"The Chains of Bondage"

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10060, 6 August 1910, Page 2

"The Chains of Bondage"

V BY EMILY B. HETHEKINGTON- J L Author of—" His College Chum," " "Workington's L V Pledge," " A Eepeni ufc Foe," etc. «J I I

CHAPTER XVI. BEHIND THE CURTAIN. Judith Fairfax's face seemed in the apace of a few moments to have been struck prematurely old as she stood starirjg out unsteinply before her, as though stuined by tins blinding shock, with despair traced on her drawn, haggard features as with a brand. The letter had. fallen from her hand to the floor—that letter that she had found awaiting her on her return home, un the night that Sir Wilfred Ellstree had asked her to be his wife, falling like a shattering . olt across the path of her future. That letter which told this desperate woman that her unc.e George Craven, who had died in the Southampton hotel intestate, hac? been secretly married years before—had come to England for the purpose of finding the wife i,nd daughter whom he had desened ai.d lost sight of. Consequently thi-t wife and daughter were George Craven's heirs, not she. She had no right to a penny of the vast fortune to which she had succeeded. Heaven ! to be stripped bankrupt in a moment of everything ! The letter was signed "Herbert Wace." 'ihe wui . stated that he was an Australian I w jer —not one of the firm of Mviuun.c lawyers who had wound up me u t <.u man's affairs. He wroie fr mi the addiess of a flat near Vii-ti-.nu Shut:. Mr Waceatked her to ux a i,ii.o v-.i the following aay when it would be convenient to her t- Sv.e imu. Judith sat late into the night, her tortured mind wrestling with this new significant fact so unexpectedly sprung upon her. Before she went to bed she wrote a brief i:ote, inf jrming Mr Herbert Wace that she would see him at her house on the followit g night. She wrote as if carelessly, not betraying a sign of her feelings, intensely impatient though she was to see him and know the worst, she deliberately postponed the interview until the following night to impress J him with a sense of confidence in the ! security of her position that the was far frcm feeli. g. For a thought had flashed across her—perhaps things might not be so irretrievable as at first they had appeared. Why had there been this delay before she was acquainted with the news? This man had allowed months to elapse betore communicating with her—why? It suggested something behind the apparently frank communicttion. Was the man bluffing, or was there a possibility ot a compromise, or a conspiracy of silence? To be stripped of this money, to go back to the life of poverty from which it -had rescued heir;, to be plunged back, into the depths, and with her position immeasureably worse even than beiore, with that menace hanging over her and her child lost to ner! The thougnt was appalling. "I'll fight to keep my fortune!" this.cTesperaie woman whispered as if to some listening spirit of evil. "At any cost, I'll fight to the last! I've" sacrificed too much to lose it now!" ~,, Judith whispered that to herself again when, on the followicg tiigM, Mr Herbert Wace was announced; AH daylong, throughout the hours spent with Wilfred Ellstree, her devoted lover, this woman's thought had projected themselves feverishly to thia hour that had come now, when she would know the worst.

She received her visitor in the long, low room that echoed the last note of luxury—a queen of women, superbly dressed, in her dark, regal beauty. The room blazed with electric light. At one end were French windows, that opened upon a balcony, raised seveialfeet above the gaiden level, filled with a bank of tropical flowers, the perfume of which stole into the room through-the heavy curtains making the windows latt open to the warm September night. Mr Wace was a man of thirty or so, very scrupulously dressed, with a rather languid, dude-like air, that might have been a pose, for Judith saw that he eyed her searchingly as he came in. She was a keen judge of cnaracter, and something in his face struck her; it was not the face of a Mi a a like Ellstree or Travena—men who might be trusted in any circumstances to run straight. There was a hint of something shilty and furtive in Mr Herbert Wace's eyes; and he uaci nlluwed htr to remain for months in undisputed possession before communicating his She felt that everything was not lost yet. %"Y oil made a very surprising communication last eight, Mr Wace," she said, smiling, by way of opening the interview. "A very unpleasant one, I fear," Mr Wace murmured. She stirugged htr shoulders as if carelessly; she was conscious of the veiled, intent scrutiny of bis eyes, the eyes of a man on his guard. Why should a man be on his guard, or feel it necessary to fence, it ha merely had a bluni statement of indisputable fact to make?

"That is quite beside the point,

isn't it? If one has to surrender a fortune, it won't mend matters to lail at fate." "Believe me, lam vejry sorry to be the bearer of such ill tiuiags,' he said. "Have you not been a long time in bringing the tidings, Mr Wace?" "Ah, you see, I was in Australia !" "Yes. Still, my untie, Mr Craven, died in June, more than four months ago. The news of his death was cabled at once to his lawyers in Melbourne, and they and the lawyers in London set to work on this affair at once. Since, I understand, you were aware at the time that Mr Craven had nearer heirs than myself, it seems strange you should not have informed them—stranger still, perhaps, that they should be in the dark in this matter. And though you were in Australia jou could have cabled or written. Why wait all this time since the news was so vital?" "Well, you see, at *he time of your uncle's death I was lying dangerously ill; it was impossible to attend to any business." "Keally 9 1 hope you are quite re--1 covered?" she said politely. "Still that hardly explains why, before leaving Australia, you did not apprise my uncle's lawyers—as evidently by silence you did not —of this fact that lam to assume 1 you alone know?" "Exactly. 1 alone am in possession nf. these facts that affect you so intimately," broke in Mr Wace. "Your uncle made me his confidant." "Yet you feave not acquainteJ my uncle's lawyers, though four months have passed!'' Judith raised her eyes in simulated surprise. Mr Wace grew restive; her manner seemed to baffle him. "The main fact is, Mis* Fairfax that you are not tiie n fe i,(.£J heiress!"

"No? But possession is nine-tenths of the law; and I shall certainly retain possession until the heirs you hint at come forward!" "Well, they will—don't ma! e any mistake about that!" The smooth, silky manner was gone. "I see that you are trading on the belief that they have not been discovered. Well, disabuse yourself uf that idea. I have aiscovered *heir whereabouts—mother and daughter. I know where they are living in London, the names they pass under; i have the proofsproofs good enough for a court of law! At present they don't know who the George Craven, millionaire, who died wag; but when they know — well, for you it will be notice to quit. Have no illusions oh that sr-orp. I hold copies of the marriage certificate, the biith certificate; I have got George Craven'a own letters. I can prove their case up to the hilt; and when .I've done that, every penny goes to them—you get nothing !" he said* speakiug rapidly. Fai a moment Judith drew a deep breath; the ground seemed to have shifted under her feet. But she said very quietly: "It your (story be true, why did George Craven tsll you alone? How 4m I to know there is a word of t.uth in your tale?" "I'll tell you. George Craven was getting tired of the old-fashioned, slow-going lawyer he bad employe'. Shortly before his contemplated v.j>age tn England he thought of <..« aferring bis business to me. li vn arranged that I should accuuip.* ~ him to England, to help him ,u i, search for bis wife and child, but &i the last moment. I was detained b> some business of his out there; I wts to follow by trie next steamer and "

"I thought you were dangerously ill at the time?" the woman said dryly. Bis colour changed a trifle, then he laughed "Well, anyhow, I was to follow him by the next steamer. Get it out of your head that I'm bluffiog; I'm not. You shall see the proofs, ueorge Craven was a man who shortly before his death was stirred by remorse far the wrong he had done his wife; perhaps he felt his end was near. He was bent on mak-' ing reparation. It seems that nearly twenty years ago, before he made | his fotune out in Western Australia, where for some reason —some shady reason, I should say, knowing Georgu Craven—he was passing under an assumed name, he feil in love with a girl and married her. Presently he grew tired of her; then, just about the time their child was torn, he got into an awkward scrape; had to skip in a hurry—and it wasn't convenient to wait for his wife. In a word, be deserted her and his child, and from that day never saw them again." TO BE CONTINUED