THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XII, Issue 1008, 7 December 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIFS IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Dora Thorns," "On Her Wedding Morn," "Redeemed by Love," "A "Woman's War," &0.. &n. (Continued from Thursday's issue). CHAPTER XXXVII. ' Ho was caught, you see, with her Grace's jewels in his pocket, and gold and silve.' plate ready packed by his side—that did not look much like innocence.' ' No, certainly not,' Lord Arleigh admitted j ' but then there have been cases in which circumstances looked even worse against an innocent man.' ' Yes' the detective admitted it, seeing that, for some reason or other, his lordship had a great desire to make the man out innocent.

' He will have a task,' the detective told himself grimly. To the inquiry as to whether the man had been sent out of England, the answer was. " No ; he is at Chatham."

To Chatham Lord Arleigh resolved to go. For one in his position, there woald not be much difficulty in obtaining an interview with the convict. And before long, Lord Arleigh—one of the proudest men in England—and Henry Dornham, poacher and thief, stood face to face.

Lord Arleigh's first feeling was one of great surprise—Henry Dornham was so different from what he had expected to find himj he had not thought that he would be fair like Madeline, but he was unprepared for the dark, swarthy, gipsylike type of the man before him.

The two looked steadily at each other; tho poached did not seem in the least to stand in awe of his visitor. Lord Arleigh tried to read the secret of the man's guilt or innocence in his face. Henry Dornham returned his gaze fearlessly. 'What do you want with rae ?' he asked. ' You are what we call a swell, I know, by the look of you. What do you want with me?' The voice, like the face, was peculiar —not unpleasant—deep, rich, with a clear tone, yet not in the least like Madaline's voice.

'I want,' said Lord Arleigh, steadily, 'to be your friend, if you will let mo.'

*My friend !' A cynical smile curled the handsome lips. * Well, that is indeed a novelty. I should like to ask, if it would not seem rude, what kind of friend can a gentleman like you be to me?' ' You will soon find out,' said Lord Arleigh.

* I have never known a friendship between a rich man and a ne'er-do-well like myself which did not end in harm for the poorer man. You seek us only when you want us, and then it is for no good.' 'I should not be very likely to seek you from any other motive but the desire to help you,' observed Lord Arleigh. ' It is not quite clear to me how I am to be helped,' returned the convict, with a cynical smile; ' but if you can do anything to get me out of this wretched place, please do.' ' I want you to answer me a few questions,' said Lord Arleigh, < and very much depends on them. To begin—tell me, were you innocent or guilty of the crime for which you ate snfbring ? Is your punishment deserved or not V

' Well,' replied Henry Dornhani, with a snlleu frown, ' I can just say this—it is well there are strong bars between us; if there were not, yoa would not live to ask such another question.' ' Will you answer me?' daid Lord Arleigh, gently. ' No, t will not; why should I ? You belong to a slass I hate and detest a class of tyrants and oppressors.' ' Why should you ? I will tell you in a few words. I am interested in the fate of your wife and daughter ]' ' My what !' said the convict, with a look of wonder. ' Your wife and daughter,' said Lord Arleigh. ■ . 1 My daughter !' exclaimed the man. ' Good Heaven ! Oh, I see ! Well, go on. Yon are iuterested in my w'fe and daughter—what else V 'There is one thing I can do which would be not only of material benefit to them, but would make your daughter very happ} r . It cannot be done unless we can prove your innocence.' ' Poor little Madeline,' said the convict, quietly—' poor, pretty little girl !' Lord Arleigh's whole soul revoltec 1 on hearing this man speak so of his fair young wife. That this man, with iron bars separating him, as though he were a wild animal, from the rest of the world, should call his wife ( poor, pretty little Madaline •' 'I would give,' said Lord Arleigh, ' a great deal to find that your conviction had been a mistake. I know circumstances of that kind v ill a:<i I do happen. Tell me ! OLesfcly—is thero anv ? even the

least probability of finding out anything to your advantage V ' Well,' replied Dornham, * I'm a ne'er do-well by nature. I was an idle boy, an idle youth, and an idle man. I poached when I had a chance. T lived on my wife's earn*? ings ; I went to the bad as deliber* ately as anyone in this world ever' did, bat I do not remember that I have ever told a wilful lie.' There passed through Lord Arleigh's mind a wish that the Duchess of Hazlewood might hare heard this avowal. " I do not remember," the man said again, " that I have ever told a wilful lie in my life. I will not begin now. You ask me if I was reaily guilty. Yes, I was—guiity just as my judges pronounced me to be." For a few minutes Lord Arleigh was silent; the dissapointmont was almost greater than be could bear. He had anticipated so much from this interview ; and now by these deliberatelyspoken words his hopes were ended—he would never be able to take his beautiful young wife to his heart and his home; The bitterness of the disappointment seemed almost greater than he could bear. He tried to recover himself while Henry Dornham went on—

" The rich never have anything to do with the poor without harm comes of it. Why did they send me to the Duke's house ? Why did he try to patronise me ? Why did he parade his gold and silver plate before my eyes ? " The passion of his words seemed to inflame him.

" Why," he continued, angrily, " should he eat from silver while others were without bread ? Why should his wife wear diamonds while mine cried with hunger and cold ? I saw how unjust it was. Who placed his foot on my neck? Who made him master and tyrant, patronise me with his 'my good fellow' this and the other ? What right had he to such abundance while I had nothing ?'' "That which was his," said Lord Arleighj bluntly, "at least was not yours to take." " But I say it was ! I helped myself before, and, if I were out of this place, having the chance, I would help myself again." " That would be equally criminal,'' said Lord Arleigh, fearlessly 3 and again Henry Dornham laughed his cynical laugh.

"It is too late in the day for me to talk over these matters," said the convict. " When I roamed in the woods a free man, I had my own ideas; prison has not improved them. I shall never make a reformed convict—not even a decent ticket-of-leave man. So, if you have any thought of reclaiming me, rid your mind of it at once." " It will bo best to do so, I perceive," observed Lord Arleigh, " I had some little hope when I came in—l have none now."

" You do not moan to say, though, that I am not to be any the better off for your visit ?'' cried the man. " I do not know your name, but I can see what you are. Surely you .will try to do something form* 1 ?" " What can I do ?" asked Lord Arleigh. "If you had been innocent —even if there had been what they call extenuating circumstances I would have spent a fortune in the endeavour to set yon free; but your confession renders me powerless" " The only extenuating circumstance in the whole uffair," declared the man, after a pause, " was that I wanted money, and took what I thought would bring it. So you would give a small fortune to clear me, eh ?'' he intorrogated. '• Yes/' was the brief reply.

The man looked keenly at him. " Then you must indeed have a strong motive. It is not for my own sake, I suppose ?"' A new idea seemed to occur to him—a sudden smile curled his lip. " I have it !" he said. " You are in love with my —with pretty Madaline, and you want to marry her! If you could make me out innocent, you would marry her ; if you cannot —what then ? Am I right ?''