THE STORY OF STRANGE LIVES

Waikato Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2322, 28 May 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STORY OF STRANGE LIVES

BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN,

Author of " Ship Ahoy," " Dutch the Divkr," " The Foundry Belle," &c. The Story: IB6o.—Strange Lives. [All RidiTs Reserved.] CHAPTER XLIX. IN HUISH'S SANCTUARY.

« Sai'E at last,' said Huish. ' Are you tired ?'

• Rather, dear, , she panted. ' But, John, what place is this ?' 1 My 'sanctuary, , he said, in a peculiar voice. ' Give me your hand. Come aloug. I'll tellyou when the stairs begin.' He led her along the dark passage, and a strange chill of dread struck upon Clare, as the faint earthly clinging odour from helow rose to her nostrils. She started.nervously too, as a peculiar sound -was heard: ' What's that ?' she cried, startling, 1 Bah.! The dog's claws on the oil-clolb going upstairs,' he said, laughing. 'He knows the way, then—he has been here before,' she cried, eagerly. •Oh, yes often,' was the reply, ' Come along.' As they reached the first landing, a light suddenly shone out,-, and, a few eteps higher, Glare gazed wonderinijly at the weird figure of tho Midge, with her ]onir black unkeihpt hair, as she stood holding a baby on one arm, and an illsmelling lamp high above her head. There was an intent, curioun, inquiring look in the Midge's eyes as they seemed to fasten upon the new comer, gradually growing vindictive, as the passed her ■without a word. • Who is that ?' whispered Clare. ' Servant,' said Huish, laconically. * Won't make you jeulous eh ?' 1 John,' she whispered back in a pained voice ; ' Why do you speak to me like that?' ~ a . ' Oh, it'e only my way, he said, flippantly. ' Come along.' They went up faster, for the stairs were lighted by the Midge's lamp, and, reaching the second floor, he threw open the door of tho comfortable well-lifc room and drew her in, hastily opened the door of communication with the bedroom, assured himself that it was empty, went on and locked the farther door leading out to the landing, and returned. ' There, darling.' ho said, ' You will be safe and happy here.' ' Oh, yes, John, dear,' she said, gazing at him wonderingly, his manner seemed so strange ; ' but I am so anxious to know.' 1 Yes, yes ; all in good time, dear,' be cried. ' There, off with that hat and jacket, Why, Clare, dear,' he cried, 'you look lovely.' There was a red hot spot on his cheeks as he spoke in a curiously excited way, and Clare felt a strauge sense of shrinking as he hastily snatched away her jecket, threw it on a chair, and clasped her in his arms. • John, , she cried, struggling to free herself—" look ! look !' Hβ loosed his grasp and turned suddenly upon June, who stood in the doorway, looking ghastly pale, and her great eyes dilated with rage and surprise. She had evidently risen from a sick couch, and wore a long loose white dressing gown, which, with her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders, gave her an almost supernatural look, heightened by the silence in which she gazed from one to another. . 1 What are you doing here ? cried Huiah, sharply. ' I thought you were in "bed—ill' ' I was,' replied June, slowly, ' till I Jieard you return.'

' Go buck to it then,' he said, brutally. ' Why do you come here ?' Clare shank back towards the couch, as June slowly entered, with her eyes fixed fiercely upon her, and the door swung to. • Who is this !' said June, in a low angry voice. ' Take no notice of her. I will ger her awav,' whispered Huish, crossing to Clare's side. ' She is mad.' ' No, girl, I am not mad,' said June, sternly ; for her organs of hearing seerced to have been sharpened by her illness, and she had heard every word, • John Huish,' she said, ' answer me—who is this. Clare's eyes dilated with horror. She was confused and startled. She could not comprehend her position or why they were there ; and, as, the recollection of the happy evening she had spent came to mingle with the chaos of fancies and surmises that hurried through her brain, it seemed to her like some strange nightmare, from which she felt that she would eoon awake into peace and repose. To make the scene more impressive, the heavy deep booming of St. Paul's striking midnight floated into the room with a strange jangle of other bells, some alow, some hurried, all bent on proclaiming the same fact, that another day was dead— another being born. As June repeated her question, Huieh's I eyes grew.dark with rage, and he pointed to the door. 1 Go down,' he said, 'at once, or'— Juno shank from him for a moment as she saw his look ; but her jealous rage mastered her fear, and she stepped farther into the room. Huish seemed undecided who to do ; be glanced at Clare, then at June, and then back to see that the former was looking at him imploringly, as if asking: him to end the scene. ' Go down, June. Back to bed,' he said firmly, ' You are ill ;' and he laid his hand upon arm. ' Worse iu mind than body,' she cried, starting away. 'Girl,' she continued, passionately. ' you look truthful and unspoiled ; tell me who you are ?' 1 Oh, yes, , said Clare, quickly, as she advanced with extended hand, and a look of pity in her face. 'I am Mrs Huish.' Juno's lower jaw dropped, and a blank stony look came into her eyes. ' Married !' she said, hoarsely. ' Are you his wife—to-day ?' ' Oh, no,' said Clare, wonderingly, ' for some months now. You are ill and dleicate. Can I do anything for you ?' ' No, no —no, no, , cried June, hoarsely. ' Don't touch me; I could not bear it. Tell me once more.' ' Here, enough of this,' cried Huish, angrily. ' June,go down.' 'Don't touch her,' said Clare, excitedly ; and she interposed. ' She is ill— very ill. I am Mrs John Huish,' she repeated. •The woman he has wronged?' panted June, laying one hand upon her breast, and pointing with the other. 'No, no,' said Clare, beginning to tremble, as she thought of thescsne upon the stairs ; ' but you are—' ' That man's lawful wife,' said June, hoarsely, and whom he now casts aside for some pretty baby face that takes his fancy.' 'It is false,' cried Clare with spirit, • My husband is a gentleman and the soul of honour.' 'It is true,' cried June, bitterly ; ' and that man is a liar—a cheat—a scoun— oh, God, I cannot bear it. Let me die, , She threw up her arms and reeled. In another instant she would have fallen, but Hnish darted forward, caught her in his arms, and bore her out of the room, carrying her down to the next floor, while Clare, as she heard his receding steps, sank into a chair, and gazed blankly before her. She started up though, as Huish returned with a smile upon his face and closed and locked the door. ' Poor thing !' he said, lightly. ' I am sorry she came up. 111, you know. Her baby. Reason temporarily gone. She accuses everybody like that. 'John,' cried Clare, trembling, 'I cannot understand you to-night; you are so strange and unlike yourself. Is what that poor creature says true ? Oh, I cannot bear to hear such words.' ' True ? Is it likely ? he said, approaching her. ' Why, are you not my little wife?' ' Ye 3, yes, , cried Clare, shrinking from him, .' but tell me John, dear John,' she cried. ' Forgive me for asking you, but it is so dreadful to hear what she said. Oh, my own husband, tell me,' she moaned, as she flung herself upon her knees and clasped his knees, ' clear away this dreadful charge. I could not bear it, if it were true.' ' True, you silly little thing, why, how absurd ! How could it be true ? There come, it is late, and I am.weary. Why, my darling, you look as if she had seen a ghost.' 1 Do I ?' she said, faintly, as he raised her up, and encircled her in his arms. ' I.am weak and ill—the excitement has been too much for me. John, love, make me happy. Tell me again that this woman is mad. , ; ' Quite,' he said quickly, as he drew her closer to ■. him, while she, for the moment yielding, gazed dreamily over his shoulder. Then her eyes met his, and as she gazed fondly in response to hisimpassionate glances, a strange revulsion took place ; her face became convulsed with horror, and thrusting him away, she uttered a low wail and fled to the other side of the room. ' Clare, are you mad too ?' he cried, pursuing her and catching her wrists. 'Yea-no—l don't know,' she cried excitedly. ' Don't > touch me. . I cannot bear it.' 'Silence!' he cried. ' Do you want to alarm the house?' 'Oh! no, no, , she panted; 'but you frighten—you horrify me.' ' Hush, fool, , he cried. 'Be silent.' ' No, no,' cried Clare, struggling, as he seized her in his arms and lifted her from the iioOr. Leave me. Oh, help—help — help!' Help came from where it was not expected, for as Clare, struggling frantically, was being borne towards the inner room there was a savage growl —the snarl that a tiger might have uttered, and, creeping from under the couch where he had lain, Joby made two bounds and leaped upon Huish's shoulder, fixing his iron jaws in his arm, and hanging there, uttering a savage worrying noise for a moment or two, and then remaining passive, as, dropping his burden, the man uttered a wild shriek, and turned to battle with the dog. He staggered abont the room for a moment in his agony, for the animal's teeth were driven deeper into the muscles, feeling like red-hot iron; and then swung himself round to try and throw the dog off. But he might as well have remained still, for all the effect it had upon his assailant. It was his right arm too, and though he struck at Joby fiercely with his left fist, the dog merely closed his eyes, and drove his teeth further into his flesh, hanging there by the powerful muscles of his huge jaws and neck, and not even muttering a growl. It was horrible. The man's face grew convulsed, and with starting eyes he snapped and yelled, bending down at last after futile efforts to choke the dog with his left hand, and biting at it, setting his teeth iu the back of joby's head, but only being able to reach the skin. At last, mad with fear and pain, he

fell, and the struggle grew more horrible, for dog and man rolled over and over, the human being growing dog-like in the terrible fight, as he foamed and tried to use the weapons which nature had given him. In her horror Clare shrank away, till she stood holding by the door post of the inner room, gazing with dilated eyes at the hideous fray, till, just as it was at its height, and the man undermost, was striving hard to keep the clog from making a new hold upon his throat, the door was dashed open, and Balass and Thickbroom, white and seated, ran in to stare horror-striken at the overturned furniture. ' Help ! quick !" cried Huish. " Shoot him. Kill the beast. He ha» torn me horrible. Balass made a step in advance, but Joby, now crouching on his fallen enemy'i breast, bared with white teeth, and his eyes looked red as flame, as he uttered ft low, fierce growl. ' Fetch a pistol. There is one in. the drawer,' groaned the prostrate man. ' But I daren't come in,' cried Balass. ' I would not be bitten by that dog for a thousand pounds.' ' Fools !' cried Huish. ' Are you going to let him tear my throat ? Curse the beast, he must be mad.' He started up on his elbow just then, for Joby had slowly retreated, baring his teeth, and looking back at his enemy from time to time with a low growl till he reached Clare, before whom lie stood in tqe inner doorway, and turning round, uttered at the men a low, deepmouthed baying bark. Huish started up, bleeding and disabled, to drag open the table drawer and take out a revolver. 'Stand aside, Clare,' he cried, hoarsely, as he pointed the pistol at the dog. For response she sank upon her knees in the bedroom and clasped her arms round Joby, who barked defiance at his enemy, 'Call him off; get him away. I can send a bullet through his skull. You fool,' he shrieked, 'let the dog go. Clare did not move; only crouched there trembling, and clnng to her protector, creeping back farther and farther from the door, till Balass stole along the wall and banged it close and turned the key. ' Are you much hurt ?' he said then. 'I don't know—l can't tell. Give me some brandy. The beast is as strong as a horse. I shall faint directly.' He lurched sideways, as if about to fall, but recovered himself and caught Thickbroom's arm. 'Take me down stairs,' he said, hoarsely. ' I shall be better there. I must have the bites washed. He shuddered and looked strangely from one to the other, as the two men exchanged glances ; and then, with their help, he walked below to drink with avidity glass after glass of brandy, and then sleep by the fire the long night through.

FLIGHT

CHAPTER L. Clare Huish could not analyse the feelings which oppressed her. All she knew was that her husband had suddenly inspired her with such loathing that she could not bear his touch. lie had been faithless, and that had killed her love, and the dog had saved her from the pollution of his touch. Her position was maddening, and she felt at times that her reason must give way as, with hands extended, she felt her way in the intense darkness about the little bedroom till her hands rested upon the second door, which like the first, was fast. She remembered now that he had entered the room, locked the door, and removed the key, so that she was a prisoner in utter darkness. What did it all mean—this terrible change ? Was she to blame for it ? Had she behaved ill to her husband, or he to her? Was she the cause of that horrihlu struggle between him and the dog, which made her shudder now as she recalled Huish's distorted countenance, his savage cries, and the way in which he had writhed and shrieked as the dog attacked him. Ought she not, she asked herself, to loathe the savage animal that had made so fierce an attack upon her husband ? She felt that she ought; and yet, with strange contradictions, she was ready again and again to crouch down upon the carpet and caress the dog, who softly licked her hands and rubbed his great head against her. But for his companionship she felt that he brain would have given way, so utterly unstrung was she by the events of the last two or three hours ; and at last, sobbing pitiously, she knelt down, clinging to the neck of the dog, and prayed for help and guidance in her sore strait. She rose up last, strengthened, and feeling more calm. A chair was close beside her, and sitting down, she felt the great head laid once more in her lap, and placed her hands upon it as she tried to unravel the dreadful tangle into which her mind had run. She was John Huish's wife, and in prosperity or advei. u -v, it was her duty to help and comfort . N .i ; and yet in this very first night of some great trouble coming upon him, she was shrinking from him—Toathing his very touch. She shuddered as she recalled his embrace, and asked herself was it jealousy. Oh, no, it could not be that for he had told her this woman was mad—that her words were false—that it was all an invention ; and yet those words had caused her such agony that for the first time she thoroughly realised the sufferings of her sister Renee. It was horrible ; she felt that she could not bear it, and with the feeling upon her that her reason must be giving way, she got up and tried both the doors to seo if she conld escape. ' I cannot meet him again,' she moaned, as she felt that she was a close prisoner. ' 1 dare not. Ho is ray Jiusbaud, but— Oh, God, help me or I shall go mad.' A low whine beside her brought her back to the present, and sho knelt down by the dog once more, whispering to him and caressing him, yet shuddering the while, as sho recalled the horrible scene. She even felt that she ought to loathe herself for her conduct, and yet the dread of meeting Huish again was so strong as to master every other sense, and she cowed there, trembling at each sound she heard below. One o'clock—two o'clock had struck, and still she sat there in the darkness with her brain growing more and more bewildered ; and then she started to her feet, and a cry rose to her lips, for there was a footstep without, and it passed the door and entered the next room. She crushed down the cry, and felt that the dog had suddenly left her, and was sniffing at the bottom of the door between the rooms. Then, as she stood listening to the heavy beating of her heart, there was the harsh scratching noise made by a match, and a gleam of light shone beneath the door. What should she do ? Pie was coming again, and an insane desire came upon her to seek for the window and cast herself out—anything to avoid meeting him now. Then she felt for the dog, and clasped his neck with her hands, mutely appealing to him to protect her, as sho softly shrank away to the far end of the room, and pressed hergelf against the wall,

At last when the mental agony of suspense was more than she could bear longer, the door was suddenly opened and the light shone in, and a low hoarse cry of horror subsided into a wail of relief, for there, in almost the same attitude in which she had seen her upon the stairs, stood the Midge, holding the candle above her head, but this time without her little burden. She advanced into the room with a dull angry look of dislike upon her face, such as she had often bestowed upon June, and then stood gazing fiercely at the trembling prisoner, bending slightly though to pat Joby's head, as he went gently up to her, and looked up in her face. ' You might leave me his dog,' sho said bitterly. ' That isn't much. , 'I don't understand you, , said Clare, eagerly, as she crept towards her; ' but you are a woman. Pray, pray, help me to get away from this dreadful place.' ' Dreadful place ?' echoed the Midge, wonderingly. ' Who told you ? Did she ?' ' No, no, but it is dreadful to me,' said Clare, catching at tho MidgoV hand, but only for her to snatch it angrily away. 1 tfou don't know it as I do,' she said, •or you would call it a dreadful place. Don't touch me. I hate you.' 'No, no, I never injured you, 1 cried Clare, piteously. ' Oh, as you are a woman, help me. Bere, look, I will reward you. Take this.' She hastily detached her watch and chain, and held them out to the girl. 'Pah!' exclaimed the Midge, 'what are they to me. I've seen him and them bring scores of them, and rich jewels, diamonds and pearls ; I'm sick of them ; and do you think I would take that from you.' ' Why not ?' cried Clare. ' Oh, girl, girl, have you no pity for me?' ' Pity,' said , the Midge, with a harsh laugh. ' Well, that is good. Pity for you. Why, are you not his wife?' • Yes, yes, yes, but you cannot understand. I cannot explain. Help me to get away from here. I must go—to my friends.' 'Go ? To yonr friends ?' said the Midge, looking perplexed. • What, have you quarelled already ?'• 'Oh ! do not ask me—l cannot tell you," cried Clare piteously ; ' only help me to escape from here, and I will pray f* you to my dying day. , ' What good's that■?' said the Midge, mockingly. ' I'm so bad that no one could pray me good. I'm a curse and a misery, and everything that's bad. Pray indeed! I've prayed hundreds of times that I might die, but it's no good,' ' Have you no heart—no feeling ?' cried Clare, going down upon her knees to the girl. 'Not a bit,' said the girl, bitterly. 'They crushed one and hardened the other till it all died, I think.' 'Let me pass you then,'cried Clare, angrily. ' I will not say.' 'If I let you pass, you could not get away,' said the Midge. ' Tho doors are locked below, and you could not find the keys. You don't want to go.' ' What can I say—how am I to tell you that I would give the world to get away from hero ?' cried Clare. ' Oh, for Hea"ven's sake save me before he comes again. , 'Hβ won't come again, , said the Midge, mockingly. ' The dog bit him so that he has had a sort of shivering fit. They gave him brandy till he went to sleep before the fire. Did you set the dog at him ?' ' No, no,' cried Clare. 'He flew at him. I cannot understand why. He generally loves him. , ' He's strange sometimes. He flew and bit him once before, when he struck me.' ' Did he strike you ?' said Clare, wonderingly. ' Yes, one day when I stood between him and her downstairs—before baby was born. I said he was a brute to her—not that I cared—and he hit me, and the clog —Joby there—flew at him." Clare panted and flushed; then turned pale and bit her lips, for the question was struggling for exit—who i 3 that woman down below ? But she would not stoop to ask of this girl. She would not give way to the mean promptings, and she conquered. But a minute later, and she heard what crushed her very heart within her breast, for the Midge went on : — • I hated her when she came—when he brought her months and months ago, same as he brought you to-night. That was when these rooms were furnished for her. Now I suppose you are to come, and she is to go with the poor little baby. How he hates it!' •I cannot bear this,' moaned Clare to herself; and then fighting down the emotion, she threw herself upon her knees to the Midge and clasped her hand. ' Let me go,' she moaned. 'Let me get away from here and I will bless you. Ask anything of me you like, and it shall be yours, only get me away.' ' You don't want to go,' said the Midge, mockingly, ' It's all a sham.' ' How can I prove to you that I mean it ?' cried Clare. 'I don't know, 1 said the girl, sulkily. I only know that if I did he would kill me.' ' Oh, no, no; he dare not touch me. Come with me then, and I'll see that you are not hurt.' 'No,' said the Midge, slowly. 'I'm not afraid of him. I shouldn't mind if he did kill me. How handsome you are,' she said, a3 she involuntarily laid her hand upon Clare's soft fair hair. • Handsome !' echoed Clare. ' Better be the vilest, meanest thing that-crawls, than such a miserable wretch as I am. I don't know you. I never saw you till tonight,' she cried, ' but you are a woman, and you must have a woman's heart, ready to help one of your sex in distress. You will help me, will you not ?' As Clare spoke she rose from her humble position, threw her arms around the Midge, and kissed her again and again, ending by holding her hand aud gaziug with so piteous a pleading look into her great dark eye 3, that the girl's heart became as wax, and she kissed the pleader in response. ' She never was quite like that to me,' she said, softly. ' You could win anyone over to like you.' ' And you will help me?' cried Clare, eagerly. ' Yes,' said the Midge, ' I'll help you, if you tell me what to do.' Clare's flung herself upon the girl's breast with a sob of jo}', and kissed her again and again. 'God bless you for this,' she cried. • You do not know what you have done.' The Midge's arms arose, fell, then rose and fell again, and ended by tightening round Clare's waist as she hung to her for a moment, then hastily followed her into the sitting room, she caught up and put on her hat and jacket, ' You must be a real lady,' said the Midge, watching her, and taking in her dresa and every movement. ' I am the most wretched of women,' said Clare, piteously. ' Oh, yes.' said the girl, sadly. 'It comes of listening to him. He's got a way with him that draws you to~him whether you like or no. He does what he likes with all of us.' Even in these critical moments, Claro could not help a stare of surprise as she listened to the words of this poor, sickly, deformed girl. Had sho married a man so devoid of all honour, that it was his sport to trifle with the affections of every woman he mot ?

She shuddered at the thought, and taking:; the hand the Midge holdout, she followed her out on tho landing, with Joby close behind, and then down from landing to landing , , past the room where the men were sleeping , , where she hesitated for a moment, dreading , to pass ; then down to the earthy-smelling ground floor, where the Midge thrust her hand into a niche nud drew out a key. ' I shall put out the light now,' he said, softly. ' Kiss mo before you go. Clare threw her arms round the girl and strained her to her throbbing breast, and then the poor girl sighed, blew out the light, snd took Clare's hand. ' You ain't afraid of the dark, are you ?' she SAid. 'No ; oh, no,' whispered Clare ; ' but pray make haste; they may hoar.' ' Not they,' said the Midge,' they never wake after so much. I'm afraid of the dark now, and havo been ever since ' She did not finish her sentence, buh led her companion to the door, unlocked it, and the next moment tho cool dark air of the night was blowing on Clare's cheek. 'Oh, I shall never forget this,' she whispered, kissing the girl's hand. 'I don't know,' said the girl, 'butl shan't. ! Good-bye, dear. I shall always remember your soft face. But,'she said, with a spasm of jealousy shooting through her, ' you'll come back again.' 'Never,' cried Clare, and her voice seemed like a wail of misery. ' Good-bye, good-bye.' : 1 Stop, , said the Midga. 'Do you know your way ?' 1 No,' Clare, starting - with dread. ' Where do you want to go ?' ' Home,' cried Clare—' to Portland, place.' ' I don't know it,' paid the girl. • Yes I do; It's up west. Go straight up here and then keop right along the great street past St. Paul's. Good-bye." Clare fled in the direction indicated till her trembling limbs refused to bear her father at such a speed, and though she passed a policeman he contented himsslf with turning for a moment to gazo after her. Then subsiding into a fast walk, she hurried on though the empty streets till the towering of S. Paul's mether view. She had a pretty good notion now of her course, but was confused in she darkness, and took the lower road to the west in place of the upper, but heeded it not, for she was free; and trotting stolidly by her side was the patient dog.

CHAPTER LI,

MEETING A FRIEND,

It seemed more than ever like a terrible dream to Clare Huish as she walked rapidly on. Above her were the starlit heavens, on either side the tall silent houses; and stretching straight away in front, and here and there to right and left, were the long vistas of lamps. For the most part the streets were silent as the dead, till she neared the region of the Press, where there was some life ; a cab or two dashed by her, a knot of men stood noisily discussing some topic on tho pavement, and there was the dull vibration of machinery busy at work, throwing off papers that in a few hours would be speeding over the kingdom. Here Clare met with her first check, for a man stepped forward from a little group with some insulting remark, and tried to catch hold of her. She uttered a faint cry of dread, and the man a yell, for the dog turned upon him with so menacing a growl that he literally fled, amidst the hearty laughter of his companions. Joby did not condescend to pursue him, but lowered his head and trotted on behind Clare, who reached the region of the clubs panting and exhausted, for she dared not call a cab, being without her purse. She knew well where she was now and with her mind more at ease turned up Waterloo-place, shrinking away from every policeman, till the thought occured to her that she might trust one of the guardians of the night] to see her safely to her father's door, No, she thought she would not go there. How could she seek for an asylum at the house from which she had fled ? She would go to her uncle's ; and meeting a policeman at the Circus, she asked him to see her to Wimpole-street. ' Oh, yes/said . the man, in an easy, familiar way ' come along.' Clare had been unfortunate in her choice. She shrank back for a moment, but feeling she ought not to shew distrust, she hurried along by his side for five minutes, and then stopped short. 'This is not the way,' she said, quickly. ' Oh, yes, it is, my dear,' he said; come along, no nonsense.' To her horror Clare found that they were in a narrow court, two of the houses of which were lighted up. Where she wa3 she could not for the moment tell, but she turned sharply round and spoke to the dog. ' No, no,' said the man, "you are not going off like that, for—' Clare uttered a cry of joy, for the door of one the lit-up houses were opened, and a couple of gentlemen stepped out talking, one of them saying aloud— ' Well, I've done better to-night; I'vo won a couple of huudreds at least.' • Sir Grantley, pray help me,' she cried, clinging to his arm, and trembling now so violently that she could scarcely stand. ' This man—l have been frightened. I _j ' The lights spun round her, and she would have fallen but for Sir Grantley's arm. In a moment or two, though, the giddiness passed off, and she gazed piteously up in his face. 'You will help me?" she said. ' Mrs Huish may command my services,' he said, in a low grave tone. ' Hartley, you will excuse me.' His companion (raised his hat and walked away, as the. baronet in silence led the trembling woman across Jermynstreet and into Piccadilly, where he hailed a cab. ' To Portland-place ?' he said, interrogatively. 'No, no; to my uncle's in Wimpolestreet,' she cried, hastily. ' Sir Grantley, I cannot explain my position to-night; so strange. I have suffered a great deal, I am very ill.' She held out her hand to him, pained beyond expression at his grave, gentle, manly bearing, and her heart throbbed to think of his former relations to her, and of what she had passed through that night. ' Are they expecting you ? he said, after one or two attempts to carry on a conversation. " Will they be up?" •No,' she said, piteously, " and it is so strange to call them up ; but you will not leave me till I am safe ?' ' Mrs Huish—Clare,' he said, ' 1 don't think you ever understood me, or you would not appeal to me like this. I shall certainly stay with you till you tell me you are, safe, and then leave you, glad that I could be a little help.' Clare was silent, for his words struck hoine. She and not known him nor his generous nature, and she was touched by his gentlemanly consideration towards her after her treatment of his suit. She came to him now too, under such questionable circumstauces that he could not but feel surprised and curious. But not a look or word sugge>ted that he heeded in the least. On the contrary he strove to tako her attention fro.-n her position to his own. Sho noted, too, that he thiew asido his old drawl and artificial veneer, to.spcak eimply and quietly.

' Very,odd that you should come upon mo there, , he said, quietly. ' You know that house, perhaps. , ' No,' she said, absently. 'The Nocturnes Club, , Thought, perhaps, Mr Huish might have mentioned it to ypu.' ' No,' she said, hastily. • Some of the men play there rather late sometimes. I was playing to-night. 'It i 3 rather a resource,' he added, with a curipus melancholy in his tone. His words htung Clare, but eho did not speajk, and then Sir Grantley directed the cabman which way to turn, and in a few minutes the vehicle seemed to echo terribly all down the great blank street, its wheels rattling so that Clare glanced up at the windows on either side, expecting to see blinds drawn up and shutters opened by the occupants, eager to see her get out at the gloomy shut-up-house, and wonder and speculate upon her ariival at such an hour. But the rattle of a cab down the street in the very early morn was.not eo unusual a thing as Clare seemed to fancy, and when it stopped, and Sir Grantley made her retain her seat while he awakened the occupants of the dreary-lpooking house, she saw neither blind nor shutter stir; nothing but the pricking of the horses ears, and the flicker and play of the gaslights in the chilly wind. She started as she heard the bell ringing, far away, it seemed, in the distance —a bell that she had set sounding hundreds of times before, but which had never seemed to echo and jangle as it did now.. The dreamy unreal sensation of her position seemed to come to her more and more as she sat there, and with it a deathly sickness of body and numbness of mind, the result of the utter exhaustion that began to assert itself, as the overstung nerves relaxed now that she knew protection was there, aud that in Sir Grautley Wilters's hands the was perfectly safe. (To be continued,)