CHAPTEH XXXIV —A crisis (Continued)

Waikato Times, Volume V, Issue 278, 21 February 1874, Page 2

CHAPTEH XXXIV —A crisis (Continued)

She went quickly, but quite noiselessly, Walter'i eyei following her through the intervening bedroom, but, as fb< passed into her husband's room, she partially closed the folding-doors, aud Walter lost sight of her. There was no repetition of the sound. Miriam looked about. All wns precisely as she had left it. The sick man was lying huddled up, and with his head bent downward!, turned towards the wall. The rain splashed upon the windows, and the wind rumbled in the chimney. MiriajH passed round the head of the bed with a light itep, kneelfl down on its other side, beeween the bed and the wall, toi look closely at her husband, and found herself gazing intd the fixed, senseless eyei, wide open, and upon the fallen 4M| features of a dead face.

CHAPTER XXXV. — ONCE MO*E, A WAY OT EBC\rE. I Not a scream, not a sound betrayed Miriam's awful dis covery to the listener in the sitting room. One heavy thutoj of her heart, oue rush of blood into her head, and she rej inained kneeling, perfectly motionless on the floor betweeij the bed and the wall, holding her trmplcs tightly betweei her hands, and looking, with fixedness little less than thei own, into those wide open eyes. In such moment! there i no time ; then, at lcict, tbo spirit escapes from its bond^ It might have been tire minutes, it might have been a«man| hours, for all that Miriam knew, that she knelt there, speff bound, bcr limbs heavy and cold, her head whirling, bufcnot kur, not confused. It bed come, then. Was this the wont that could h«v*> happened r" Thw awiul occurrence dul sot violently break the chain of b*r immediately thought ; on the contrary, it continued and strengthened il Wai all lost, m this cate. that, bad been in danger ' Not I sentiment of grief, hardly a paeaing touch of pity, tamp to

Miriam, a* «ho knelt, during those few fearful minutes, by the »ide of the dead man. It was indeed ' the hour and the power of darkn^ ' . She arose wit u a <j1. o ' a viire-. and w ont to the mantelpiece At tbit moment, t.lO time \<\e 0 ohimed — eleven silvery stroke*. A-. i»> '»» yer w.- 10 n-rive at noon. One hour only, >' verj h ( r chanc -.houiJ cohere, ioi for what she hi'l "do. a 1 x*ad «i..«« i..« <I<h.t • ich oponai I from Mr St Qu '» m'sb< Irojm up > • -he ci.rridoi. nm having complett 1 \ 'mt tl.t 1 . foliin? ilo<>> > w'uc 1 comuiimicated with her o» 1 "»oru, sho w-n* b< ';t> 11 -r bro.iu-r; but before the app. • > »rf him 3 l>e look.- 1 out oi the sit 1 ing room door. .No one was u^u , the corn i^«m quite empty, and she observed that there were no rooms 1 recisely opposite theirj, only a staircase, and some large pi .-^l-s iv the wall. As she camo up to Walter, who was reading a newspaper, he said: 'Is all right ?' laid the paper aside, looked up at her, and sprang up. • Good heavens ! Miriam, what 19 the matter ?' A mirror on the wall showed her ghastly ia-e. 'Hush!' she said, and laid a strong hand upon him, forcing him back into his seat. ' Don't speak above jour breath. Be calm and collected, for my sake. Ho is dead! 1 Walter shrunk from her, and wes silent in horror. • Yes, he is dead ! He has died without a struggle ' ' Imponible 1 And we two here, so near him ! Let me see !' ' No, Walter. I tell you, it is true. Do you think I can be mistaken ? I have been beside him, looking into Ins face ever since! You muit not see him ; you must not go near him : it is no quostion of that now ; and you mnst be perfectly calm, and able to help me quickly. We have not an instant to spare.' Tho colour had utterly deaerled her face, but her eyes were sparkling with intense eagerness and entreaty, and the fingers of her right hand held his shoulder like a vice. ' Help you ! What do you mean ? Had not we better call iome one, and send for the doctor at once ?' ' No, I tell you ; no, no, no ! What good can * doctor do a dead man » Besides, he's coming presently. O Walter, my brother, listen to me ! lam young still, and all my future hangs upon this hour, and is in your hands ! O "Walter, you don't know, you cannot know what my life has been, and how tremendous this blow ia to me ! You know what I married him for, Walter— to get away from horne r and to be rich ! He bribed me with such promises ! and he tricked me basely ! He persuaded me— for I wa» vain, and proud of my power over him — that he would dower me all the more splendidly, that he did not bind himself to anything ; and I believed him, though papa told me I was wrong. Wrong ! I was a fool ! And he has suspected and insulted m« all these horrid years— res, for though I have had plenty of money and plenty of pleasure, they have been horrid years ! And lam to lose it all !' ' JBut hoj»doyou know, Miriam ?' asked her brother, who had biWfh unable to interrupt her vehement appeal, all the tttom impressive and terrible that she never raised her voice, or loosened her grasp on him. ' And what can be done ?' ' I know, I know !' she resumed. ' I have watched him, fn one seDse, while he watched me in another. He has been in correspondence with a man in America. I don't know his natne, and I don't know what about, though I can guess ; and he meant to leave all his property away from me.' 'What relatives are there 9 How is his property circumstanced ?' ' I don't know ; I only know that it is very large, and mostly in Indian aecunties. He has no relatives ; lam cu re of that. He often told me he had no claims on him, absolutely none ; and it was only out of spite to me he would have left his money to a man he never paw.' ' How do you know that V 1 1 don't know it, perhaps — at leasfc, he never actually told me so in many words— but lam morally certain of it. He hai repeated to me, over and over again, that no one in the world had any claim on him ; and this correspondence shews itisnoonein England he has been lookingafter. In a moment, JWalter, I will prove to you that lam right.' She glided fcway from him, crossed the adjoining room, and, with just an instant's hesitation, passed through the folding-doors, which hid the bed and its awful tenant from his sight. In another minute, she returned with a key. The travellingdesk she had pointed out to Walter lay on- the floor. She opened it, took out a few papers — mere slips of memoranda — and knelt by Walter's side, showing them to him. ' Here are the proofs of his treachery to me. Read this : ' C advises English lawyer. Mem., to look out for a good firm. In last letter from D , return of L D promised, on receipt of fee and specific statement of intentions. 'And read this, written at Calais— written only three days ago, when he was so ill, and yot determined to enn, because he was in such hasto to be cruel and treacherous to me. Ido believe he felt that he was dying, and that his great fear was lest this villainy should not be accomplished. ' Mem., startest. form of will for present use. The whole of-jny property, of whatsoever kind, all invested moneys, furniture, frffip, horses, carriages, to L D— — , with an exception of «n annuity to Mrs St Q of two hundred pounds, to be paid by L D , and secured 1 by him to her, on his taking possession of my property, in any way he thinks proper. Sole Executor, L D .' On a third slip of paper was the name and address of the firm of Messrs Ross and Raby, solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn. ' This is horrible indeed, my poor darling,' said Walter, looking forlornly at the memoranda ; ' but it is a comfort to think he lias not carried out this intention ; and though you may have some trouble, you must be well off. The law makes a secure provision for a widow under such circumstances, and in this case there seems to be no heir.' 'No heir, Walter ! Who is L D ,do you sup pose ? Of course he is the heir, the heir-at-law, the man who would have come in for Mr St Quentin's money, if he had made no will at all — the man in America. I am sure of it — he never had a friend he would have neglected all those years, and then suddenly taking to looking after. And I am to los« all, or nearly all, and to bear the disgrace, the humiliation of this, for him, for a stranger ! What right has he to come in, and rob me of the wealth for which I have paid to heavy and horrid a price ? No one knows of those memoranda. This C he mentions must be the man who came to see him in Paris so eften lately ; a sly, sleek, horrid man he was : C stands for Oaux, of course. He has dove no business for him, it is plain. He tells him to employ an English lawyer to rob me — and in his hurry to act on this iwlvice, he haa died before he could accomplish such wickedness. Caux has drawn no will for him — there is no will ! Walter ! — she rose from her knees, and clasped him round the neck, hiding her face from him, as she spoke with paieionate rapidity, close to his aar — 'you will not let any of his villainy be done to me ; you will »aye me from the bitternett of all this misery without any reward ; you will remember how you trnsted me with Florence, and how I deserved the trust ! Won't you, Walter ?' ' I will— l dOi' he said, trying to see her face ; but she held him closer, and spoke lower and more rapidly. ' But what can I do, Miriam ? I don't know what you have in your mind.'