"The Chains of Bondage."

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10063, 10 August 1910, Page 2

"The Chains of Bondage."

v BY EMILY B. HETHEEIKGION. 3 ; 1 I h Author of—" Fls Colkg') V l']e('?e," " A Kepen ant Fee," etc. <*s 1 1

CilAFlElt .;VJiJI..--C.;iitiiii:'.>ii. j "And [ t-.U my-:!:': frV-nu- day j a man will como ■-• J- try to blae,;- | mal! me; porhnuw s-.-meono known | to Judith Hai-drear:—tho murderer of Gilbert Hardress, to whom she. unconsciously revealed her secret. To-night it flushed at.-ross mo, even bei'oro you hinted to blackmail—the man behind the curtain to-night was the man who had hidden thus once before, months ago! You have been a long time coining. Perhaps you have been in prison again, to 'account for the delay," die went on mockingly. "But I am certain it was you that killed my husband." And her eyes gleamd with fires of passionate horror and scorn; and this rogue who had come 'to blackmail, as he expected, a timid woman, found his weapon snatched from his hand by a woman, resolute and dangerous, who could meet and match his own cunning and threats. " You are talking like a madwoman !"'' he stammered at last. "I denv it utt-rly! You have not a shred of proof of this wild accusation !" She broke in swiftly: "Are ynu so sure you left no proof behind you that night? Are you sure that you did not make one li + tle slip—leave one tiny clue—that in the light of what I'now know will be strong enough in the erd to drag you to , the gallows ? Are you sure she demanded. She was bl"7."~ now, but bluffing so consumately well that Yernham, with all his guilty fears stirred by this unexpected accusation, asked himself what clue he could possibly have left behind him. For once he. was utterly outmatched in cunning. "Listen to me!" Judith went on, speaking with a decisiveness new to him. "It would not be desirable for me to be associated with Judith Hardress now; that is self-evident. But what of yourself? Once that fact could no longer be hidden, all my interests would lie in bringing Gilbert's murderer to justice. And I could do it. I tell you—l could tell you I could prove your guilt. You have everything to lose by youi identity with Judith Hardress being discovered —far more to los than I! Lay that to your heart if you valus your neck, Diok Yernham!" "But I tell you " The woman waved his stammering denials aside with fierce contempt. "Spare your breath! Your denials are useless! I know!" she : cried. "It is horrible to* me to enter into any compact with a man guilty of murder—my husband's murderer; but I make this ofler: So long as my past 'remain a secret, you shall have fifty-two pounds a year. No more—not a penny more! " "A pound a week?*' he.began, in angry 'dismay—this man whose mind had soared to htousands. "And you are a millionairess " Yernham looked at her furtively Was she in earnest? But her decisive manner convinced him that she would keep her word. She must have something up her sleeve, he felt, for her to dare to assume this attitude. '' A pound a week—that, and no more! Try even to bargain with me, and I take back my offer!" she firmly said. " Very well," he said suddenly at last, " I accept." "Leave me your present address, and I will communciate with you," she said coldly. " You are never to show yourself here again. And now you may go." But he still hesitated, with his eyes on her. "As though I should he content with a miserable pound a week!" he was saying to himself, his crafty brain already at work. "You'll find yet, my lady that you'll be glad to pay me more—far more! And I think I see the way—through that brat of yours! " And a sinister smile flickered for a moment about his lips. She 1 thought he was beaten, but she would soon realise the contrary! "There's one thing I wanted to say—about your son, litte Gilbert," he said; and he saw a sudden look of pain contract the proud, cold £ace. That was a vulnerable point, then! "The relatives of the boy's father, whom he is staying with, the Burt's, are pretty sick at his being thrown on their hands, and the little chap has to suffer in consequence. It is rather pitiful, really, the way they trs.at i.'m now " "Why did you say this?" she demanded. Her hand had gone, instinctively to her heart as if to lull a pain there. " You arc a woman of means now, and you love your child. Why do you leave the boy with people? who are unkind to him—and unkind is a pretty mild word? Even if, under the circumstances, you could place him with people who would at least be kind," he went on, Ins subtle brain evolving a crafty plan. I A startled look had crept into i her eyes. He had put into words 1 the deep longing of her own heart. C 1 ly that day he bad been trying to form some plan. " Of coursse, you couldn't go to [ the Burts.' Your secret wouldn't

j be. safe an hour it they had an ink--1 i'h;.'; to it. But it would ho vu-y 1 for me to get the child away sei cretly ,aiid smuggled back to j you " ' For an instant, in her deep nio- ! M!"r's ye niugs, there >\ . n • \wmi- ! ing indecision in Judith's face. ! Then: i "No," she cried suddenly; "I rc- | fuse any help from you absolutely— I you, the murdered of that child's • father!" . "Hush! Don't be a fool!" ho said quickly, glancing nervously round. "This mad charge comes , well from a woman whom the world believes to have been the murderess —and who probably was!" he added, witli a snarl. "However, leave me out of the question. 1 am only thinking of rescuing the child from the misery of his present surroundings. And the chance wouldn't be so easy much longer; the Burts are talking of going away. In their present house it would be easy—why, you could almost do the trick yourself; you know the lay of the house—how they'll leave the kid locked up alone in it for hours. Only if you have a spark of a mother's feelings, if you'd seen what I've seen, you wouldn't leave him a day or an hour longer than you could help with those people! Poor little chap! " • As Yernham turned to go he saw . the look of agony that his words, ) deliberately chosen, had brought in- . to her face. And ho smiled to herself. He walked toward the winy doW. "I'll go out this way; the police ■; may be still hanging about in front. \ I can trust myself to dodge them, Y though," he said. 3 He dropped down into the dark garden. The smile was back in bis face. The bait would take—and she would fall into his trap! 0 As if he would be content with a e paltry pound a week when he wa.nti ed thousands, and meant to have ; . them! t Yernham had been gone scarcely 1 ten minutes, when a message came y for Judith over the telephone. She 3 lifted the receiver to her ear. The f man at the other end was Waco. "I might have told Ellstree that r it wouldn't pay for the woman he r is going to marry to make an enemy j of me," came the voice over the e telephone. "You must see me, and you had better come to my flat here. Don't forget I have, the whip •_ hand. I've documentary proofs of . every word I've spoken to you; and what's more, I've found out who are ,- George Craven's lawful heirs. At e a word from me, your fortune melts } like snow in the sun ! " i ' 'And if. your story be true ? '' g "Do you still think I'm boastj ing?" And his laugh floated to her over the wire. " I propose to i prove to you that it is true; and j- then—well, it's no use beating about the bush. My silence or my disclosures of the secret will be a valuable saleable commodity—for the highest bidder to secure!" CHAPTER XIX. A GIRL WITH GREEN EYES. About the time Mr Herbert Wace left Judith's residence in Green Street that night, Jim Ralston and Elsie came away from the house within a stone's throw of it that ■■ until to-night had been Jim's home. Now he was turning his bn.'-k on it to face life under recently altere- 1 conditions, no longer a rich uw'acknowledged heir. "If you never regret the sacr:'i •> you have made for me, Jim!" the girl whispered softly. He smiled down into her eyes, as they turned into the busy lighted thoroughfare, pulsing with life and stir. "As if to-night hadn't shown me, even if I hadn't known it before, that I have won the sweetest woman on God's earth!" he answered, watching the soft colour that came and went in the beautiful face. " Dear, love is worth all the money in the world—the love money cannot buy; your love, sweetheart, that all my father's bidding could not buy!" (To be Continued). =_= ■' 1 i