrace. The fourth of the party—a man whom Judith Fariax nad not met—a friend of Sir Wilfred—had not yet arrived. "Too bad of him not to have turned up; but I suppose we shall have to give him a few minutes' grace!" grumbled Ellstree, as they sat down at the small table, where shaded electric lamps threw a soft, rosy glow over gleaming damask and silver and glass and the superb bank of roses that decorated the table. "Especially as we, for once, ar five minutes too early!" laughed Svbil, as she peeled off her long white gloves. The Ellstrees—who, during the past few weeks had struck up a great friendship with Miss Fairfax—were only just back in town. TO BE CONTINUED