HELD IN BONDAGE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 1049, 9 December 1911, Page 2

HELD IN BONDAGE.

OUR SERIAL.

BY L. F. DACRE. Author of "Sinbed's Vaffley," A Phantom of the Past," "The Shadow of Shame," "Sir John's. Heirtesa," "A Daughter of Mystery," etc.

CHAPTER IV— Continued.

Margaret pressed a hand over her eyes and .sobbed, while A'lf. Maxwell watched hor scared and anxious. "It's a frightful moss!" .he added "I can't trust Emma; I believe she's a sneak! lam going away. Alf; I daren't stay here." "Good!" ho said joyfully. "Where are. you going to? Let me take you." "I don't know. I have a girl friend in Loudon, but I havn't 'heard from her for months. She has a flat of her own in Bloomsbury Crescent, and earns 'her own living writing and sketching for the .papers." "You mean the Janson girl?" lie eagerly interrupted. "She stayed .at the vicarage for a week or two half a doxen years since." "Yes, Edith Janson. Her father and mother died in Lidia while she was at school with me—the plague, or something. She may have left Bloomsbury Crescent or a. dozen things may have happened." "Wo must, risk it, Meg." "Risk what?" "I am going to London to-night in my motor car, and you must go with me." She recoiled for a moment.

. '<Don't forget ithat brute Alstbn. He may bo back here again any time. I'll take you to Mi&s Janson's place, and nobody but ourselves will know what lias become of you. If you went by train he would track you down like a diot. Then I'll put the case in the hands of eminent counsel, and you'll be a free girl in a brace of shakes. 1 ' The gate creaked loudly in the wind and Margaret's face l>ecame agonized with sudden dread. She clasped both' hands, her eyes staring, her breathing convulsive gasps. "It's nothing, Meg. Poor girl!" Maxwell said soothingly. "I thought I saw his evil eyes I Oh, how I hate and fear him now! If he came I believe I should die. Hush!''

"I tell you it's all right. Now go indoors, and get ready. Bring everything you are likely to want —clothes and things, I mean, because the car will carry any amount. It's nine o'clock now, and I'll be here at twelve. I've got to tune the machine up, and explain to the governor. And it will be best- to have the whole village abed when we scoot." "Very well Alf. Three hours. I suppose' it will seem very wicked to those who don't know the truth. More talk—more talk. I don't think the children of clergymen can be as good as other people's children because they see so much that is sham in an atmosphere of piety." , "Go upstairs and pack your things. "'Lock the door of your Toom, and don't open it for anybody or anything. Em- \ ma Jones and the other servant will ' suspect nothing until we are actually off. Now I must go. Don't fail me, Meg." "It is the maid's evening off. an 1 she sleeps at her own home to-night. ! I shall be ready. Don't you fail mc."

She slipped.indoors and shot tlie 'ibolt. The house seemer to be ually silent after the violent scene in the parlour. A cinder dropped through the bar of the grate, and the sonnr] of its falling seemed tremendously loud. The clock in the hall ticked determinedly. Where was Emma Jones? Had she seen young Maxwell, and gone to warn George Aston? Margaret tiptoed to the kitchen. The gas jet was turned low, and the door was locked from the outside. So her fears were The housekeeper had quietly left the house, believing in her pious, narrow soul that she was but doing her duty. Margaret went up to her room, and began ransacking wardrobe and drawers. One at a time she laid the things she needed. Two good-sizea trunks were packed and strapped ready for removal. The hall clock struck eleven and with it came a knocking at the door. Margaret crossed over to the window, her heart in •her throat. . Then her aunt's gentle voice spoke her name . "What are you doing Margaret? I've been listening to the bumpings and movings about for some time." "Packing up, auntie," said the girl, opening the door. "I'm—l'm going away. Come in and say good-bye.: I shall be gone before you are up in the morning." "Good gracious. I thought 1 heard Mr Aston's voice just after I went to bed. Well, my dear child, I wish you every happiness in your new life. Your father ought to be .here now, but I suppose lie will l>e glad to have you ott his hands." Margaret kissed and embraced her aunt with a fervour that astonished the old lady. Gently she stroked the girl's hair. "I can understand," she said. it is alwavs a wrench to leave the old home, but you will soon be settling clown near us, and must let me come and see vou sometimes." "Some time." repeated the girl hysterically. "Good-night aunt; take me in your arms and kiss me; hold me tight for a little while. There, I feel better now, over so much." "I'll see you off in the morning dear. I don't care how early it is. Be sure and call me. Now go to lied and take all the rest you can." They parted at the door of Mrs Benson's room and 'hardly had Margaret settled herself at lier own window when she heard the buzzing of a motor car. It was actually pulling up at the gate of the vicarage, and the slim figure of jAlf Maxwell dropped lightly to the ground. He glanced up and down the lane, then darted through the gate, his eyes

CHAPTER V

SANCTUARY

"Oh,-no. I want, to make sure that Edith Janson still 'lives here. I could not bear the suspense." "Very well." Maxwell jumped down and stamped his feet on the pavement; then he walked back and forth, beating his liands together. "That's .better.- Come along, Meg, and take the stiffness out of your legs. Now for number ninety-four." Margaret watched his lank form half way up the crescent; then he mounted a flight of stone steps and vigorously knocked at number ninety - four. The echoes had hardly died away when she saw the fluttering of a woman's apron, and .knew that Maxwell was making his enquiries. Presently he waved Ms'hand to her and shouted:

"It's all right." Downthe steps he came, and Margaret met him half way from number ninety-four. . "I've seen the caretaker—a decent old body, and she is going to call Miss Janson. In the meanwhile she says you can wait in her sitting room on the ground floor. I caught a glimpse of a jolly fire, and smelled coffee. Now for it!" iMaxwell climbed into the car and drove gently up to the house, Margaret keeping pace on the pavement. A vague sort of nope was beginning Lo dawn in her heart, and she never doubted the welcome she would get from her old school friend. "Up the steps—first room to the right," called .Maxwell. "I'll bring your trunks." Margaret went over to the fire and warmed her hands before the cheerful glow ; then she dragged forward a basket chair, sat down and rested her feet on the fender. vShe had 'hardly settled herself when the caretaker reappeared, a stout, middle-aged woman with a beaming face, and right upon her libels came Edith Janson, attfced in a ifiiming finessing gown and slippers to match. She was a tall, majestic girl; grey-eyed, strong- featured, splendidly formed. Usually it required a great deal to upset Edith Janson, but -at -""he sight of the forlorn looking Margaret Thornton she threw up both hands and gave a little scream. (To bo Continued.)

turned up to Margaret's window. His face looked ghastly in the moonlight. The rain had stopped and the clouds were flying and scattering before the wind. Here a.nd there patches of purple.sky were revealed, studded with glittering stars. Margaret ran down stairs and opened the door. "Ain 1 too soon, Meg. T hurried. I couldn't wait," he whispered anxiously. "I am quite ready." "Where are your things?" "Two trunks upstairs. They are rather heavy." "I'll fetch them. I can carry a ton. Slip on your hat and coat and get into the car. What about the servants?" "Both out." She was getting hysterical. "Make as little -noise as you can. Aunt Ellen is awake. I've said goodbye to her." She turned away with a lialf sob and got her hat and coat that had been laid on the hall chair for instant use. Then she stood quite still, hardly daring to breathe until Maxwell came puffing and panting down the stairs with the second trunk. "Why don't you get into the car?" he said. "I must lock the front door after us.'' He dropped the second trunk into the tonneau, and it made a crashing noise. He was exhausted and almost reeled to the driver's seat. "Let me help you, Meg. There's nothing to be afraid of now." He was trembling with excitement. Luckily the rain had stopped. "Here, let me AVrap you up. You look like a bundle of lags now. It will be as well if you don't move until we are past the village." "Hush, there's somebody coming." Maxwell set his teeth together, and clutched the driving lever. The machine buzzed anew, and began to glide along, gathering speed with every throb. '\k woman,' he whispered. "Emma Jones." As the car shot past her the housekeeper deliberately turned her back on. .it.

Soon after six o'clock next morning Alf Maxwell's motor crawled into Bloomsbury Crescent. Day was breaking grudgingly.; the sky was banked with forbidding clouds and the air was filled with mist. Men and women and boys ajid girls were 'hurrying to their -work; milk cart clattered by, with jingling cans and earsplitting crys from the milkmen. "Bloomsbury Crescent at last," said Maxwell, halting tho machine. "What raumlber, Meg?" Margaret sat upright and shivered. "Number ninety-four. Isn't it horribly cold?" "Rotten. I suppose you are cramped a bit. Don't you think it would be better df I took you to a hotel ? A hot batk and breakfast would work wonders. Then you could look up your friend at your leisures. I expect she's in bed and fast asleep."