Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2616, 25 September 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

|! By Fergus Hume.

| “TKe Jew’s Mouse,” I

Author of the “ Mystery of a Hansom Cab, ” “ The Yellow Holly, ” “ The * * ... Mandarin’s Fan, ” “ The Sealed Message, ” etc., etc., etc. •**

I. , CHAPTER IV. || THE QUAKERS. || Barrington Wain was by way of be(tfl ing a Thcosophist, although, as re- !■ gards the teaching, he understood only Ip "'a portion of the whole. \ Still, that porp tion served him) fairly well, as it accounted to his mind for the unexpect- :/ ed, anti enabled him to endure the unmerited' troubles which, more often than was pleasant, came his way. His simple belief was that the happenings of tliis present life were preordained by the doings of the last time he assumed flesh. Thus, when his personally-made fate took him down uncomfortable ways he went philosophically, firmly convinced that he merited the diaagreeabb journey. “Otherwise,” said Wain, positively, “such beastly bad Kick would f' not be permitted to befall me.” And this remark accounted for the resolute way in which, he considered Providence divinely-loving, in spite of plain evidence to the contrary, taking into conV the misery of mankind. His belief included also the meeting of those in this life with whom he had boon connected in the last. “I have,” he said, “to pay off debts for evil conir Emitted, when incarnated before, or to receive payment fo-r good done. Therefore, when I am unexpectedly brought into contact with this person and the other and not of my own volition, I know that they have to pay ine something, ce I have to pay them.” In this way, Wain accounted for his accidental—as it appeared —straying down the side-lane, which liadf brought him to the Jew’s houce, to be present when Ben-Ezra was denounced, as a murderer. He considered that he must have some previous life-tie with the Jew, else f.ti would not have been thrown into his Company at so critical a moment. The question was, whether Ben-Ezra had to pay him a debt, or whether he was Ben-Ezra’s creditor? At the present moment he could- not understand. Hitherto he had heard nothing but evil of the mart, and' —although he had some faint belief in his innocence—was not inclined to-champion him. But what he should do was pointed out to him by his meeting with certain people who — for the first time in Wain’s experience —spoke well cf the Hebrew. And the unexpected happened in this case, as it had happened l in the other. On leaving Lazarus at the gates of the fallen Dives, tho reporter took his way up tho lane- to gam the Highstreet. The lahe, as has been said, was more or loss blocked with mo tor-cars, bicycles, people on foot, and people in vehicles. Wain pushed his way through the crowd, and found at the head cf the cul-de-sac a market cart laden with vegetables, drawn by an aged white horse, and 1 driven by an extremely pretty girl, who seemed rather to have lost her head in the hubbub. As she whippet! her ancient steed into the High-street, a motor-car, humming swiftly along, bore down on her and struck the cart fair on the right wheel. The girl: was hurled to the ground amidst the consequent wreckage, and. although the chauffeur had nulled up his machine, she would have undoubtedly have had. her brains kicked out by the terrified white liorse, had net Wain the part cf a knight-errant. Almost without thinking, he plunged forward and snatched, the girl from under the very hoofs of the startled animal. The cart was a wreck, the contents tvefe on the ground, but the horse was 'Wdiinjured, which is more than could {,e said of its driver. In being thrown j out, she had come into contact with 1 the stony road so violently that she was stunned. “Here, clean the way,” commanded j the reporter, and carried the girl into ! a near shop, which, by chance happened to be a chemist’s. “Look after the cart, you people, and I’ll look after the girl.” Wain’s chivalry was rewarded by finding that he bad rescued one of the prettiest women he had seen for many a long day. The unconscious girl, whom" the chemist and his wife were trying to revive, could not have been more than nineteen, but was tall for her age, and possessed of a very well developed! figure. She seemd to have reached maturity at a time when other girls are still more or less scraggy. Her face was oval, with fine contours, and she had a wealth of silky, bluish-black hair tucked away under a plain figured linen sun-bonnet. Her superb figure was clothed in an unadorned grey dress, well cut but. unfashionable, and she wore a broad linen collar, spreading oh the shoulders and 1 fastened at the neck with a silver brooch in the form of a live pointed star. Brown shoes, cuff* jb, her wrists, and a coarse holland to keep her frock from contact with the vegetables, completed her costume. But 'Wain, saw little of this, so intent was his gaze upon her face. Ho k i wished to see her heavily-fringed eyes I" open, and the rich damask color return to those white cheeks. “She’s the beauty of the world,” he said, while the chemist held a smelling bottle to the girl’s hose, and the chemist’s wife unloosened her broad Eton collar—it looked' like one to the reporter—and slapped her hands. “I wouldn’t go so far as that,” said , the chemist’s wife, who was a pretty ■ ■ .

woman herself, “but she’s the beauty of Bruntlea, by common consent.” “You know her, then?” “Oh, yes. She often comes here with her father. Judith Verily is her name.” “Humph! That’s extremely Biblical.” “Quakerish, 3-011 should say,” remarked the smiling; “heir father is old Pliineas Verily, who has his farm about two miles from Bruntlea. Dear me, how put out he and his wife will be at this accident!” “But she’s not badly hurt, I trust?” asked Wain, anxiously. “oli, no,” said the chemist’s wife, Milore frightened than hurt. 1 expect the vegetables and the baskets saved her from dashing against the stones of the rroad. These motor people should really be more careful.” At this moment, as if in answer to her observation, the owner of the car entered the shop to apologise for his chauffeur’s negligence, although the man was really not much to blame, owing to the unexpected' way in which Miss Verily had emerged from the lane. The owner was a 3’oung man with a heavy, clean shaved face, and a heavy squat figure, which under no circumstances could look attractive. He was dressed in deep black, even to tie and gloves, and his eyes were swollen, as though he bad been weeping. “1 am very sorry,” he said in a shy, nervous voice; “it was quite an accident, and Thomas stopped the car as soon as possible.” ' “He should be more careful,” snapped the chemist’s wife, aggressively. “He was careful,” put in Wain quickly. “The accident was really caused by Miss Verily- coming incautiously out of the lane.” At the sound of her name the girl opened her eyes, and then Wain saw that they were large and dark, something like those of a deer. When they lighted up her beautiful face, to which the color was rapidly returning, Wain’s thoughts flew to Keats’ comment on the lady called Charmion. “She has a Tich Eastern look!” That sentence exactly explained the impression produced on Wain’s mind by Judith Verily. He wondered admiringly if her voice matched her loveliness, and was not disappointed. ,“Yes,” she said faintly, in mellow, bell-like tones, “it was mv fault. I lost my head with all the —” she paused and closed her eves. » “Don’t talk, dear,” said the chemist’s wife, soothingly. “Here, take this sup of brandy and water. You’ll soon he all right.” “But the cart —the horse'—” “I’ve had them seen to,” said the owner of the motor-car hastily; “the horse is quite safe, but the cart lias been smashed and the vegetables scattered. Never mind, I’ll pay for everything.”

“But it’s not your fault,” said Judith, opening her eyes again. “It is, in part. Thomas was going too quickly. And Miss Verily has to thank you. sir,” said the young man, addressing Wain directly, “for baying saved her life. But for you e she would have—” “All ‘right, all right,” interposed Wain' with the uneasy dislike of an Englishman to a .scene, “all’s well that •ends well. Buff Low can this young lady. zgbhpMf* " . ? “I can . walk,” saidb.the-jjiri, face was now' much, more healthydookmg. p y-, ~ “No,” said the young, man, bluntly. “Thoma%••shaß-ariye you in cnv. And I’ll see’illAt tho cart is‘f'ent to the farm later.” “Thank you, Mr Dove,” e-aid the girl, and “Wain opened l his eyes when he heard the name. This, then, was the son of the dead man. No wonder he was in mourning and looked as though he had been weeping. “'Sir Reginald, now,” remarked the chemist, officious^-. “Don’t speak of it; don’t speak of it!” muttered the young man, and hastily went out of the shop. “I thought that the late Sir Giles was a knight only,” remarked Wain. “A baronet,” replied the chemist’s wife, throwing a rebukeful look at her tactless husband; “his son takes .the title and all tho money. And, my word, sir, there is a lot of money. Fancy that dreadful old Benjamin Ezra murdering poor Sir Giles; not but what Sir Giles had a bad temper.” “I don’t believe that Mr Ben-Ezra murdered Sir Giles,” said the girl, getting on her feet. “But, my dear, he —” “I know what you will say. Everyone is against the poor man.” The chemist’s wife looked at the flushed face somewhat maliciously. “I should think for certain reasons you would be against him also, my dear.” “We are told to forgive our ene-

mies.” “Ah, that’s a very Quakerish sentiment, my dear.” “Humph!” said Wain, rather gruffly, “that is the first time I ever heard a Christian sentiment narrowed down to one sect.” “Oh, you mustn’t take me seriously,” said the chemist’s wife, her pretty face dimpling into a smile-. ' “My bark is worse than my bite.”

Judith kissed her. “Everyone knows that you are good and kind,” she said, promptly; “look how you’ve attended to' me. I’ll get mother to com© and thank you. But this kind gentleman,’ she locked gratefully on her rescuer, who flushed under her gaze, “will, I hope, come home with me to hear what father and mother have to say.”

“I’ll escort you home willingly, Mita Verily; but I want no thanks.’

“You shall have them all the same,” said the girl, smiling divinely, as Wain thought; “but the cart —”

“Sir Reginald Dove will attend "to all that,’’interrupted the chemist’s wife; “the horse will he led to the farm, and the cart and vegetables placed somewhere for safety. You can tell your father that all is well.” “Oh, Pliineas Verily will be quite content to know that the apple of his eye is safe,” said the tactless chemist.

Judith —Wain already called her that in his own mind,, as lie thought that the stately name suited her royal beauty —kissed her hostess again, and, smiling at tile chemist, went out of the shop. Wain followed, and the two found themselves in tho midst of a crowd busily 'removing the wreckage of the cart. The horse had already been sent home in charge of a sympathiser, and on learning this Judith consented to mount the expensive motor car, which had been placed at her disposal by the young baronet. # lt was aSO h.p. Hadrian machine, luxuriously fitted up and driven by a smart chauffeur, who touched his cap and apologised profusely to his unexpected passenger. Shy of attracting so much attention, Mies Verily hastily snuggled down amongst the soft cushions of the car, and Wain swung himself up beside her as chaperon. The crowd divided, and the machine spun down the street, purring like a well-pleased cat. While- they ran the two miles to the Quaker farm, Wain, like a wise'man, improved the occasion. “You don’t speak in the usual, Quaker wwar,3 r , Miss Verily,” -he (remarked. “Father and mother do,” she replied, while he admired the rich hue of her complexion; “but I am engaged to be married, and my future husband Wishes me to speak like an ordinary person.” Wain felt rather a pang on hearing that this desirable damsel was an “apple on tho topmost bough,” and therefore beyond his reach. Judith was not only beautiful but simple and unsophisticated, as was proved by the artles.sness of her last speech. tShe was thus entirely pleasing to a man somewhat weary of the over-cultured women of the day. “I suppose Quakers don’t speak as Biblically as they did,” he observed in a careless manner; “they have come into line with the common conversath-m----list.” “Father and mother have not,” said Judith, shaking her head, “but they call themselves very old-fashioned. Mr Ashton is as fond of father and mother as he is of me—almost,” with an afterthought. “Ashton? Ashton? That is the name cf the old General who owned tho Hall.” “Lancelot is his grandson,” said Judith simply. “Lancelot?”

“I am engaged to marry him.” Wa in stared, as the, most famous name in Arthurian romance woke a sleeping memory in his brain. “I used to know a man called Lancelot Ashton,” he said, musingly, “three or four years ago. He was a barrister or was going to he a barrister. A tall, handsome brown-haired chap lie was, Cleveland agreeable, although I saw little of him. A mutual chum introduced its in London.” “That’s my Lancelot,” cried Judith, clapping her hands and flushing delightedly at this praise of her lover. “I am so glad you like him.” “Like him,” corrected the reporter, smilingly, “you forget that I told you I had not seen him for three or four years. Is he now successful?” - Judith’s face fell. No. He writes articles and stories to keep himself alive as he is very poor; but mo one has given him a brief yet. And until lie is successful we cannot marry,” she lamented. “Isn’t it dr- /dful when you think he should be rich.” “In what way?”

Judith opened her eyes to their widest. “Why, Lancelot ought to own the Hall, you know. I told you he was the .grandson of General Ashton. But that horrid Jew cheated the General, and now Lancelot has to live in a poor, cheap villa, with his old cousin, Miss Merton.” “Yet you defend the Jew,” Wain reminded her. Judith nodded. “Father and mother won’t hear a word against him,” she said, with emphasis; “they admit that 'lie does wrong; but declare that he is very kind-hearted, all the same, though people don’t think so.” “Humph! You are the first person who has spoken well of Ben-Ezra.” .“Wait until j-eu hear father and mother.”

“Oh, here we are,” cried the girl, as the car slowed down. “How quickly we have come, and how smoothly. I wish I had a motor-car.” .

“You will, when 3-011 are Mrs Ashton, and your husband is the Lord Chancellors” •

Miss- Verily leaped lightly to the ground; having apparently entirely recovered from her rough shaking. “I’ll he an old woman by then,” she replied, and then turned to the chauffeur; “Thank you for driving me here.” “I am delighted to have had tho chance, Miss Verily,” said Thomas, who appeared to be a gentleman, even though he touched his cap servantfashion; “after smashing your oar(j, ; t was the least Sir Reginald could let mo do. Can I, drive yon back, sir?” he asked Wain.

“No, thank you. I’ll walk. Goodday.”

“Goodriay, sir,” and the Hadrian swttng off smoothly along the broad country iroad. which) was I.ordered by slender poplar trees. The machine was out of sight in no time, but Wain continued to stare until he was brought to a sense of his position by Judith impatiently' tugging, at his sleeve. T “Here is mother,” she said, pointing to a gate ; “she’s always on the lookout.”

A comfortable, comely woman, in the quaint Quaker dress, more accentuated than that of her daughter, emerged from the gate and came hurriedly towards the pair, calling out as she advanced : “Judith, child, how is it with thee, my dear? Art thou ill, and why hast thou returned without the horse and cart?”

“I have had an accident, mother, darling, and—” “An accident!” Mrs Verily’s face grew pale, and she clasped Judith to her motherly breast. “Art thou hurt, child?”

“Miss Verily is only a little shaken,” explained Wain, taking. off his cap. “Sir Reginald' Dove’s motor-car ran into her cart, and sho was thrown out.” “But the horse is all right, mother,” put in- Judith, hastily. “Never'mind the horse, child. We can get another, but if we lost tliee—” tears stopped her speech, and she pressed her daughter to her heart, anxiously.

“I should have been killed hut for this gentleman,” said Judith, quickly. “Oh, take all the thanks I can give thee,” said Mrs Verily, relinquishing Judith whose hand, however, she still retained —and catching Wain by the arm. “This child is the light of our eyes. . Dear! dear! to think she should be so near death and we never knew. Merciful is the Lord, Judith, child, that >He hath spared thee to thy parents. • Pliineas! Pliineas!” In answer to her call a man appeared at the door of the farmhouse, which was no great distance from the road. He was stout and grave-looking, with an air of prosperity and a remarkably quiet manner. Arra3-ed in quite a William Penn costume, knee breeches, homespun stockings, buckled shoes, and a broad-brimmed hat, with a tailed coat and a lengthy waistcoat of hoddengrey, lie looked a typical member of the Society of Friends. On looking enquiringly at his wife, he was furnished by Judith with a hasty account of her adventure and rescue by the stranger she had brought. The farmer did not lose his composed air, but his gratitude could be seen in his moistened e3 T es and in the hearty way in which lie shook Wain’s hand. “Thou hast been an instrument in the hand of the Lord, to save ms from sorrov r ,” said he, in deep, organ-tones, “and the Lord will requite thee, because thou hast fulfilled His purpose. Judith, child, go within to spread the table, if thou art able. Ruth- invite the stranger to our board.” “Nay, lie is no stranger,” the Quakeress, who was scarcely so composed as her grave -spouse; “one who has saved cur ew.e lamb is a friend to thee and me Pliineas, henceforth.” “So be it,” (remarked Verily, again shaking hands with Wain, and this was a wonderful sign of emotion with so solemn <af man, had tho reporter but known then, as he did later. “By what name are we to greet thee, friend?” “I am called Barrington Wain, and my occupation is that of a reporter.” Verily’s face clouded. “Thou hast come hither to report this wicked crime which hath robbed the wealthy ot life?”

“No! nol” Wain assured the good farmer. “I came down before BenEzra shot the man.” He purposely said this, so as to hear Verity's reply in defence.

It duly came. “Judge no man until thou art sure, friend Barrington.” “I am sure. I saw Ben-Ezra standing over tho body of his victim with the revolver in his hand.”

Verily nodded,, but did -not appear to be much disturbed. “I heard somewhat of this from ‘ John Corder, my ploughman, and Eliza Janies, the housemaid; .hut Lspeak not my mind until I hear more of ‘tho matter. Thou wert an eye-witness?” “No —not exactly. But immediately afterwards—”

“Ay, then I cannot accept thy testimony, friend Barrington,” said the Quaker, austerely ; “If thou didst not behold the Hebrew slay tho man, there is hope of his innocence. But this is idle talk while thou a.rt fasting. Co-me within and, break bread with us, and say how w© can repay thee for what thou hast done.”

“You can repay me by telling me all you know of Ben-Ezra,” said Wain boldly. Verily looked at him steadily. “Thou wilt hear naught but good of the Hebrew within the walls of my abode,” he said gravely. “Enter, I pray time.” “Ben-Ezra has one champion, at all events,” Wain muttered, while obeying. (To be Continued.)