TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 1039, 21 August 1911, Page 2

TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

CHAPTER I—Continued. , 1 "Riglit enough so far, at any rate!" ! ho said. "There you are —'Last will and testament of Sir Bernard Willoughby, Baronet, of Rcdbourne, Glebeshire.' Satisfied now?" "It has'been opened," said Moor-j field, looking at it. "When I glanced over it, as I told , you." j "Ah, yes! Rather a queer ideal to send it- to you, wasn't it?" "Sir Barnard's wish, apparenily. I'm a lawyer and chief inheritor. I ( suppose he thought it couldn't be in safer hands. Besides —" He broke off. "Besides what?" Moorfield asked "I was going to say sometliing that I've no warrant for saying. But it is only to you, and can't matter. Ho might think it just as well to have it beyond the reach of Derek Willoughby." "Whew! That's a cool idea, to!" "One I had no warrant, as I said, for entertaining," Severance remarked. "It flashed across me as odd and random things have a trick of doing . with us all, I suppose. I know nothing against the man, as I told you, but some assumedly sufficient reason I am put into his shoes—a reason for gratitude, I ought to call it." He

put the will back into the drawer. "Good night, old fellow, and thanks for looking me upl Give my best regards to Mrs Moorfiekl." "I certainly will." As their hands met Moorfield laughed. "I say Severance, you'll want a wife, you know. A man isn't more than half a man \ till he's married; and, besides, you'll never spend the coming cash yourself —a good eight thousand a year, isn't it ? And a big place, as I suppose | must be, will want a misI' tress. Lucy always said that you'd I make an ideal husband, given the [/ night woman. And we know she's ' ready and wiaiting for you." "Is she? And where?" "Where? At Redbourne naturally! Take my advice, old cShap, and, if she's as pretty as her name, cultivate Miss Clare Throckmorton!" 5 He went out, his cheery laugh ringing back as he ran down the stairs. I Severance, closing the door after i him, laughed, too. His pulse beat a little faster than usual. In some »uib- (. tie way he had foreseen this uitter- . ance of Clare Throckmorton's name. I Moved iby an impulse as sudden, as (it wais strong, he crossed to the mirror | over the mantel, and looked at the image cloudily reflected there. I Too old for his three and thirty years, too grave habitually, and too | often i&tern, it was yet, in spite of the grey streaks in the hair and the | premature lines of thought and oare that marked it, a handsome face, and [ quite dispassionately he told himself as he broke into a whimsical smile. | "Why mot?" he said aloud. "The right woman? One must meet the right woman somehow and; some--1 where ',l suppose. Why shouldn't I ';. meet her in Clare Throckmorton, ", i... He sauntered across- to the window, lighted a fresh cigar, and stood leaning; Jbis folded arms uroon the sill as hei'smoked. The various street •' inoFses iftfbm the ~;pourt (below. and • the ladjaoent thoroughfare struck up- - on his ear without disturbing him. f Within it was quite' iiilent; his one , clerk had gone home an hour before, and Severance was alone in the chambers. Clare Throckmorton! His thoughts .still held, to her oddly. Was , she dark? Was 1 she fair? Tall, 5 short, pretty, plain? Clare? It was a pleasantly suggestive name. When would he be likely to meet her? It was a pity that Sirßernard had.' made ■' no suggestion as to his going down toUedibourne. In that case— He started and turned; from the window. The silence of the house was .broken. Suddenly and isoftly, i with no preliminary sound of footsteps, a hand was tapping upon the door. Severance stood 'staring at the door. Sx> far away and so absorbed had. Ms thoughts been that the utterly commonplace ,sound of the tapping hand had. shaken, and startled him afbsurdly. It was repeated, with no ( impatience in its steady insistence. He ©aught up his coat, hast- - ily put ijt on, opened the. door; and faced the visitor upon the threshold. His momentary curious tremor was I instantly lost in surprise. It 'was a wkjman!

CHARTER 11. Th© woman stood with her gloved hand raised before her, with a strange air. (both of tlirusting him awiay and. guarding herself. Either sdie was rather tall, or the long folds of her dark dress, .made her appear so. By the slenderness of her shoulders and the straightness of her carriage she seemed .young. The dimness of the corridor allowed him to Bee little of her veiled face, but he thought that the eyes, were dark. She spoke, her raised hand falling to her side. "Air Severance?" she asked interrogatively, "Mr Beraaird' Severthe lawyer? | "That is quite right. You might be postiive of that-," he said. "I am certainly the only Severance- at this address—to the best of my knowxledge the only Severance at the bar,." "The name is unusual. Yes, I thought so when I itwas mentioned to me." She paused; he saw her put 'her gloved hands togther and press them. "I—l wish to consult you, sir!"

(OUR NEW SERIAL.)

By CARL SWERDNA, Author of "A Mere Ceremony."

"I beg your pardon." He had vaguely associated her mourning dress with begging letters, or something of a kindred nature. "At once?" , "If you please. I ha-ve come purposely. I—l am in trouble— great •trouble. I know it is after .business hours, but it will not .matter, will it? I thought that if I could see you alone " "ft does not matter in the least, and I am quite alone. Pray come in. Pardon, me for lamping you standing here." ' He held the door wide open for ner admission, and she passed him and went in. The light in. the room .was slightly .better than in the corridor, -and as she entered he. saw that she was by no means so young as the contour of her figure had led him to suppose, —lie veil did not hide the lines under hen eyes, and about her mouth, .and her dratbibish-hrown hair, roughened in loose untidiness about her forehead under a black felt hat, was streaked plentifully with grey. At one time she could have .been a handsome or even a pretty -woman, lie' decided—the skin -was .sallow, the features were indifferent. The dark eyes might'.once have been attractive but now their lids were reddened, and they were kept half closed' in an oddly furtive way, .so much ,so that he found it impossible to (really decide noon their colour, although his own .were keen. They were dark, certainly, hut whether hrown or black he could not tell. Her .voice at its first sound had impressed him unfavourably—either she was suffering from hoarseness or it was unfavourably harsh and rough in quality. As he closed the door and followed her into the room, Severance was conscious of feeling a dislike for his unexpected client. He offered her a chair, and she took it, sinking down as though .she were weary, trait in an instant she arose. "No—no light," she said faintly. "I have a headache, and what I have to say is very painful, Mr Severance."

Severance's experience was small, but it had taught him the wisdom of humouring ladies' -whims when it was .possible, and the woman who insisted •upon enveloping herself and her affairs in unnecessary mystery was no novelty to him. He had also learned that this type of always expressed herself in an appealing exuberance of words. His feeling, as he. obediently turned from the unliglited gas, was not grateful toward the unknown friend or acquaintance who had probably sent this woman to him. "Just as you please!" he said courteously. "We shall understand each, other fully as well in the twilight, no doubt!" He drew out his owre chair, and sat near his' desk, half facing her. The little light coining from the window fell principally upon the visitor. "You spoke of my having been mentioned to you, I think," he said. "May I ask; who was good, enough to mention ime?" : "I would rather riot say. I did not hear of you in, the ordinary way. I have seen your name ire the papers. I might have come to you because of that. It cannot matter, can it?" } "Not at all!" The thought occurri to to him that although her choice { of words was good, she was* probably I not cultured. But she was in trouble, poor thing, no. doubt a;bout that. .What sort of trouble? Her veiled face was a mere blur to her in the gloom, 'and she sat very erect, but a- quiver passed over her whole figure like a vibration of a tightly stretched string. A .strong will, he thought-, or the .woman would probably- have given way to hysteria. "At least," he said .quietly, "I may ask your name?" "Lydia Moncton." Thank you. Miss Moncton?" ' "Mrs Moncton." She said this with a .swift glance downwards at her gloved -hands, as if, it struck Mm, she had not for the instant been sure that they were gloved. ' If they had not 'been, woiild the presence of a wedding ring 'have [ affirmed "that she was -telling the truth, or would its absence ha.ve convicted 1 her of a lie? Perhaps ,a iawi yer grows habitually suspicious. Bernard Severance instantly decided that Lydia Moncton, had told him a lie. (To be continued.)