HELD IN BONDAGE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10517, 4 January 1912, Page 2

HELD IN BONDAGE.

OUR SERIAL.

BY L. F. DACRE. Author of "Siabad'B Valiley.'V A Phantom of the Past," "The Shadow of Shame," "Sir John's Heiress," "A Daughter of My&tery," etc.

CHAFFER XVlll—Oontinlued

Maxwell's face flamed with anger. "And what business is it of yours, Miss Perfect? I don't- want to be mothered by you. I should advise you to stand on a barrel on one of the corners of tllie new Cut and preach." He was turning away but (#lO laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "You young ass! "Wihy haven't you been to see me lately? Come with me litrto a- restaurant; we can't talk here. •I feel abominably upset."

".No. So much money at once mav do more Inarm than good. We must leave it ot my editor's discretion. It was very kind of you. A'lf!"

He scowled at first and shook himself like a naughty child; then he follo\\ed her obediently, and they sat down at the far end of a populas-jes-tauraiit. Tlhere was little business doing yet. The waitresses wore loitering about, and talking ii>' high-pitched voices. A woman jra's washing the floor. ~>"'

Tllie only patron was an old man, with a fawHike a patriarch. He was seated^.a-fc / 'a table with, a cup of coffee before him, into which he surreptitiously dropped lumps of bread taken from the pocket of his faded and frayed coat. He bowed slightly to Edith, then buried himself in his newspaper. "Do you see thai, man?' said Edith, when they were beyond his hearing. He nodded.

"Twenty years ago his name was a household word — a scholar, a genius, who swayed the fate of empires by th© magic of his pen. His income ran into thousands of pounds a year. Now he is a mere beggar. Drink! Discredited and scoffed at."

"Poor devil!" Maxwell said sympathetically. His hand wandered to his notebook. "Do you think he would accept a fiver?" 'Not from you—in that way. Let my editor have it to do as you wish. Thank you, Mr Maxwell!" "Call me Alf, please. My name is Alf to all my friends, and I will call you Edith. What is the good of so much stiff formality? Coffee, did you say? Yes, good and strong. I have a thumping big headache."

"When the coffee was served he looked rather sheepishly into Edith's questioning, accusing eyes. "Why haven't you been to' see me?" she asked again. "You told me not to come again unitill I reformed, and I have not reformed yet. The : stuff you told' me about Meg, about your visit to her, knocked me out of time, and I just wenit the whole hog."

"And wfhat about your future? Your examination is nearly due. "I have chucked it. The chap who shared my chambers has cleared out, but my coach is still drawing his fees for doing notlhing. I 'haven't the heart to shut him off. He has married, you see, and his furniture is on the instalment plan." Edith laughed.

"Don't make fun. It hurts. lam not cut out for Jaw. I should have made a very decent ornament at the brewery offices. Swagger about and do nothing. Wthy tilie governor Should shove me into this' job beats anything. Now he is mad because.l won't, fight Aston, and things are frightful at home. Castle Clayford is all agog, and lam forbidden to%set foot in it. Not that I care for anything now Have vou heard any more of Meg?" "No!" "She acts queerly. When you said tihe wanted to be free of Aston at any cost, I thought—l thought " Tut all such nonsense out of your head. Poor old Meg is all right; she is one of the best girls in tlhe world, but look at wibat she has gone through of late. A saint could not endure it. She isn't herself at all. She is another being; I believe fflie has been bewitched. She isn't one of your calm, reflective girls; the keynote of her character is impetuosity. She is dreadfully young for her years."

"You are hopeful ?" "Very. I know something. Mr fl. Banks, the detective', is preparing a broadside for George Aston. He knows where Meg is, and is watching her. TNbw, what aire vou going to do, Mr Maxwell—Alf?" "What do you say, Edith?"

"Then you will swear off drinking what is not good for you \ and try to be more of a man. You will go home and move the disrepute that clings to you. This evening we will pay Meg's father a call."

', "I don't mind. But what of his wife? I used to flirt with Miss Green will en we were youngsters, like boys and girls do." He made a wry face. "J don't want any of old Thornton's lectures, either." 'Mr Thornton is too deep in the mire 'himself to dream of lecturing yon," Edith said. "And his wife is a very decent sort, indeed; I like her. She feels that sho is the innocent nr.use of much of the unpleasantness, and it 'hurts her. They are living at Clapiham. Mrs Thornton does all her owa housework, and the house is spotlessly clean. Mr Thornton writes well, and is earning more money now than he ever did liefore. I introduced him to my editor,, and his work is very much appreciated.' "Good luck to him. What a fairy godmother you .are, Edittli! You are an angel." "Par more practical and substantial I hope. T do not want any foolish compliments. Whether men or women are angels or devils, depends very much on circumstances. The world's hardest knocks sour the sweetest of us, and it is very easy to appear to 1)6 good when all our w'ants are satisfied. You will j come, of course?" "Yes, like a shot. Your old genius J is going," he added Jn a whisper, j "Don't you want to tell him——"

"I feel better for it, too," he admit ted.

"Yes." He hesitated "A friend o:

"Mako up your mind to do one,, good action every day, and old world will become roseAinted. You must expect disappointments and setbacks, but never he-'cfisconra^etl." "Yon arc splendid—you are a magician, I met you I was just in tlufiood to go and make a hole in Now there seems no end of plfflsure to live for Xo, I've chucked tlhe law definitely; I should never .be any good at it. If you knew .'tlhe 'headaches I get over the dense stuff! I know the governor will be fulious; hut as I am the chief sufferer, T. on pint to have a say in it. i would ra.ther go in for an open-air life—fanning, or anything like that. I have got enough, to get along independently of the old man, and shall have a bit more wlhen I'm five and twenty. He'll come round all rigjht in tihe end. But I an' going to get out of it. Canada is. offering fine opporunities, and tiiey are short of men there. What is tilie use of sticking here, and perhaps doing somebody else out of a job?" "I believe you iare right," Edith said reflectively. "Well, we will talk it over anotlier time. I must be off."

"What time shall I call at vour flat, Edith?" "About six o'clock. Mr Thornton enjoys his pipe and slippers in the evening, and we don't want to inconvenience him I will write a postal card, and send.it at once.'* "Shall we motor to Clap-ham?" "On a motor bus —yes. The idea of wanting to flash your thousand-guinea motor car before those poor people." "I was only, thinking of your comfort," he hastened to say. "My comfort! I like that. When I have to tramp as much as twelve miles a day, some days, in all sorts of weather."

They parted outside the restaurant, she with cheerful badinage, he with a ■hopeful, almost eager smile. He wenrto his chamber and collected his personal belongings, not without a sharp pang of regret. He had finished with the Temple, and with the law,but some of the associations were dear to him. And he dared nofc try to imagine the anger and disappointment of his fathr. With all hi ; ; 'shrewdness, with all his business acumen, how foolishly he great brewer had blinded himself. He was a masterly, stubborn man, yet he wins kind of heart. His deep desire was to mnko a great man of his son. The honours and emoluments showered upon successful lawyers were to be got in no other profession. He did not pause to analyse his son's character or capabilities. He merely .pointed out the goal, and told fii'm he had to get there, even if the 'patihway had to be paved with the trewer's gold. How different might it have, been if tJhe father had been more in sympathy with the son ?

He left the room, and sadly locked the door. He gave the key to the caretaker, and told the man he would send for tlie furniture and things in a day or two.

He encountered a famous K.C. in the corridor, and the K.C. barred tlie wav, at tlie same time fixing a look of keen scrutiny en Alf's face. "I want to see you, Maxwell. Your lawyers inform me that you . 'have abandoned your defence in Aston's fn.se. What the iovil it mean? You know as well as I do that it is tantamount to a pica of guilty, and you will he mulcted in costs, and perhaps heavy damages. Tam going out of my way to interfere, hut the honour of our profession is my first consideration !" "I "nave drowned cut, sir," Alf answered sheepishly. "Out r.f the case, and out of the profession."

"Be candid with me and tell mc the truth. You know tHiat the sfigma will follow you to the day of your death, and after."

"I have well considered it, fir. The iadv. Miss Thornton "

"You mean Aston's wire," corrected the K.C. v '

'She wants to ho free, at any cost." "And you are the .scapegoat ? I see."' "I persuaded her to ran away from her.husband." /

"Perhaps you hope to marry her afterwards ?"

"No —oh no! She despises ine. I was sweet on lier at one time, but that is done with. My love died an easy death weeks since."

"Good lord!" Then the K.C. laughed shortly, and jerked up his shoulders. "I am sorry for you, my boy. very sorry. The bar sinister is between you ,nnd tlie'future. Do you know where Mrs Astonis?"

hers told me. She has a situation as

! secretary or sometlhing, to a magnate of some sort. But I .shall not divulge I her address. Tlliave shut up shop here | and am going to Canada as soon as I i can mike tlha necessary arrangements. I have sworn off drink and cards, and all .that sort of tilling You remember that you once gave me a wigging " "Oh! J hope your resolutions are sound. Ono moment, Maxwell. Have you seen tin's morning's telegraph? No? Well, read that!" (To be Continued.)