A SECRET FOE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10154, 28 December 1910, Page 2

A SECRET FOE.

(OUR SERIAL.)

Iy uERTRUDE WARDEN. Author of "Scoundrel or Saint?" "The Secret cf a Letter," "A Bold lWioDtion," "The Wooing of a Fairy," ,; The Crime oi Monte Carlo," etc.

CTTAPT l/R XTX.—Continued. Iris sank into her chair and leaned her head upon her hand. Back upon her memory ramo the scene she had witnessed during her first week at airs Mavregodatos house, when with her o'.vn eyes she had detected Bagmar in her stealthy midnight flight from her mother's residence. She recalled, too, the children's tales of similar excursions on the part of their sister, and with still more convincing clearness the scene which occurred in the schoolroom, when Fitzalan tried to kiss her, Iris, and was surprised by Dagmar, came before her mind. She remembered the girl's ungovernable fury, for which only burning jealousy would satisfactorily account; and at every moment the conviction grow stronger upon Iris that Dagmar had been all the while deceiving her by hor pretended hatred of Edward Fitzalan.

At last, after a long pause, It is looked up at Drogo, who had stood at a little distance watching her. "Even if this is so," she said in a low voice, "and I must speak to Dagmar about it, how does this account for the attack on Lord Mallyon's life on the Atlantis. Of what possible interest could Lord Mallyon's life oi death be to Mr Fitzatym?"

"Of none, to him immediately. Bub remember that at that time it was everywhere supposed that Miss Mallyon's favourite neice and nearest, lelation, would certainly inherit the bulk, if not the whole, of his fortune. If, therefore, Fitzalan was in love with Miss Mallyon, and she with him. Lord Mallyon's death would have greatly altered' their prospects, as I happen to know that they aie both very extravagant, and both heavily in debt."

"It is too horrible!" whispered Iris, staring at him with dilated eyes. "Is is possible that anyone could be so wicked as Mr Fitzalan would, seemto.be?" "It may have been a sudden impulse. But undoubtedly Fitzalan, under the circumstances I have mentioned, was the only person on board the ship who would benefit by Lord Mallyon's death, and equally for certain it was his sleeve-link which broke as he dragged the cabin door to. Probably, he .never knew how he lost a portion of the link, and Miss Mallyon, seeing the link about in his rooms, and equally ignoring the significance of the trinket, took it home, wore it, and carelessly mislaid the case, with the result that you know."

as he did from heart trouble, insomnia invariably affected him very seriously, the more so as lie was ordinarily an excellent sleeper. And that night he could not sleep, with the recollection of these three faces always before him —his wife, in her fair, pale girlishness; Drogo, in the first flush of early manhood; and his own face upon which Time's fingers had traced the flnght of three-score years. Towards midday his indisposition had increased so seriously that lie decided to return home in the afternoon and rest for a short time befoiv proceeding to an important dinner of government officials thkt evening. Dagmar, whose bedroom was in the front of the house, had seen him, first ascertaining, to her great delight, that Lady Mallyon was interviewing Mr Gordon in the library. To the library, therefore, she led her uncle, on the pretext of desiring greatly to behold the room as it had recently been arranged. Immediately after greeting his neiee, Lord Mallyon had asked for Iris, and Dagmar had informed him that dear Iris had run off in a hurry, after showing her to her room, and had not been seen for the last hour. "She hadn't taken her hat and cloak off, so perhaps she has gone out I again," suggested Dagmar. "By herself? Impossible!" Lord Mallyon returned, frowning heavily. "She is far too beautiful to walk the streets of London alone." "She is, indeed," returned Dagmar, with pretended earnestness. "But no doubt we shall soon find her. Meantime, do show me your new tapestry. You know how I love good ; tapestry, and old silver and oak, and | dainty china, and everything that is nice and expensive and beyond my means." She was speaking thus when they opened the library door and came , upon Drogo and Iris. Lord Mallyon .became strangely pale, and his eyes flashed coldly as they fell upon the pair and marked their pallor and agitation, and the furtive manner in which Lady Mallyon thrust into her pocket something that she had been holding in her hands. Unluckily, neither Iris nor Drogo was an adept at concealing their feelings, and the latter's voice shook as she greeted her husband. "I had not expected you back until late to-night," she said.

Waves of colour passed over Iris' sensitive face. It seemed to her a horrible degradation for her even to think of Dagmar as Fitzalan's misstress, quilty of carrying on a disgraceful intrigue with the man who had endeavoured to affect his uncle s murder.

"She cannot know," she murmured. "Oh, it is too terrible." "Fitzalan has no doubt kept silent on such a subject. Most women think him irresistible. The number of women who are in love with him would surprise you, Ladv Mallyon." « "Indeed," she answered simply, "1 cannot understand it. Mr Fitzalan appeared to me handsome and amusing, flighty, silly, and rnprincipled; but certainly not the man to commit a terrible crime. What am Ito do, Mr Gordon? If I were to tell Lord Mallyon all I know—and lof course could not mention Dagmar's namelie would at once probe the whole matter, and find out other things for himself. I feel as though Dagmar's whole future life lay in my hands. I cannot bear to keep anything a secret from my husband, and yet how much can I tell him? Dagmar is very ill; if she has really set her heart on Mr Fitzalan, any punishment falling upon him would affect her also. Poor girl, f am very, very sorry for her!" Tears of pity rose to Iris' eyes, tears for which Drogo loved and respected her. But as they stood there, facing each other, pale and agitated, she with, tears in her eyes, and lie plainly labouring under great excitement, their evil genius planned that the library door should suddenly open to admit Dagmar, leaning on her uncle s arm. Their entry was not so accidental as it appeared to be. Lord Mallyon had been more deeply shocked and affected by the receipt of the cruel anonymous letter of the previous evening than oven he himself know. Suffering

"Have you been out again since you brought Dagmar back?" he asked in his usual sweet, well-modulated tones, watching with jealous anger her sweet lips quiver as she answered him. "Oh, no; there has not been time for that." "We have only just this minute come in. I have hardly had time to take my hat off," Dagmar put in hurriedly, as though she had already forgotten her previous statement that she and Iris had returned an hour ago. Lord Mallyon looked at his neice. She was acting to perfection the part she had elected to play. Her look expressed distress and anxiety to screen Iris at any sacrifice to truth. A pang shot through Lord Mallyon's heart. Was it possible that already, within twenty-four hours of his return to his own house from his honeymoon, he was being made ridiculous in the eyes of his guests and servants. Pride forbade him from giving the least outward sign of the pain he. felt, and after exchanging a few corteous words with Drogo, he proceeded to lead both the ladies on a tour round , the room, explaining to them the history of the pieces of old tapestry lie j had recently acquired, and taking out such of the books as possessed exceptional interest. Dagmar listened in affected delight, but something in the unusual pallor and rigidity of her husband's face arrested Iris' attention, and she laid her hand timidly on his arm. "You look tired," she said. "You told me that the present work of yours would be very fatiguing. Will you not spare yourself, Slid let us leave you? Dagmar and I have much tn chatter about." (To be Continued.)