HELD IN BONDAGE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10498, 8 December 1911, Page 2

HELD IN BONDAGE.

OUR SERIAL,

BY L. F. DAORE. Author of "Sin.biad's Valley," A Phantom of the Past," "The Shadow of Shame," "Sir John's HeiLrass," "A Daughter of Mystery," ©to.

CHAPTER lll—Continued. ■) "Alfred Maxwell! What arc you doing lu>re : j How did you "How did I manage to .surprise yon, Meg? Well. I've had my work cut one. I've lnve.n here half a dozen times in the last two days, and Emma lied with a face of brass. I've been very | good to that woman, and how she | could find it in Jior heart to do it, j beats me." ! "1 gave strict ordei*s that 1 would j not see anybody." "Including me?" "Everybody. J didn't know tii;vL > you were -homo." "That sounds a. bit more hopeful. Emma, was obdurate, -so I opened the front door without knocking, and just walked in! Sit down, Meg, and let's have a talk." "I oughtn't to listen to a word from you, Alf. I am doing wrong. So | you've heard?" "Heard Good heavens, you've set j all 'Castdo Clayford ablaze. How coukl j you do ic, Meg, when you were pledged to me?" He took a seat beside her, and the lamplight revealed a tall, pale young fellow or two or three and twenty. A half-smoked' cigarette was trembling in .his left hand, and his face wore an expression of utter helplessness. He wa.s woll-dressed overdressed but his clothes were not in , good taste. The sort that many vain young fellows wear nowadays—purples, and pinks,, and greens, from socks to necktie. He was a,t that unhappy would-bei cynical stage of life when the most expressive word in the vocabulary is "rotten." "Pledged to you?" she laughed mirthlessly. "I like that." "You know you are." "Alfred Maxwell, you have been pleased to write foolish letters to me but I always regarded you as merely a nice sort of boy." "Boy! lam as old a-s you are, and twice as big. I shall have plenty of money ivhen I am five and 'twenty, and you know all about my antecedents. We were both born in Castle Clayford. Why you should marry this man Aston heats me. Such a lioleniarriage, loo! I>id he drug you, or what? You know tha.t I am reading for the bar, and I know j something about the law. It isn't too late to see the marriage set aside. This is what I'm hoping for." Margaret's heart leaped, and then seemed to grow cold. "What utter nonsense are you talking?" "We've been pals all these years, and I always regarded you my rightful property. Now you go and marry a middle-aged rogue in secret, t'm sure he's a wrong un; no man was ever any good with such wicked eyes as George Aston's got in his head. And who is he after all? Nobody in Birmingham ever heard of him until he opened these engineering works. He might' lie a returned convict for all you know. To my mind he's got the face of a murderer!" Margaret got up from) her chair with sudden resolution. "Not another word, Mi' Maxwell. I have married Mr Aston, and I am •perfectly sattisfied with ray choice. Now go, if you please, or there will be more talk in the village. Good-by." She held out her Jiand, and he .snatched it to his lips with a sob. "My heart is broken! I'd rather see yoai dead!" 1 His head was bent; he felt that his j grief was suffocating. Then he heard j a half-suppressed shriek .from Margaret, and sprang erect to see the monac- j ing form of George Aston standing in the open doorway. The flaming eyes of the man were narrowed into slits, and the whole face was twisted and distorted with ferocity. "One of your lovers, you traitress! You swore to me that you had none. I gave you a fair chance and I warned you. How fortunate for me that I was recalled to Birmingham tonight. Get out of this you pallid, sneaking fool!" He gripped Maxwell by the nape of the neck, and flung him out of the room, blasphemy pouring from his livid lips. For long minutes it seemed the paroxysm lasted, his curses blighting .the very air. All at once he became quiet but the perspiration was streaming from his face. He Walked over to the bell pus3i and he pressed it 'hard and insistently. The door was flung open by the frightened housekeeper. "My wife has fainted!" George Aston said. Take her to her room, and I will take her away from here to-mor-row."

CHAPTER IV. CLIMAX AND ANTI-CLIMAX. "I told yrm that you would rue it, Miss Margaret," said Emma Jones tartly, "but I didn't think your wickedness would come home to you so vsoon. That man is a limb of Satan. Do you foci better?" "I'm all right now," the girl shivered. "You arc sure .that lie lias gone? I can see liis savage eyes and hear his terrible voice still." She swept a shuddering glance around the dark room. "He's gone right enough. He earn a on horseback, and I saw him ride off again. I wanted to give him a bit of my mind, but his vcTy look held me tongue-tied. You seem to think that you ace the only one sinned against, but what is there worse than to swear false vows in God's face? You did that Allien you stood before the altar and promised to love, honour and

obey a man you disliked, for the mere sake of a fine home and fine clothes.'' "Hold your tongue! A fine home and fine clothes! I wanted to bo independent of my father." "And so you are. Out of the frying pan into the fire. I am a Christian woman and would die before making light of tlie bond of God! Get ready to do your duty. You heard his parting words to me? He is coming for you to-morrow morning—your master." Margaret gasped with fear and loathing. "I won't go with that man." "You can't help yourself now. You belong to him, body and soul. You are spending his money, wearing his; clothes and jewellery, and there's a wedding ring on yoxir left hand." Margaret tore the ring off her finger .and tlirew it across the room. Her manner had'undergone a startling change, and she faced the housekeeper with blazing eyos. "I tell you I won't go to George Aston's house! ■ I'll have the marriage set aside!! I shall do something dreadful; lam desperate—desperate!" She flung George Aston's .brooch after the ring, and swept everything that had been bought with his money into a .tumbled heap. "Miss Margaret," said Emma, "what are you doing?" "Go away, woman!" "I spoke only for your good 1 spoke before at was too late but you would not listen." The girl' made no answer. She swept past the housekeeper, and went to her room. Her mind was decided. She would go .way somewhere, no matter where, so long as she was out of that George ; Astton's reach. She felt her throbbing head between both hands. Could this misery be real? Oh, if it were only hallucination! and she could wake to freedom again. A rattling on the panes of the window gave her n shock. She nearly screamed in her fright . Then it was repeated—a handful of small gravel was thrown up by someone, and she knew who that someone was. It had been an, old signal since she and Alfred Maxwell had been children together. She crossed over to the window and looked out. Behind the rain clouds there was a big moon somewhere and objects were easily discernible below. Maxwell was standing on the edge of the little; lawn, enveloped in a long travelling coat, his pallid faoe upturned. He saw Margaret instantly, and began beckoning with one hand. She quickly put on her mackintosh, covered her head with a woollen sliawl, and ran downstairs. It was still raining and the wind came in spiteful little gusts. "Come out here, Meg," quavered Maxwell. "Just a few words. Don't bo frightened." "I'm not frightened. You had better keep away from here or that man will kill you." The boy . sneered, /'Ho took me unawares, the great bully. If lie lays hands on me again I'll shoot him —I'll shoot him for your sake! 1 have a revolver here, and I mean what I say! He passed me along the road, riding like a madman, and I hope he will break his blessed neck!" "What have you come back for?" "To talk to you, Meg. If you acr, at once you can uipset the marriage after this night's business. I know the •law. I'll engage the best counsel in. London for you. Did lie strike you?" "No!" "But he will when he's got you to himself. He's a 'brute —a'beast." He threw up his arms and Margaret saw the glint of a revolver. "Now, tMeg, what are you going to do? I'm afraid to leave you here, but I must make Emma Jones promise to protect you. I know your awful trouble now—the village is horrified, and old Green is mad about his girl. He thinks that she might have done tetter than marry a poverty-stricken parson in his dotage." (To l>e Continued.)