TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10406, 29 August 1911, Page 2

TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

CHAPTER V.—Continued

Her lithe, nimble figure, singular-ly-youthful and slight for a woman of her years —she was well over titty, he judged— went softly and rapidly down the gallery. The electric light was extinguished, now, but the moon was up and shining throug 1 :t long window on the opposite side or the large landing, and Severance saw her vanish into a shadowy passage. "Queer!" he said. "You are a highly respectable lady, I have do doubt, Mrs Vassell, but somehow ] am afraid you don't always tell the truth. I have a very unbecoming suspicion that the servant did not forget the telegram, but that you kej> it back for some reason of your own, oecause you wanted an excuse to Speak to me] And what did you want to sav? More than you did say, or am much mistaken! Be careful? Careful? Careful of what ? Ah, I fancy I shouldn't have much di&culty in picking out the friend who was so kind as to warn me anonymously! bo it is a good thing I am to be master h.ere, is it ? .Well, saintj sinner.,or neither, it doesn't seem that Cousin -Derek has the knack of making himself especially beloved." ■: ,• . . ' ' . The dog, crouching down by th-J door of the death chamber, moaned miserably, starring wearily in the shadow. Severance, halting, glanced m that direction. As 'he did so the sound of a. cautious footstep became audible, and in a moment a figure appeared, crossing the beam of moonlight A 0 the window. His heavy door had tallen to, closing without fully shutting, and, knowing that he would not be seen, 'he stood and" watched. In an nstant he recognised Lorraine Latouche Sihe was wrapped in a White dressing gown, and the mass of ner hair hung loose and shining down her shoulders. As he looked she kneit beside the dog, which whimpered greet her, and put her arm about ifc. "I came as soon as I could, poor creature," ?he heard .her say gently. "You won't let me get you away, will J you. You will "moan worse if I try. I won't try—you shall be as near to him as you oanr There is some wretched comfort in that, isn't there?" She sank closer beside the dog, and laid her cheek upon its head. "Clare is asleep," she said, "and she won't want me—she will sleep till morning. J You shan't be left to grieve alone. I will stay with you." Hours later, Severance, miserably restless still, softly opened his "door, and looked out upon the landing. The dawn was breaking, its cold gray light was pale ; upon the window: through wihich the moon had shone'. He couid just make out the white figure, half sitting, half lying against the door, the bright hair streaming down. She had * raised the dog's head to rest against her bosom, and, with., her colourless face upturned, she slept in an attitude of utter exhaustion.

CHAPTER VI.

| A sleepless night-—or one which bad been as bad as such —made Severance glad toieate his bed at even an ear ii- ; ' 6I 1 jfhan usual. It wais^ilter&ly;; : eight when he tlie'door I bf hi? and, stepped softly out, the la'ftdhlg.'' ©id lie expect i/O find the girl's white figure crouched; sleeping-beside the dog, as he had "seen if iix the dreary dawn.

She was gone, and the animal also. "Slhe must have coaled the poor brute away, lie supposed. A strange girl! He could say so with added emphasis after those glimpses of her last night.' ' He went slowly down great, darkened hall, the gloomier because outside the sun was shining brilliantly, and the sky tfas blue. Encountering the young footman who had shown him to his room last night, he told him he would take breakfast in an hour or two, and until then he would | go out. was longing to*»escapev I from the great, solemn, silent house, upon which the black shadow of death j hung so heavily. He had decided thai, once the funeral of Sir Bernard was ■oyer,-and'all neoessary business doae, he would riot stay at Redbourne. lt . would hardly be! kind to do so. He ■oould not. .well jntrude. his. ' the ,prejsence' *>f a: stranger,,. upon .Miss CIaT&,J& 'the -first weeks' of, heir "gri >f and mourning. ' 4 ''. ;

-Already,he was ,calling..her- 'fiQlare''., in his thaug|hts,-'and smiled presently to recollect that he had virtually forgotten, all her mother. Probably Mrs Throckmorton was a simpleton, but at any rate she was a presumably sufficient guardian for her daughter. And then there was that other'girl, Lorraine, who wias moat assuredly no simpleton. Yes, Clare would be comfortable and safe at Redbourne, poor child, while she got over her .sorrow. He would go abroad for a month or two, and when he returned —well, then they would see. He smiled as he thought of Tom Mioorfield, and his gaily uttered suggestion; It was certain' that Claro, Throckmorton was to the full is pretty as her name. ' on absently as lie muMd, paying Hitle 'lifefed to. th? extensive "and*elaborate 'flower garden, which . had been Sir Bernard's hobby , .and was .one of the boasts of BMbourne. The trim holly hedge, which at,that point divided it from the park, brought him to a halt. A break n its signing wall a little lower down the walk indicated a gate. As he approached it he-saw on its other side, with a, conscious air upon him of having been waiting and • watching, 1 ( young man. And that young man was

(OUR NEW SERIAL.)

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

so consciously aware of being detected that he advanced at once, so that they presently stood with the low, iron gate between them. "I beg your pardon," the stranger said, making a hasty, somewhat embarrassed gesture of salutation, and raising his tweed cap, "I don't think I can be mistaken Mr Severance, I believe?" "That is my name," said Severance, looking at t'he frank, blue-eyed, boyish, sunburned face. He instantly dismissed what 'had been his first, involuntary thought that this was Derek "VVilloughby. Failing that, who was he, ready with his—-Severance .s —name, so glibly? He was unquestionably a gentleman, arid a stalwart, well-100 king youngster, too. "But you have the advantage of me," he added, with a smile.

"Couldn't very well mistake you, because I knew you were down here! Aind to tell the trut'h, one of our fellows was at the station yesterday, and saw you wihen you arrived. .But I beg your pardon —all that tell my name. You will have heard nl the Setons?'' ....... "Upon my word, no! lam a stranger in the neighbourhood." .-"So absurd of me to forget. I recollect poor, old Sir Bernard telling the governor that he hadn't seen you since you were quite a little shaver." He wheeled round and pointed. "If you look you'll just see the gables of our place through the trees there. The Moat, it's called, though, that's been filled in long ago.' The place doesn't come up to Redbourne by a long shot, although there have been Setons there longer than there have been Wdlloughbys here, I think. There are severil of us, but I'm tlhe eldest—Harry. And glad to know you,, Mr Severance.' 7 Severance took the hand extended over the gate as cordially as it was offered. It was impossible to be other than cordial with/this pleasant, candid young man. "I am happy to know you, Mr ■ on." He was making the< reflection I that here was'seemingly yet another with whom Derek, the disinherited, had failed to make himself beloved. Harry Seton leaned his arm confidentially upon the gate. "You see, in livelier circumstances we should call, and go on. But, just as things are at present we can't very well do that."

"Certainly not —that is quite arderstood!" The lawyer's trained eyes were keen. He was well aware that something else was coining, and had a suspicion that he knewWfhat it wais. "Not but what I should have liked to call,". Harry resumed',' brushing some invisible dust off his tweed ooat, "and I did rush up to the house as soon as we got the newis. There might, yon know, have been (something to ,do. - But old Bethell was there, and there wiasn't' anything. I" didn't see anybody else." \"I suppose not. At suclh times ; "Really, I didn't expect to. But I thought I would try again this! morning—it's more satisfactory thaut sending. 3> was going up just uow; when L saw you, and so waited 'n-:i stead.l should' be ; much obliged If* yoff coulil teli'me -how the ladies are.

' ''WHoh of Severance wondered, not altogether pleasurably. " r have not seen Mrs Throckmorton," he said aloud, "but I believe she far from well."

"Mrs Throckmorton I" Harry gave his shoulders a shrug. "Oh, between you and me, you know,' that's about her usual form ! She never is well, never has been, or, at all events, can t be induced to confess/that she is. If there's any truth in the old saw about creaking doors 1 should say she'd 'ive to be a hundred. But you have seen "the young ladies, I suppose—Miss Throckmorton and Miss Latouohe?" "I saw. both yesterday." ; "Aih, I thought you would." Bar-" ry's eyes brightened eagerly. "And. how are they? How is Howare they taking it You see, she is % girl who is certain to feel a shock of this sort awfully." "No doubt.But may I ask of which young lady you speak ?" . . ""Which? Why, both, of course., L sstiji■ both,.jdidn't IP" He coloured ip'very • r ,vofirfg, sm<l ,»nd; ;Mii«s I r How.-are they taWng it mucii - cut up, I'm. afraid;" "Miss Throckmorton is greafclv grieved, undoubtedly. "I should say that Miss Latouclie-—l'. speak "as a stranger—seems less so." "Poor girl J She isn't one to say much, you know —never was. And t was a shock'. Poor, old Sir Bernard i When I saw him last I thought he. was good enough for 'another ted years. He was a bit cantanker us but I liked him somehow, I. knew Miss Throckmorton would feel it awfully—l was ifraid of that. She w fonder of Sir Bernard than anyoneexcept Misp You don't think there's any fear that they will be ill, I suppose "The young ladies? I should think there is no fear of that." . , (To 'be continued;)