AFTER RELEASE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10583, 14 March 1912, Page 2

AFTER RELEASE.

OUR SERIAL.

By VIOLET M. FLINN,

Author of "The Master Passion. "What Shall It Profit?" "Verena."

"By Devious Paths," Etc

CHAPTER lll—Continued. She slipped away on a pretext of business when Ludworth rose to leave, but there was no sentiment of leavetaking between the two cousins. It was rather as brother and sister than as an affianced couple that they parted—Hermione eager for the morrow, when her hopes would become reality, and Ludworth telling himself that lie was not sorry to fall iback into his usual easy-going existence.' As the train bore him slowly back to town, with the fog signals sounding at suspicious intervals .and white wreaths of mist covering the windows, another mood took possession of him, a mood that very few of his friends ever suspected. This idle, purposeless life was not the one that he ha<l dreamed of in his boyish days. Hermiono's eagerness to face the battles of life cried shame on his own useless eKistcr.ce. He was nothing but an idler nowadays, neither useful nor ornamental, and there was not a soul who cared if he wero alive or dead.

"Heigh-ho! I wish there were someone who would caro just because I am Jack Marcham and not Ludworth!" When lie alighted at Euston Hie turned up t-ho collar of ; his coat and surveyed the obscured scene disgustedly. London was in the grip of the fog fiend. It was impossible to see from ono side of tho platform to the other. Traffic was utterly disorganised; cabs were not to be obtained, and they would not l>e of any use if they were. A long stream of waiting vehicles lined tho Euston road, tout not one ivas to bo seen. In front of Ludworth was one impalpable; dense wall through which he could not see. When he had taken somo steps away from the railings he was utterly lost. He could only advance slowly, smiling at the ! misadventure, apologising when he was jostled against by a pedestrian, and once or twico being brought up with a gasp under the nose of a patient cab horse or .wise old bus hack. In all his experience of the metropolis he had never seen a fog so dense ■and baffling. His natural good-humor and gaiety returned in the dismal circumstances. It was an appeal to the sense of romance that had lain dormant for years. This was no longer prosaic, every-day London, with its commonplace life and monotonous routine; this was.a,new and. mysterious city of unknown terrors and unexpected surprises, where danger lurked at. I every corner, and romance might, be hurrying with open arms to meet one. It was a world set apart, a world where each man existed separately and alone, seeing nothing, hearing nothing —wholly dependent on himself. Out of the gloom came strange noises and chaotic cries, but the fog iheld them close. It was as if they came from an underworld. He was alone —the master of his fate. Ho jostled violently against, some one, and a woman's voice uttered an involuntary exclaim at ion. , Ludworth apologised profusely; the cry had been one of pain. A woman's voice answered briefly,-tout he scarcely heard wjjat' were her words. All his senses had , been absorbed in her voice alone. It was the most beautiful voice he had | ever heard. It would liave greatly surprised the duke's friends and relations and social intimates to have known that the only interest that ho took in life seriously was music. There were strange j little circles, known only to the elect, j where ho -was a welcome guest, and j where the atmosphere was wholly mu- I sical. Like called for like, but very I few guessed that the quiet Mr Ludd who did musical criticisms for an 'nfluential paper had anything in common with the young duke who played polo and killed time as the other fellows did. .

Ludworth hardly knew the iipirit that had prompted 'liim to the disguise. It had been partly boyish fun, partly a desiro to be judged on his own merits rather than as a rich dilettante. Many aspiring genii had benefitted by his double role without knowing how. To them Mr Ludd was a kindly critic who had a fair knowledge of early Italian music, biu who was, above all, blessed with a so of tone that was a gift in. itself. No shade of. timbre was lost upon him. Ho could adjudge the quality of a voice to a hairbreadth, and every instinct sprang into being when that marvellous voice answered out of the fog. The voice was low. deep, round, and full of music, with a strange haunting thrill in its note, indefinable, yet strangely subtle and curiously alluring. "How charmingly she must sing if she speaks like tliis!" Ludworth now thought with thrilling pulses. "Good heavens, how comes .such a voice to be wandering in Euston Road on such a night?" He was determined she should 'speak again. It was impossible to meet such a voice and theii to pass on again as if it had been an everyday croak. The feeble glow of a lamp near gave him the impression that the woman was as tall as himself. That she was young ho never doubted —the freshness of the voice proved that. "Are you sure that I have not hurt you?" he said, seizing the first excuse that came into his head to gain lus end. "The fog is very heavy and I am always stupid in one." "I am not hurt, thank you. You only touched a sprained wrist." He could have held his breath from sheer pleasure. Never had ho heard such attractive notes with a refined, delicate enunciation that sounded pleasantly

familiar and reminded him of the country, of fresh, sweet winds, and dancing seas. "I cried out before I was hurt. It is so difficult in this fog." "Have you any idea where we are?" ho asked hastily. "I have come so far from Euston, but I haven't the ghost of. an idea where I am." "We are at the corner of Mulgrave Square. Do you know it?' the voice answer'ed. "J am going to Hoi born. I will lead you if you like. Oh, it is no trouble, I live here." They walked side by side yet invisible to each other for some moments. Ludworth's pulses wero throbbing with excitement. They reached Holborn and the girl had scarcely spoken save when she gave him a few directions. They could hear the muffled roar of the traffic which even the fog could not wholly arrest. The glow of the lighted shops filtered obscurely through the brown fog, making tho pedestrians assume obscured, grotesque proportions. Ludworth grew desperate. What -was he to do to retain some hold of that wonderful voice.

"This is Holborn!" the voice said through its baffling curtain. In desperation Ludworth caught at her arm. "Please forgive me,' he said, "'but do you know that you have a wonderful voice. I am- —" "Good evening 1" the voice said politely (but decidedly. With a guide jerk she had drawn her arm. from his grasp, and tho next instant he could neither feel nor hear her. The vortex had swallowed her up. For an instant he stood conscious of nothing ibut his bitter disappointment. To have had such a prize in his grasp and to have lost it so undeservedly—it was cruel! "Such a voice! An operatic impresario would have gone crazy over it. There, is a fortune in that girl's throat and she doesn't know it, and probably never will." It was in a very disconsolate and almost ill-tempered mood that he made his way eventually to the club. He had promised to let Lady Flora know about their journey, and he decided to have dinner and go and see her after.

I It was later than he had thought, I and the comfortable, handsome dining room, the crimson-shaded lamps, and richly coloured curtains of which were in.welcome contrast to the gloom outside, was deserted save for one }a.te diner. As Ludworth entered the other look j ed up, and he recognised Tresidder. "Hew do you like this renewal of old memories?" Ludworth asked, brightening into customary good-nat-ure at the sight of a friend. He noticed that, like himself, Tresidder was in morning dress. "Wonderful, isn't it?" the elder man answered. "The glamour of it has fascinated me all the afternoon." "This particular fog is pretty general. They had it in .Northport, and it got worse as. wo came back into town It's midnight at Euston." Tresidder repeated musingly. "I sailed 'from there when I went to India. Your father went to see us off. It was a gloomy day, ; poor Charles was oven gloomier than the day. Poor, dear fellow, it was as if he felt that we would not como back." Ludworth looked up from his fish. Ho was beginning to feel more like himself, and he liked Tresidder, who had been his father's friend. "How strange .that you and I should como together!' he oxclaimed. "My father often talked of you. He thought you must be dead. I suppose really you know more of the family history than I do. Not that" —'with a short •laugh— n it is a particularly edifying one so far as the last generation was concerned." "You don't blame your mother for what she did?" There was a little touch of reproof in the other's grave voice. *

".Rather not—but, well, there were the others. JVlarmaduke was a rank bad ui), and Charles committed suicide rat hot* than face the music, and 1 " "Oil, pardon me!" Tresidder said, his fine face Hushed with indignation. "You —of all men. —must uot believe that, duke. Surely that cannot be the accepted .belief! Charles death was an accident pure and simple. I was with him .on the ship . I—l know Hie had every reason for wishing to live and return home. Ho must have tumbled overboard in the night. He had a fondness for lying in one of the boats when it was too hot in our cabin, and he must have fallen asleep and rolled out when the boat lurched. There was a very heavy swell all night; it was a most-'probable thing. Wc found his pipe and book in the boat, but ;th~ rug and .ho had both gone.' ' He sighed as ho spoke. "Such a nice fellow! No one''s enemy—save his own'! He was impulsive and too sincere; he believed every one to bo as honest as himself, and lie always acted when fie should 'have stood still. He was silent when he should have spoken. T was very fond of Charles, alt-hough he was so much my junior, and Alicia loved him." (To bo continued.)