HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1895-12-20, Page 6e • •
• OelffeWPr' 77 -
by the. huhl cabinet remained dark, and
rho
Jiotse . • • At leugth Muriel spoke
"'I have told goo I hew no money in.
the home tonight—I heve act means of
gettiug any, auy 1 will write you a cheque
at the Qatnet fsgeMeTitsOfv;V:P.sgliicelut coxx
understood?"
"IVIalre it a hundred,"
"I can, spare but fifty pounds."
"Say sixty, Muriel,"
"Sixty, then,"
She sat at her davenport, and rapidly
wrote the cheque I then rising, she rang
the bell for aservant,
"Take this and go," giving Kestrel the
cheque; "go, and forget me and all you
know of nee."
'Xurning eo the servant who answered
the suninions, she said impassively,
"Show Mr. Kestrel to the gate," and re -
berried at onee to the library.
Kestrel gazed after her stupidly for a
moment; then muttered to the servant
some incoherency about a bit of a tiff,"
and pouring out half a -tumbler of brandy
gulped it down, and, staggerd out at the
door
When Muriel O'Connor returned to the
drawing -room, which she did as soon as
she heard the garden -gate close, she was
weeping bitterly; her whole frame shook
with the repression of hysterical sobs.
At the door stood Donovan, apparently
in the act of departing,
"Dennis," she cried in great excite-
ment and emotion, "Ralph Kestrel has
threatened to disclose all he has learned
of our plans. Have ,you trusted. him
with the Kihnelly affair?"
"It was yourself that said, 'Tell him
all—trust him with all; go bail for
Kestrel,'"
"Then follow him, watch where he
goes, do not lose sight of him. He is in-
toxicated, and may get into trouble to
night. We have quarrelled, and in his
present condition he may destroy all our
hopes. Follow him at once—watch him
—watch over him."
Be easy. be easy!" replied the Irish-
o raan with a sinister smile, "I will take
the best of care of Mr. Ralph Kestrel
o this night, Miss Mmiel, for your sake
and my own; and remember, then, that
s it's yourself as put the business into
Dennis Donovan's hands to act for ye as
seems best."
"As seems best to you, Dennis; yes, as
it seems best to you. '
Muriel O'Connor passedfrom the room
and upstairs to her bedchamber, sobbing
convulsively; and Dennis Donovan, with
the same strange smile distorting his
features, left the house steathily by the
gate in the wall, and followed a distant
figure that staggered along in the moon-
light.
.As he went, his hand clutched the
dagger that he had snatched. from the
wall, and he mattered ever and over
again the words:
"For your sake and my own! for your
sake and my own!"
(001eTlieleliDe
"My Pretty Muriel.," Kestrel murmur.
ed soothingly, "I'm going to ask you a
tremendous favour."
Muriel raised her head, She was pale,
and her face wore a*almost terrified ex-
pression.
"Not tonight," Brie said. "Ask me
for nothing. tonight, Let me think for
once that you lave me as you swear you
do. Do not ask payment for every kind
word or act you bestow upon me,"
"Who wants payment?" oried Kestrel,
firing up with indignation. "I don't
want paymeat You shall have it back
—every penny. give you a cheque
on my bankers to -morrow. Do you want
to insult me?"
"I would not offend. you, Ralph, in-
deed—"
"But you have offended me! What
do you think I am made of? Have I no
feelings? Payment, eh?"
"Forgive me, dearest; I spoke upon
impulse. It was sweet to feel your love,
to hear you vow it—and always you are
spoiling all. It is asking nee for money
you will be every time; and it grieves
mo, dear, to feel a sort of doubt whether,
after all, it is only as a friend that you
think of me—a friend who can help you
in your troubles. I am proud to do it,
Ralph, and will always help you, dear;
but I stopped you because I had prepared
a little present for you, dear, and I want-
ed to give it to youall of my own accord,
and you never asking me for anything
this time at all."
"A present, eh? Ah, that's my sweet
Muriel! But, by jove I you make a mis-
take; indeed you did. I wasn't going. t
ask you for neoney—'devil a stiver l' as
your Irish girls say. I—I wanted you t
—to—"
Re paused, his brandy clogged brain
refusing to provide a substitute for his
intended petition.
"Tell me, dear. I will do anything to
please you, Ralph," urged the submis-
sive Muriel.
"I sha'n't ask you anything now, as
you're such a brick," saidKestrel, evading
the difficulty. "Show us the present—
see if I like it. Is it money?"
"No, dear, not money this time; I
thought what you had on Wednesday—"
"Tuesday—it was Tuesday."
"Well, on Tuesday, then; I thought
that would last you."
. "Every penny gone—every penny!"
"Well, dear, I'm sorry for that. I
have got a scarf -pin for you. See, is it
not a pretty one?"
"Humph! Yes, it's very pretty; but
I say, sweetheart, you'll have to stump
up a merry little fifteen as well. Sorry
to have to ask you, but can't help it."
"0 Ralph.'"
"Don't say '0 Ralph!" but out with
the money, and make haste. We shall
have that fellow Donovan back again
any moment. 0, he thinks I'm a Johnny,
he does! He's been letting me into some
nice little plans, 1 can ...tell you, I've
promised to do what you want—or what
he wants—bat, Muriel, my dear, every
man has his price, and mine's twenty
pounds at the present moment. See ?"
"I have no money here."
"Rot t you've always got money. Fork
it out! I'm going a journey; must have
coin for hotel bill, railway ticket and
all the other infernal things."
"I can give you a cheque for ten
pounds."
"Cheque won't do, and ten pounds
won't do; must have cash. You've al-
ways given me cash before."
"But to -day I spent all I had in buy-
ing you that pin—indeed, it's the truth
I'm telling you."
"What the dickens did you do that
for?"
"Why, dear, it seems not nice to give
money to the man one is engaged to; it
is like buying him; it humiliates you and
it humiliates me."
"What bosh! Stuff! fiddlesticks! It's
just because you're so jolly mean, that's
all! Look here, Muriel, if you're like
JEALOUSY,—IN Tara 811ADoW OF A. GREAT
BUHL CABINET HE CROUCHED.
this before marriage, I'm blest if I shan't
think twice about marrying you at all!"
She gazed at him for an instant, trem-
bling from head to foot; then answered
coldly and in a strange voice: "Very
well."
This did not please him so well as it
did .the crouching figure by the buhl
cabinet. Kestrel felt he bad made a
mistake, but, being drunk, had not taet
to rectify it. He went from bad to
worse.
"Look here," he said savagely, "It's
all very well for you to say 'Very well,'
and I dare Say that's all your love for
the amounts to—just a bit of cheap
jewellery and 'Very well;' but I can tell
yon tins, Miss Muriel O'Connor—or, to
call you by your right name, Miss—"
"Silence 1 You swore never to utter
that name, even to myeelf."
"Swore it? yes; and you swore to love
me. I've sworn lots of things; yote've
sworn Tots of things. Break one oath,
breek tie Jot I don't care, 11.1 be even
with you. That blackguard Dennis
Donovan thinks he's the monkey and
Tan the cat; so do you. But I'm not to
be fooled with, 1 can tell you. Secrets
I've got out of you, and money I will
get Dirty work's worth dirty money.
So pay up zny precious wife that is to
be --
"Never! Yotir wife? Never!"
"Fork out the ten, I say, or by heaven
I'll split—blow all your blooming tricks
into the air, see if I don't!"
The olook etruok eleven. An ominous
silence fell upon the tome Kestrel
stood balancing himself, with his legs
wide Apart and a leer of defiance upon
his sodden face. Mariel faced him,
deathly pale, sick with disgust stricken
with Shame and dismay, The shadow
CHAPTER VIII.
ON THE UNDERGROUND.
Muriel O'Connor, locked in her bed-
chamber, safe from the observation of
all, abandoned herself to the hitt( rness
of love's disappointment and despair.
The room was in darkness, save where
the moonlight streamed in at the dia-
mond -paned window and fell upon a
couch at the foot of the bed; and there
lay Murielprostrated with grief, her
tears iltwing beneath the tumbled
masses of her hair.
Presently there came a gentle tap at
the door, and, although she did not re-
spond, the raging of her sobs was sub-
dued a little. The knocking was repeat-
ed, and Muriel raised her tear -stained
face into the moon rays to listen, but
still she did not answer the summons.
Then came a gentle voice saying "lefuriell
Muriel dear!"
The tears ceased to flow, and her fair
forehead was knitted into a frown, but
.
still she made no response.
"Muriel dear! Muriel! Is there any-
thing the matter?" came Laura's soft
tones through the door.
Muriel rose to a sitting posture, and
her eyes flashed angrily in the flood of
light as she answered shortly,
"No."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Are, you ill—in pain?"
"No. '
"Will you not let me in, then ? I have
something to say to you."
"I do not wish to be disturbed."
"I want to tell you that I am going
out."
"Going out?"
"I shall not be back again to -night?"
"What?"
Muriel rose to her feet, andflung back
the loosened hair that fell about her
shoulders.
"I am going to my sister."
"To your sister? To -night? Why?"
"Let tne in, and I will tell you."
Muriel moved pace towards the door,
stopped, hesitated, and finally turned
away.
"No," she answered in a cold hard
tone. "Go—to your sister."
Laura Kingdon paused for a moment,
urprised and hurt by this unaccustomed
reatment ; then, connecting it with the
ituation that had been witnessed in the
rawing-room, her pride and scorn of
11 uncharitable misconstructions re-
trained her from saying more than:
"I shall be back on Monday. Good -
ye 1"
To which Muriel O'Connor vouchsafed
o reply.
With a heart too full of serious mie-
ivings on other grounds to take much
iaed of this, Laura descended the stairs
zed passed from the house. A pale angry
ace at an upper window watched her
s she hurriedly turned the corner of the
oad, and took the same course that
alph Kestrel had taken shortly before;
ied far into the night a furious woman
aced to and fro in a moonlit room, in-
eighing in desperate terms against love
nd friendship.
Ten minutes later, two trains drew up
the platform of an Underground rail -
ay -station. Into one, bound eastward,
;eloped hastily a young woman clad in
rk attire, a veil drawn over her face
as almost to conceal the beauty of its
zitour and the deep lustre of her blue
(as ; while from the train going west
ghted a, counterpart of this traveller,
deeply resembling her in height, face,
d form as to seem identical with her.
The trill of guards' whistles, the slam.
ng of doors, the snorting of engines,
e rumble of many wheels, and Lamm
ngdon was speeding to her eister'S
me, while Dorothy Dundee stood
mishit; on the platform of the rail.
y station whence her sister had de
ted quest of her.
t
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CHAPTER IX,
intenierntz.
Alphe in a second-01meg carriage of
th us train that burrowed its way ettet-
Ward, taloaKingdon sat kenning With
aaxions interest the contents ofatdotilsociba:
ation,
shawl
the al -
attire,
h the
ranny
analog
Laura
folly,
rning
pestu-
kahneodif•
emed
room,
ri3bnjethoserneen
d her
keep-
ning
d not
dis-
;Aim
with
taiu
ob-
e Her
rtuipie-
and
that
was
s of
loy-
nd—
odes,
upou
or a
and
her
error
ruftolar
ass-
ber-
aye
e of
111
the
een
the
her
pon
ame
erly
The
and
is
clay
ted
you
ife.
of
me,
not
the
ink
ge.
en
me,
ny
the
go
nd
ave
little bundle of letters which she li
tained from Ralph Kestrel. They
melancholy story of blind infatil
dread of the home -coining of a hu
whose devotion had failed to win
legiance of a weak romantic n
They were mad letters in whit
writer abandoned herself to the V
of passion, and flung off every rests'
influence of prudence and honour.
read on through page upon page of
closely.written, reckless, full of yea
for reciprocated love, full of tem
ons upbraiding for coldness and la
sympathy and response. She read
her soul grew sick within her; eve,
first fierce determination to save se
to faint by the way.
When she had left the drawing -
ostensibly to search for Lord Wil
in the garden, that purpose had
driven from her mind by a bu
anxiety to know the truth •as to th
lotions existing between ICestrel an
sister. Dorothy's was one of
shallow natures almost incapable of
ing a secret, although with can
enough to attempt deceit; and it ha
overtaxed Laura's penetration to
cover signs of a daneerous preclile
on the part of her sister for Kestrel
Her offers to come and reside
Dorothy during the absence of Ca
Dundas had been again and again
stinately rejected, and this fact alon
caused Laura unceasing anxiety.
remonstrances had at last caused
ture in the affection that bound
sisters closely during all their lives,
it was easy for Laura to perceive
some powerful disturbing influence
at work to so counteract the force
nature and duty,
Th.e imminent return. of Dorothy's
al-heare)l and unsuspecting husba
who, when leaving for the Antip
while the winter yet lay heavily
London, had taken Laura apart f
moment on the snow -swept deck,
had given her special charge of
sister, for his sake—increaseethe' te
of the situation.
With the key to all the dreaded t
in her possession, Laura cared little
her personal interests. The embarr
went of being discovered kissing all
tine's hand affected her little, as web
seen, and even the newly -pledged loy
Lord Willmore had become second
her thoughts. As she stepped into
garden she saw that the lamps bad b
lighted in the summer -house across
lavvn, and thither she quickly bent
steps. Flinging the letters hastily u
the table, she took up the first that c
to hand, and, in the right of her silt
guardianship fell to perusing it.
letter proved to be of recent date
ran thus:
"MY OWN CRUEL BELOVED, —He
coming home; he will be here on Sun
at the latest. Why have you deser
me? Why do you not write? I love
so dearly that my love is all my 1
His return is to me like the coming
an executioner. He has been good to
and I dare not look him in the face.
cannot welcome hina home; I can
bear the ehought of long years in
custody of my gaoler. I dare not thi
of one hour in the presence of my jud
Death would be better far than that B
and I should ever meet again. Save
Ralph 1 save me, I implore you, from t
husband or from death! Night and
day is one ever-growing fear. I shall
mad if you do not come between me a
despair of living again with one I ha
never loved.—Yours, yours, yours,
"DOROTHY DUNDA8.'
"My God I" cried Laura aloud, dr
ng her hand with the letter in it up
e table in the full light of the lam
My God! if he had read this!"
She raised her eyes, and Lord Wi
ore stood before her. Instinctive
e clutched at 'the scattered lette
d, gathering them together, rose a
od over them like a tigress ov
r young. A deathly pallor overspre
r face, that had been burning with t
ame of what she had read; the gent
m andpurity of her countenance w
gone, for amidst the conflictin
otions of her heart she took to herse
the guiltiness of her sister, and suffe
a tenfold humiliation. To a puri
thout stain, to a truly unselfish natur
a vivid sense of honour and chastit
disgrace of one near and dear is mo
te than if it were personal.
n the presence of her newly-swo
er Laura Kingdon felt her sister
Bement as if it were her own, An
standing there in the lamplight rigid
his features aghast with dismay
lid as hers, his heart scarcely beatin
his breast—what were his thoughts
fears, his convictions of the meanin
what he had heard and saw? H
ld not doubt that Laura herself had
n the writer of those letters. He was
uainted -with her penmanship, an
glimpse he caught had shown th
racters to be apparently identica,
h Laura's writing* And had she no
ulsively gathered them from hi
t? Had she not previously trembled
he presence of that drunken roue
shamelessly sought a private con
nce with a man who boasted of his
ntiousness?
early as the day, Ernest Willmore
himself as the dupe of intrigante
se sordid haste to better her social
ition had outstripped all discretion.
Yet his faith in her goodness was
nger than he realised. It was an
not, like his belief in God.
s primary thought was, "I had
ant to make this woman my wife,"
he was conscious only of a culmin-
of damning evidence against her.
r some moznents, that seemed an
to both, he stood silently confronting
She hesitated to speak, for her
sights were bewildered. She was min -
s of occupying a false position, but
not how to rectify it with a due
d for her sister secret. She await-
s expected interrogation, and strove
epare answers that might satisfy
and yet evade the unspen.kable
And Willmore, dist' acted by the
finiteness of his attituee towards
aused to find words that could fitly
et temperately express his indig
n, disttess and amazement.
such an indictment against her as
ght be justly entitled to make.
d as they stood justly facing each
Pi
th
4 4
m
sh
an
sto
he
he
sh
cal
all
em
all
ed
wi
to
the
acu
lov
aba
he,
ly,
pal
in
his
of
cou
bee
acq
the
cha
wit
imp
sigh
in t
and
fere
lice
01
saw
who
cond
And
stro
insti
mea
and
ation
Fo
age
her.
thou
sciou
knew
regar
ed hi
to pr
him
truth
indefi
her, p
and y
natio
frame
he ini
An
op -
on
p.
11-
ly
rs,
nd
er
ad
he
le
as
lfg
r-
tg
e,
Y,
re
rn
other in the summer -house, soft- strains
of melody floated forth upon the night
air and mingled with the rustling of a
Wave of wind that rocked the trees and
bushes of the garden : and the voice of
Muriel O'Connor pealed out like the lure
of a siren
"Your friend is in the draevingaroom,"
was all that Laura Kingdon found words
to say.
Lord Willmore said nothing, but
simply lowering his eyes front her face,
turned and left her.
Slowly peeing towards the open win.
do* liegerod without until the
music ceased. A dread of the influences
about him gathered around his heart,
and he felt a strange anxiety to fly, from
the spell of that song, the oppression of
those deepening shadows, the mystery of
whispering branolies, and, above all, the
peril of that unmasked loveliaesa keep -
pig guard in the bower yonder over the
silent witnesses ef her shame.
As soon as Willmore had entered the
house, Laura Kingdort, with her sister's
letters tightly clutched in both her
hands, left the arbor, and sped directly
to a side -door, by which she gained her
own room. There she hastily changed
her dinner -dress for a, simple gown and
cloak. and threw into a travelling -bag
the articles she would require during a
short absence, To Lord Willmore she
hardly gave a thought. Her mind was
absorbed by fears of her sister. 02 Ralph
Kestrel she no longer had may apprehen-
sion. The evidence in her hands went
far to show that he had been a neglect-
ful rather than a too ardent lover. The
danger lay with Dorothy herself. Morbid
with loneliness, her reason distorted by
the constant perusal of cheap fiction,
that had produced in her a weedy growth
of sentimental fancy, there was every
Probability of her taking some insane
and irretrievable leap in the dark. At
the best, the peace awl joy of honest Ben
Dundas was grievously menaced, and
the good work of preserving the happi-
ness of Dorothy and her husband eclipsed
in its importance and urgency all Laura's
personal affairs.
She resolved to confide sone part of
het apprehensions to Muriel in explana-
tion of her abrupt departure, and was
deliberating how she could approach her
without again encountering the guests,
when she heard the last of thein de-
part and Muriel herself enter the ad-
joining room and lock the door, Then
came that passion of sobs, audible
through the partition -wall, which arous-
ed in Laura a deep sympathy and deeire
to comfort her friend. Never before had
she known Muriel O'Connor to give way
to grief like this. What could have hap-
pened? Could it pcissibly be jealousy of
Laura and Kestrel? The thought was
extravagant, but Laura, as a woman,
know a woman's weaknesses, and she re-
membered the look upon Muriel's face
when Kestrel bad been discovered sur-
rendering Dorothy's letters. As we have
seen, Laura at once sought an interview
with her friend, but, being repulsed and
time pressing, sh.e left the house without
a true understanding having been ar-
rived at between them.
We have followed her on her journey
to her sister's home, and there we must
leave her now standing in the deserted
riverside street, gazing up in despair at
the dark windows, ringing again and
again at the echoing bell; knocking ever
and anon upon the door, that seemed.
closed, like the gate of a sepulchre,
against joy and peace and love for ever-
more.
The house was deserted,
CHAPTER X.
% J.LETTL MURDER!
When Dorothy Dundas alighted from
the train that had brought her from
Wapping, she stood for a moment gaz-
ing anxiously about, as if she had ex-
pected to find. some one on the platform
waiting to receive her; but the train and
the passengers passed away, and she re -
'unlined, almost alone.
"Not here," she exclaimed with a
little gasp of distress. "Not here 1 Can
I have mistaken the station—or the
time?"
She retired into one of the dark alcoves
at the end of the platform, where she
egould bo unobserved, and drew a letter
from the bosom of her dress.
A sharply defined ray of moonlight
fell across one-third of the alcove, and
seating herself upon the bench placed
there for the convenience of waiting pas-
sengers. she examined yet again the
words which were already carved so
deeply upon her brain and heart:
'5WEETEST DOLLY, —If you really
mean it this time,meet me at the Maryle-
bone Station on the down platform—the
westward end, where there areno letups
--at 10.30 to -morrow night. I will try
to be there to meet your teain, but, if you
don't see me, wait there out of sight un-
til I come. Wire me if I am to expect
you. You dear little rascal! I knew
you would have to give in at last. —Your
loving RALPH."
"Yes, yes," she muttered, as she re-
folded the letter, "I am right This is the
station ---the down platform—the west-
ward end of it; but the time?" She look-
ed again: the 10 was indistinct; what
she had mistaken for a naught might be
a 1. Yes, it was 11.80 he had meant,
and she had over an hour to wait. "0
Ralph, my love," she murmured, "do
not keep me long! How 1 suffer, and
how wicked I am 'eine, love for you!
Your coming must atone for ranch, for
I have known nothing but misery since
Ifirst met you. What would Laura say
to me now?"
She crouched in the dark corner of the
alcove, and scanned with tremulous im-
patience every person who came within
view. But the moments passed, train
after train rushed noisily into the station
and glided silently out of it, and still no
lover came; and Dorothy' Dundas, worn
out with many a sleepless night, fell un-
knowingly into a deep slumber. But
meantime the truant lover was drawing
nearer to his sin. and that sin's nemesis
hovered about him like tbe shadow of a
sword.
Chuckling with satisfaction at having
diverted suspicion from himself by the
surrender of letters that tended to exon-
erate him by their reproaches for cold-
ness and. neglect, he made his way, on
leaving Muriel's house, directly to the
nearest tavern, where, after further
potations, he endeavoured to change
Muriel's cheque. But the credit of the
house at the corner was not sufficiently
established to pernait of this accommo-
dation, and after further efforts in
the neighbourhood he set off in high
dudgeon for the rendezvous with Dorothy
Dundas. Tne alcohol with which he
had muddled his wits inflamed him very
unreasonably against his late benefac-
Tess. What was the use to him of this
cursed piece of paper? Re wanted
money, and she had given him a checiate
which no one would cash.
She was a swindler, this Muriel fr
Connote It was plain what people
thought of her. And she supposed she
could fool him, did she, with her rub-
bishing chequee? Not if his name was
Ralph Kestrel/ He'd blow the whole
house of cards into the air, and his mode
of attack should be through this precloos
politician whom she had been spooningwith at tne pian. He would write to
Cecil Chester at once while be was in
the Inonour, and tell him a thing or two
which would make his next visit to
IVioners honse one Of a very differentorder from the last.
He only fully arrived at this deter'mitation when the ticket -collector at the
gate had allowed him, not without some
sernples, on account of hi i3 evident in-•
toxication, to stagger on .to the station
platform. A number of passengers were
assembled for the last train, and among
these a dark fieure moved silently and
without attracting attention,
Kestrel bed drifted to his rendezvous
by a sort of instinct which guides druela
en men into the place of reason, but for
the moment he forgot what had brought
him there, his mind being exclusively
avenge
0coupiEd with his scheme of re
against Muriel O'Connor.
,110 must write that letter—that
to Cecil Chester. It would be a
1 and serve out Muriel so jolly
lier inf rnal meanness.
He gazed about stupidly for w
implements, and it chanced that hi
fell upon an automatic machine fo
delivery of postcards and static
with convenience for writing lett
the spot. It seemed as if the devi
answered his need. in a few mi
the denunciation was wtitten an
dressed to the Honourable Cecil CI
at the House of Commons, and K
stood gazing about him for a pilla
or a messenger,
The latter he quickly found. As
thick set man, 'unified in a large s
with a rough cap pulled down ove
eyes, stood at Kestrel's elbow.
"Here, my fine fella:, take this to
poserfislapoppetin," said ICestrel hus
and the man took the letter at once
.eplied. in an equally husky voice:
"All right, sir!"
"Thatll do for her, I think 1" mu.
d Kestrel to himself as he walked
teadily up the platform to keep hi
ointinent with Dorothy Dunclas, wl
low that he had got rid of his in
imbue of revenge, recurred, to
orcibly.
The last train .thundered into
tation. In the confusion Dennis D
an stepped aside under a lamp, and
pen the letter Kestrel had given
s he read it his face assumed a fien
xpression, half gloating with a sit
oy, half desperate and Indignant, eat
loodtbirsty. So preoconpied wa
ith the perusal of this clumsyk sca
hat he for a mdment lost sight of
barge, and it was only as the train
an to move off Hutt it occurred to
join it, and follow Ralph Kestre
s destination. He made a rush for
earest carriage. but was roughly th
ack by a porter with a peremptory
"Too late, sir!"
And as he found himself left soli
pon the platform, he gnashed his t
ith fury at the thought that for
oment his prey had escaped him.
But stay! What was that dist
are staggering in a broad moonb
at shot down through an opening
e roof of the station.? Ralph Kest
all that was propitious! Ralph K
el, tarrying f Or his doom!
At that moment the distant figure
peered in the shadow, and simulta
sly all the station lights were tur
t, leaving Donovan in darkness.
The gates were being locked, and
one the eveary porters went home
d.
Dennis' Donovan stood listening u
e sounds faded away, and then, w
e swift stealthy movement of a p
er, crept towards the •gpot where
d seen Kestrel disappear. •
Yes, he was there still, reeling ab
the gloomy shadows, and mutter
oherently:
'Where's little sailor -girl? where's
lor? Here am I. Where are y
rothy, Dorothy, haie you cheated
ain this time? If y'have,I'll serve yo
ave Mury, see if I don't 1 I'll set yo
husband at you, sen' him your lett
euced silly letters. Jon' lark! Wh
you, Dolly?"
e roared out the last words so lust
t Dorothy, asleep in the dark corn
he alcove, opened her eyes with
rt, but her brain seemed still asleep
he seemed to see a short fierce stru
between two men in the mur
dow which lay just beyond her.
w from flashing steel, and one of the
headlong at her feet. She look
n in speechless horror, and behe
lover's face staring up at her wi
ing eyes in the path of the mo
m. While Yet she gazed frozn h
k corner of the alcove, there cam
ping ghoul -like towards the body t
m of the assassin. Slowly and deli
ely he felt for the weapon that
buried in the heart of Ralph Kestre
clutched it, withdrew it frozn th
nd, and carefully wiped it upon th
man's cape.
hen he rose, and for the first tim
d his eyes from the corpse. II
tarted violently and flung down th
e. There stood in the full flood o
moonlight an accusing aegel takin
ikeness of Laura Kingdon.
r a single instant sperstitious aw
came him; but remembering th
tion which he, Muriel, and Cheste
surprised that evening, he quick -1
luded that this apparition must b
et herself, for the likeness betwee
isters was so .great as to deceive an
n an uncertain light.
he realised this he darted forwar
gely to seize her. There would be
silence in her death, as in Kestrel's
in his momentary hesitation, gie
eized and caught up the dagger
had fallen at her feet, and, shriek
t him wildly, turned and fled like a
thing along the dark platform to
s the exit -gate.
uld he follow her? The gate would
y be closed, and she could not &s-
him. But those resounding cries,
upon shriek, in the silent night,
if continued, raise the world, and
h he might still them, he would as-
ly be arrested and condemned for
critnes I
Dennis Donovan, with furtive
es to right and left, slunk away into
ng dant tunnel.
letter
uch a
well
riting
s eyes
✓ the
nery,
ers on
I had
nutes
d ad-
iester
estrel
r -box
bort,
carf,
✓ his
the
kily;
,and
tter-
un
s ap
lich,
ental
him
the
ono -
tore
him.
dish
vage
iolly
s he
awl
his
be -
him
I to
the
rust
tary
eeth
the
ant
earn
in
rel,
es-
dis-
ne-
ned
one
to
ntil
ith
an -
he
out
ing
th'
ou?
me
u.'s
Ur
ers
ere
ily
er.
a
•
ky
A
ed
Id
th
'11-
er
he
b -
he
al
11
a
A
to
hi
11
na
fig
th
th
by
tr
ap
ou
ou
by
be
th
th
th
ha
in
inc
sai
Do
ag
1 h
ole
—d
are
the
of t
sta
gle
sha
blo
fell
dow
her
glaz
bea
dar
cree
for
erat
had
He
wou
dead
raise
Re s
knif
the
the 1
Fo
Over
situa
had
conc
Latu
the s
one i
As
sava
sure
But,
had s
that
ing a
mad
ward
Sho
surel
cape
shriek
must,
thoug
sured
both
So
glanc
the lo
CHAPTER XL
LAURA'S 'VIGIL.
With her heart sinking under the most
painful misgivings, Laura Kingdon paced
to and fro upon the rough stones of the
street before the door of her sister's seem-
eserted home. Now and again
ingly
she would tug desperately et the old bell
in the ettilings, and anxiously listen for
the tinkle within. Knocker there was
non, and the summons of tile bell was
so feeble that it sound sleeper might
well be undisturbed by ie,
Lenra oiling to the hope that Dorothy •
niiant be safe at home and in bed., all un-
coliSciOuS Of a Visitor. A. policemen,
heving passed her once upon his beat,
spoke to her 'when, returning, he found
her still trying to gain admittance.
take much notice of you as I was passing
before, 'cause I remember thinking it
were nothing unnatural to see a young
Woman, just your figurea-goin' into that
there house. You see, I thought you
was her what lives here, Your sister, is
she? Well, if you'll excuse me for say-
ing it, it's a bit late for such as you to be
-han about t
ggin hese parts. 1t's nigh
upon 'arf-past twelve, that it is. The
place is a bit quiet tonight, but there's
a rough lot as gets about 'ere sometimes.
Listen to that, now?"
Upon the stillness of the summer night
there suddenly broke the clamour of
voSeee in high dispute, and amidst oaths
and hubbub a woolen's shriek for help
pierced to their ears again and again.
"That's the sort of thing I was just
a-speakin' of" said the constable calmly
and sagaciously, without moving a step,
in response to the appeal. Laura was
horrified. The disturbance was close
at hand, and the sounds seemed to indi-
cate that some violent outrage was being
committed.
"0, can it be my sister?" cried Laura.
"0,go to them, go! Hark, a woman is
crying 'Murder!' Why do you not go?"
"Tain't my beat, miss," replied the
phlegmatic officer; "I've no business to
go unless 1 gets the call from ray mate.
Lor' bless yer, we gets this sort of thing
here a dozen times every night. Never
do for us to be a -leaving our beats when
folks ory 'Murder!' See, they're quietine
down nicely all by themselves, and no
great harm. done, rn be bound. Only
makes things wuss, the perlice interfer
ing-too efficious like. Ver just gets
knocked about for yer pains, and the
'spector think you're a busybody, and
the magistrate grumbles at the long
charge -sheet, and wot's the good? How-
ever, this ain't quite the thing for the
likes of you; some of these 'ere sailor
chaps a bit screwed will be round this
Way, and if they sees a pretty gal—beg
ging your pardon, miss—why, they goes
for her, and it's natural, tho' unpleasant,
of course, for a lady."
"Can't you help to wake my sister or
servant? Mrs. Dundas has a servant
living with her here. Knock at the door
with your staff, please do! The bell is
not loud enough to rouse them"
The constable complied, and created
such a din upon the panels that the win-
dows of neighbourine houses were
thrown up in quick °succession, and
rough heads were thrust out in tho
moonlight, and rough protests and in-
terrogations were made all round.
Still no response from within the
house.
The constable threw some mud up at
the windows, but still no sign of an in-
habitant.
A crown of neighbours and night.
wanderers began to assemble,and Laura,
i
to her dismay, found herself n the midst
of a very unsavoury and unprepossessing
set of sympathisers, ready to pull the bell
out, hammer the door don, or break
the windows at the least encouragement.
Laura desisted from attempting, to gain
admittance, and begged the constable to
escort her to the nearest inn of sufficient
respectability to afford her shelter for the
night. Accordingly she was soon accona
modated with a low -roofed musty little
bedroom at the sign of The Diving Bell,
a public house of Uninviting aspect with-
in two minutes' walk of Dorothy's house.
The landlady, in no very good-huour
at being aroused from her slumbers, she
having retired with the toothache, re-
ceivea Laura with suspicion, and exact-
ed prepayment for the room.
"Needless to say that Laura did not lie
down to /vat. Locking the door, she
crouched upon a chair close to the flick-
ering flame of a cheap candle, and wait-
ed tnrough the long miserable hours for
the dawn of a day which she feared
would bring some terrible disclosure.
Listening to the yells of belated drunk-
ards tumbling homeward, the echoes of
many a street -brawl, the occasional
bursts of riot from neighbouring houses,
oaths, blasphemies, obscenities, terrify-
ing cries ot beaten women, that came in
wish many a foul river odour at the
window, which she had opened for re-
lief from the stale stifling atmosphere of
the tavern garret, Laura endured a wak-
ing nightmare. The repulsion she felt
for all that oppressed her senses would
alone have banished slee, but the addi-
tional burden of apprehension for her
sister, the agony of speculation upon
the cause of Dorothy's absence frone
home, seemed to strike her heart and
brain with stabs of unendurable anguish.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Illuminating Gas Irroin Woocl.
A successful method of making illum-
inating gas from sawdust is now being
employed. In Canada several large lum-
ber mills are being lighted by gas 'nada
63; this prcess. The sawdust is charged
in retorts whioh are heaten by a wood fire,
the gas from the retorts passing ink,
series of coils and thence into the purifi-
ers, which are similar to those usefor
coal gas. Lime is the principal purifyinft
agtnt employed When the gas passes out
of the retorts it has an odor much less
disagreeable than that of ordinary lighting
gas, and resem aline' somewhat that of the
smoke from a lire cif green wood or leae.
For a small plant taming out, say, 540
cubic meters of gas daily about two tong
of sawdust will be used in twenty -for
hours and a man and a boy furnish all
the labor needed. The gas in an ordinary
burner gives an illumination of about 18
candle power. The best quality conies
from resinous woods. A quantity of 100
kilograms of sawduse leaves a residue oe
20 kilograms of charcoal,
Keeping Tab on Ttrammens.
In some houses th at send out a greet
many drummers there are In use coastal*
peouliar little maps pasted on the bottoms
of cabinet drawer, and constantly studied
by the proprietor and clerks. Th ise maps
are usually of one state at a time and ars
dotted with pegs or flags of many colors.
The flags are tiny bits of colored cloth,
with pins to servo as staffs Tne pegs are
In reality moire, with the heads oovered
with celored cloth, Those maps show
many things to th se who study them.
The different colored markers often repre-
sent differont cletazon rs, who are then
out on the road, As each one writes Lome
where he has boon and where he Is going
next 1)18 partial/1hr peg is stuck upan the
num at the places be mnes. The furthest
pog always shows Wloro that parbioular
man Is ;it any given tiae, Or, agein the
pegs or flags may show muoli more than
that. They nay show what towns have
boo) cal) vassfaci, Whall ones are 11
What ones need a second call in the win -
eV, and which have not been visited at all.
—.Nw York Sim
noard in the Hall.
"You don't know enough to Stay irk
hen it rains," derisively said the cane
the umbeella.
"Look here," tetotted the umbrella,
such bluffs from it mem stick like you
oliih go with fee. My motto is put up
r shut up, every titne."—IUdianapolis
Uri n 1
on t they hear yu, miss?" said this
friendly guardian ef the night. "Gone t
to bed, most like. Didn't aepect you, I
dare say. No, I ain't seen no one go out.
Who is it lives 'ere? Dundee, eh? 0,
yes, tie be sure; 1 mind her. Widow w
lady, ain't it? Married, eh? 0 yes"; hu
band's a sailor—away On a voyage, Yes,
I've seed the party; she's a rare pretty I '
lin, too. And now I looks at you, miss,
she's the very image of yourself, I didn't
# e