NEIL MALLOW'S SIN.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10140, 10 November 1910, Page 2

NEIL MALLOW'S SIN.

(OUR SERIALS

BY JOHN A. PETERS, Author of "Married tit Midnight," "Two Odd Girls," etc., etc., etc

CH AFTER ill .—Continued. Thus circumstanced, he resumed: •■ Recently L had found employment as assistant bookkeeper in a large hotel in Brooklyn. One night—the uiolit succeeding my mother's death ..-i extracted from the head bookkeeper's pocket, while he was asleep, the key of the safe, and took therefrom banknotes to the amount of one, thousand dollars. T surely meant to r. place them in a short time. I was foolish enough to think I could do so ere the theft was discovered. _ I cannot explain, but a plan of mine to secure money looked plausible. Of course, the notes were missed. I sincerely hoped that suspicion would not fasten on me. I knew the head bookkeeper would not bo suspected, for he had been in the hotel nearly twenty years and was highly respected. He, however, mistrusted me. I had been, despondent for months, and he knew that I was deeply in debt, without any prospect of extricating myself. Ho put a detective on my track. Bo successful in shadowing me did he prove that he saw me payto certain individuals the exact sum I had abstracted from the safe. He reported to the man in whose services he was engaged, and I was instantly summoned to the bookkeeper's presence. That was after my mother's burial, and I had resumed work at the hotel. He denounced me as a thief, and threatened me with ignominious exposure if I did not refund the money."

" 'For the sake of your father, who once befriended me, and because you are so young, I will give you a chance to retrieve yourself—to redeem your crime,' he said. 'lf in three days you return the money, I will sec that you go unpunished; I'll promise that your transgressions will never be made public. Refuse, and the proprietor shall be informed, and you will be delivered up to justice. You will be consigned to prison; the four walls will close round you and shut you in, and your misery will be complete. Three days' reprieve. Hem- 'er!' "What could I do? At first I thought I would leap into the river and drown myself. Where could I hope to get one thousand dollars? Then a longing to live—not to end my days while yet so young—came over mo. To-night I went to one whom, in my prosperous days, I saved from bankruptcy, and solicited aid. I was refused. In vain I pleaded. Ho turned from me without pity. A feeling of recklessness seized me; I would throw myself into the river after all. Of what use would existence bo if I spent it in a prison cell ? "Then, what was it—Fate ,or tho devil, tempting me to plunge yet deeper into sin—that made me overhear the remark of a man at your carriage wheels as you were being driven home? 'Weighed down with diamonds,' were the words that fascinated me—that put into my head a thought that I could not expel. Why not get hold of .those diamonds and flee the country ? I followed the carriage, and under the open window, where the light flickered like a star, I secreted myself and waited—waited till I felt sure every inmate in the dwelling was asleep. Then, by means of the vines outside I got in. I could easily have chloroformed you and stripped you of your diamonds, and made my escape undetected, had I not taken a look at your face. After that I was powerless. It is presumptuous of me, and insulting to you, to confess it, but, as the soft light shed by the lamp showed mo your pure and innocent face, all bitterness died within me; all desire to appropriate the diamonds that flashed their meretricious splendour on your person, died a sudden death, and I was overwhelmed with remorse —with unutterable shame. Lady, I have told you all. Have I sinned beyond pardon ?" She replied promptly: "Sir, you have sinned greviously, but not beyond pardon. That you are sincere in your repentence, I believe; and, believing so, I am going to advance you the thousand dollars. I have the sum here in my room, in a bureau drawer. A careless mortal, am I not? But father is constantly supplying me with more money than I can spend. If the day arrives when you can repay me, I shall accept the money gladly, because I know your feelings would be hurt otherwise, and I do not think it right not to encourage you to make an effort to do so."

She opened t'lio drawer, counted out the money and tondered it to him.

"Remember, you arc not to succumb to temptation again. Try to lend an honourable life." Reluctantly he took the money. In a tone, vibrating with, earnestness, he said: "Xever, so long as I live, will T break Clod's Commandment, 'Thou sbalt not steal!' I go from your presence, I trust, a better man. I shall alweys think of von a.s my

guardian angel—as the one to whom I owe inj- redemption." Hit eyes filled with tears. ''l am a very faulty woman, with nothing ethereal clinging to me. Go. now, and if there be any comfort in the thought, remember that I shall nightly pray for you. Farewell!" And she held out her hand. "Farewell," he said, but, feeling himself too unworthy, ho did not touch the hand. Thus they parted, and each wondered how and when they should meet again. CHAPTER TV. A SIX " FORGIVEN. The hotels at Wyatt, a popular summer resort among the mountains, lately sprung into notice, were crowded to overflowing. The mountain House, which stood on an eminence of ground, in a delightful grove of coniferous trees, was especially crowded. Its fat, pleasant proprietor had to turn away tourists, sight-seers, health seekers by the score, bemoaning his inability to supply the applicants with rooms. Those domiciled therein considered themselevs fortunate. It was at this identical hotel that Christine Marsh was rusticating for the summer, and thoroughly she enjoyed the bracing air, the magnificent views, and the walks and drives in the neighbourhood. It was fxceedinlgy gay at Wyatt this season ; the days and nights were one continual round of mirth and jollity; and at ball, or picnic, at every entertainment, however largo or select, the brilliant Miss Marsh reigned as queen. It was a sultry morning in July. Too hot to remain indoors, and longing for some secluded spot in which to hide from prying eyes and bury herself in the pages of a book that had just been forwarded to her, Christine hurried out of the house, and off to a gully that Jay some rods away. She escaped unseen, and feeling devoutedly thankful, and as if she could rest now, she seated herself at the foot of the hill, on a rock that might have served as an altar for the Druids. It was an enormous rock, jagged and misshapen, which some convulsion of nature had torn from earth's rocky entrails and cast there. A fretted stream sang at her feet, and over her head a young linden shaped- its leaves.

The girl opened her book, but not a word did she read. The name of the author had caught her eye, and away in the past her thoughts went drifting. Noil Mallow had written it. For weeks past one of the largest publishing firms in New York had been speaking in terms of praise of this forthcoming book, predicting for it an unprecedented sale, and to its author, who was unknown to the world, and whose name was not mentioned, fame and popularity in no mean degree. It was called "One of Earth's Noblest Women." (To be Continued.) -