"The Chains of Bondage."

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10062, 9 August 1910, Page 2

"The Chains of Bondage."

f BY EMILY B- HETHEEINGTON. § / • / b Author of—" His Col]eg9 Chum," " Worthmgton s l» V Pledge," " A Kepen'.ant Foe," etc. «J *J 1

CHAPTER XVI.— Continued. , "I found him—this man here, who says he is a stranger ton:e! Why should he whiten at :he sighfrof me j if I am a stranger?" he contemptuously cried. "1 found him in a Western tuwn. The richest eirl in the , settlement had pn-mUed to marry j him. Heaven knows how such a sorry I rogue could blind any woman so i It j was on the eve of the m; rr.age that j I turned up—very awkwardly for J you, wasn't it. Mr Wace? Two days i more, and you would have secured a rich wife!" I Theie was a gleam of baleful hat- ; red in Wace's eyes, but he stiJ ing"Well, that girl ought to be grateful to me; 1 stopped the carriage. I publicly thrashed this scoundrel here, and equally publicly I explained my reasons; aid my exposure cf him as a blackmailer brought to light some other iifcly things concerning him. Well, in a word, after I had done with niui —and you were very limp | indeed wlitn I had dune with yor, do j you remember, Mr Wace?—the crowd decided it would be a salutary lesson to tar and feather this scoundrel. The girl he had imposed on happened to be very popular in the town. ]t would have been « bad lookout for Mr Wace —who had ai; aay been pretty roughly handled ly int> crowd, which nad a fine striae ..I j.ouce —only ihn sheriff and rw& po&be r«tcue-i him Lefore thenar and feather stage!" "I „ay ii'e .!i. malicious lie!" cried Wacp,- glaiing malevolently at Eilsirte. "And. Miss Fairfax " "Don't atrs to mention this lady's name again!" cried Ellstree, with a dangerous look in his eyes. "You very presence ib an insult to her. 1 thrashed you once; don't torget that. You were one of a gang of dirty blackmailers tnat drove David Morton to his death, that made David Morton's daughter an orphan. I warn that, if ever you show yourself here again, or if I ever find you thrusting yourself into decent society, I'll expose you: and, what's more, I'll thrash you within an inch of your life'*

There was an indignant passion behind Ellstree's woros. It was not often that this usually imperturbable man became heated, but his old redhot, righteous wrath had swept back now with the tragic memory that the sight of this man had recalled.

„ "Mow, skip, and without another word, and don't let me come across yoa again!" And Mr Herbert Wace slunk out like a whipped cur. Ellstreo turned to Judith tenderly.

"Dear," he said, "forgive my vehemence, but even what I have told you doesn't represent half of this man's villiany. Ic was the insult to you, hie very presence here, that I resented; it would be an insult to any good woman. What lying pretext, and for what motive, did he give for intruding here?" Judith's nerves seemed keyed up almost to the snapping point. The scene between Ellstree and this man, who mig>ht be able at a breath to strip her of her fortune, had been startling enough; and throughout it all she had oeen desperately conscious of the man hiding behind the curtain —the unseen listener of every word spoken, whom the considerations of her own safety had compelled her to shield.. "Oh, 1 never saw him before tonight. He called, saying that he had done legal work lor my uncle in Australia. Frobably he had no business with me, in spite of bis pretext for calling. He had only been here a few minutes when you came," Judith said feverishly, thinking of what Herbert Wace's Business really was. If her lover bad but known! And l the interruption of, his coming had left her still in suspense, with that sword hanging over her. The revelation of Wace's character 1 had not altered the conviction that had swept ovet her—that he had not been falsifying when he asserted that she had no right to George Craven's millions, and that he knew where the real heirs were to be foiud.

Scoundrel the man might be; but, w spile of Ellstree's veto, she must see him again. Everything was at stake! "Wnat a surprise it was to see you to-night, Wilfred," she went on, anxious to divert the topic from Wace.

He laughed. "I don't give you much peace, do I?" ne cried "But when a man's in love as eeeply as I am, sweetheart —why, the mere thought of a whole evening away from you seemed unenduraole. You don't know how hard hit I am!" She smiled back into the handsome boyish face. If she had only as little to trouble her day dream as he! "And I'm glad to see you, Wilfred," she whispered Boftly; "but you know that, don't you? Only I'm not going to let you stay long tonight. I'm tired, and need rest. 1 think what you have told me about this man Wace ha 3 upset rae a little. But te-morrow you shall come as taily as you like.

Ellstree saw that she looked pale and tired, and he took tha hint. Ihe two policemen had made their fruitless search and had gone, too. Judith went back slowly to the room wh :re Vernham was. the danger seemed to have brougl t out all the woman's pluck, There was no look of shrinking in her face, only a sudden gleam of resolution. It was too late to go back on the path she had tiken. She was committed irrevocably to it; and, sink or swim, she would go en now. She would fight to keep her fortune; she would marry E.lstree. Ta-night she ielt no longer a timid woman; danger bad steeled l.er the more to face and crush obstacles in her path. She would marry Wilfred Ellstree—would marry him soon, as he urged, and they would go abroad, stay abroad a long time. Once out of England, she would feel safe.

. Witn these thoughts in her mine", Judith opened the door of the room aagin. She locked the door, and at the sound of her voice the man came out of his hiding place behind the curtain, with a mocking smile on his evil, dissipated face, that she had always hated, but no longer feared. "You showed admirable presence of mind, Mrs—er—Miss Fairfax," he said. Permit me to congratulate you on your nerve."

Her voice was calm, and ber face betrayed no emotion as £he said quietly: "Why did you .come her*?" He shrugged his shoulders carelessly. 'I discovered—no matter how—that Mis 3 Fairfax, the envied heiress, was an old friend. It would have been neßlectful not to come to congratulate you," he said, with an insolent politeness worthy of a fJheflteifield.

, "And for what else have you come? I could have dispensed with the congratulations, Fur .noiic}?" she went on quietly. Her manner, the directness of her words seemed to disconcert Vernham a little. "Well unc'er the circumstances it would be foolish perhaps to deny that my object was not altogether disinterested," he airily remarked —this man whose mere presence alone the evil mocking face brought back vividly to Judith's mind all the horror of her buried past "And if I refuse to give you any money?" she asked, in the same unmoved way. "Ab, but you won't! You wouldn't force ma to resort to uKpltasant extremes. 1 hate to remind a lady that at a word from me Miss Fairfax would be standing in the dock of a criminal court charged with the murder of Gilbert Hardress!" ha added in a lowered voice. V

He was still smiling, hut the threatening words ended with something like a wolfish'snarl. Her reception of him puzzjed Vernham. "Possibly," Judith assented calmly. "Unly I should not stand in the dock slone."

She paused, looking hard at him. Then, in an accusing flash, the low, intense words dropped into the stillness of the room :

"Dick Vernham, why did you murder Gilbert Hardress?"

CHAPTER XVIII. j VERNHAM' SEES HIS WAY. ! Ihe woman's words were an accusation, at»d the man's face, stricK<.o suddenly white 'as d-iath, answered it. Guilty! Guilt betrayed in every line of the shrinking, ashen face; guilt in bis eyes, as the mau glanced swiftly amd furtively round, as though he dreaded that other ears might have caught the whispered words; guilt in his very silence. This sudden, unlocked for accusation had left him stricken dumb. And Judith knew, with her searching eyes bent on that blanching mask of fear, that her shot had told; knew that Gilbert Hardress' reurderer now stood before her. "You are the guilty mam" she, went on quickly. "Shall I tell you how I know? The man who murdered I Gilbert Hardress, who hid behind the curtain when I came back to the flat before ho. could make his escape who hid, as v«u hid to-night—l knew he would some day come -to me to blackmail me! He heard my exclamation that night as I read of George Craven's fortune —that exclamation that would tell him who George Craven's heiress was." TO BE CONTINUED