Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2664, 20 November 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

B y Fergus Hume.

■*“ . I | , “Tfiejew’s House,” | ■ , 9& ' , ' v ■ ' *2*

Author of the “ Mystery of a Hansom Cab, ” “ The Yellow Holly,” “ The & g Mandarin’s Fan, ” “ The Sealed Message, ” etc., etc., etc. £ »5* (All Eights Reserved)

CHAPTER XII

4 ‘Oh, this does very well, Susan,” replied tho young man, trying to be cheerful. “I really am not hungry. Don’t worry about me, as I am going out.” “I am delighted to hear that you are, my dear boy. You are always reading .those dull law books, „which is not exhilarating.” “I might say the same about your charities, Susan.” “Indeed, I find those most exhilarating,” said Miss Merton, quickly; “it is a privilege to labor amongst the poor.” “Not a very grateful task,” -aid Lancelot, looking at her lean neck and shoulders, revealed with painful distinctness by her evening dress. “I don’t expect gratitude, Lancelot. I never look for it. All I desire is to work amongst those who need help.” “Susan, you are killing yourself,” expostulated the young man. gently; “and now that-1 am making money you must go away for a rest. Look how thin you are and what dark circles you have under your eyes. You have lieljp-' ed me, my dear, so I .shall help you. I must repay—“l won’t hear of repayment,” interrupted the lean spinster. “It lias been a delight to do all I could for you. Think of what your grandfather did for me. I have only done what was right.” “Ah, that’s your sweet-hearted way of looking at it, Susan. But I repeat that now I am making money you must go away and get some pretty dresses and take up the life /you led when the General—” “No,” interrupted Mbs -Merton again, and shrilly; “I have changed since those days and the\' can never come back to me. I am a sinner and must work amongst sinners, so as to he’jp my Master.” Lancelot shrugged his shoulders. He knew that his aunt was a fanatic in religion, and frequently believed that he would one day find her dead with hunger, since she often took the bit out of her own mouth to feed some starving person. “It is no good your working in the vineyard, as you call it, until you drop,” he said softly: “even the Master must wish His servants to be healthy.” “Work while ye have the light, Lancelot, for the night comoth when no man can work!” cried the .spinster, vehemently. “Never mind rue, my dear boy, but think, of yourself and your future. You have acted nobly in forgiving our enemy, that Jew. I wish I could, but I cannot. I have prayed, but I cannot,” and she shut her mouth tightly, while the tears came into her poor laded eyes. “I fear I have not forgotten shim, either,” remarked Lancelot, “so you are a better Christian after all; Susan. And see here,” he rose and went to the sideboard, “I have brought home a bottle of port. You must have a glass.” , “Oh, Lancelot, the extravagance —” “Pooh, pooh! Can we not have a single glass of port to celebrate my success, as a barrister? The lean days are over, my dear, and now comes the fat ones.” “But the poor, Lancelot,” stammered the thin lady, looking longingly at the generous wine which beaded in the glass; “are we right to drink this when so many are starving? Should net the ( needy be comforted?” , -. V■ . “My dear Susan, I don’t know anyone more needy than we are, so let us be comforted by all means,” said Lancelot- " '■ v ' - •Thus .pressed, the spinster drank the; wine, and a generous glow spread, through her veins, so that in the rosy light.she began to look much younger and much more cheerful. Sorry for her anxious mind, and plea,sed that he had; cheered her up, Lancelot wished to put: off his visit to the farm, eager as lie was to go, hut this Miss Merton would not permit. 7 ■ . : “I am retiring to bed early,” she said, “as I feel rather tired.' Do go, my dear, as you have not been to see Judith for three days.” . “That is not like a lover, i.s it?”, laughed the young man, whom the ac-.;; tion of the wine endued with rose-co-' lored spectacles. “Never mind, I aim quite sure that Judith will forgive _<;e. She loves me, Susan.” i “And has every reason: to.” g '. • “You don’t think she’d marry anyone, else? Sir Reginald Dove, for instance ?” . ’ “Certainly not, certainly not,” cried ' Miss Merton, vehemently. “Whatever makes you think -that ?” .. , :; “Oh, nothing; only I heard a rumor, and—■ • “Never believe-rumors,” interrupted his cousin. “People teR lies. They •are all false and- cruel. :.1 Rate;'themall,” .and her eyes flashed. “Susan! Susan!” sajd Ashton, astonished by- her anger,. and thinking that the wine had gone to her head- . She calmed, down at once on seeing liis surprised face. “My rebellions . heart—oh! my ■ rebellious heart,”' she sighed. “I must go and ask forgiveness for my, sin. Good-night, my dear boy,” and she kissed him with cold H(PS. . ,g. ", , I"; I. - “But, Susan —, 1 “ “No! no! Speak no more, Lance-, lot. lam alone in the world, and shall . • ■ 7' ' r ■

AT THE FARM

Miss Cashell’s visit succeeded in making Lancelot extremely uncomfortable in two ways. In the first place, if the rumor she alluded to wa,s true, it might be that Ben-Ezra was guilty after all, and, by appealing to Baxley’s love for his child, had succeeded in shifting the blame on to innocent shoulders. Ashton did not relish the, idea of having secured the acquittal of a criminal notwithstanding that his forensic triumph meant great success in the near future. But then—in spite of what the governess said—he could not quite believe that Ben-Ezra was a murderer,, as his subtle mind would have led him to use more refined methods in getting rid of his enemy. After long cogitation, the young barrister dismissed a question which he could not answer. The sole (person who could solve the mystery was the Jew himself, and for his own sake he certainly would not speak cut. Therefore Ashton gave up all conjectures, and resolved to think no more of the matter. He quite decided not to call on BenEzra in order to forward the interests of the governess, since he had a great aversion to being in the same roo:n with his enemy, and knew that it would be difficult for him to keep his temper in the presence of a man whom he believed—and with some show of rcasqn —to be a scoundrel. Besides, Ashton saw no 'reason why he should induce the Jew to sell Tanbuok Hall through Miss Cashed, so that she .might secure Lady Dove’s co-operation for the marriage, since he cared very little whether tile fair Ida married Sir Reginald or did not. Certainly, if she married the young cub— r so Lancelot thought of the -vI.SA heir to the Dove honors —a stumb-ling-block would be removed from the path up which the hamster hoped to lead Judith to the altar. But Ashton could not believe that such a stumbling-block existed. He had implicit confidence in Judith, believing—and with every truth —that she loved him as passionately as he loved her. Whatever inducement might lie offered to the girl in the way of rank and wealth Lancelot believed that she would scorn them all in order, to lace poverty with him. He had no doubt about Judith’s answer to the amorous baronet, but, after Miss Cashell’s bints, he had considerable doubt concerning Verily. Hitherto Ashton had believed the farmer to he a plain, simple man, contented with his lot, and only too pleased that his daughter should marry the last descendant of the family which had owned Bruntlca before the plotting Jew came along to cheat and acquire. Had he overheard the conversation which had taken place between BenEzra and Verily in the office of the former, he would have been confirmed in his opinion. Blit, ignorant of what was going on behind the scenes to use the Jew’s metaphor—the young man felt perturbed lest Judith, driven bj the Quaker, should be forced into accepting Dove as a more wealthy and desirable bridegroom. He remembered Judith’s tears and her refusal to state their cause, and guessed that already Verily was persecuting his. daughter so that she might surrender all that Ido held dear. Ashton, ground his teeth as he reflected on the misery the girl must have suffered, and with charac—teristic boldness determined to take the bull by the horns and beard the lion m pj s den. In plain English, he arranged in his own mind to go to the farm ~ that self-same evening, and come to an understanding with Verily. If things were as Miss Cashed reported, then Lancelot swore that he would take Judith away and make her h:s wile without delay. He could trust her love to face poverty. And after all, this poverty would not now be of '‘>ng Ration, since two or three bneis ha a - ready arrived as an earnest of the future. Lancelot partook of his meagre dinner in silence when he arrived at Ins cousin’s humble abode. M:ss Merton "being desperately poor, and Ashton no earning much by his pen them men were generally Barmecnhan. It >s true that Ashton had' banked the tees "inch he had received for the conduct ■"f the murder case, and had handed Aker a goodly sum to his cousin lor Lahse-kclpiug expenses. But old habits House i - sed through many of peuuL i tb overcome, as SSn found, and the dnnmr much the same as. usual. H e IXeservod the gentle hah. o^lres, in g for the M something Se 'Y e t?cto two hungry pejfple arpatnet c to sit „> a iaye ? „f chops three potatoes, and a f?■ citifl oh this. occasion, preoc--1 ,vl with bis «» «*4 ?" P J did not comment On the meal. La! wwas noTWry hungry. But Miss as he was noi •> •, nee for annoy- • Merton mistook his silence w +in.t there was not a bette want of food. - >j „i m • “I am so sorry, Lancelot, dear s ~ . - “hut I have been so busy said, meeuly, t nnit« forgot amongst the that I q »

ever alone. I have much to answer for, so the punishment is just.” Ashton could not understand why she should torture herself in this manner, as she was as good and kind a woman as lie had ever met. “Susan, you nave me,” he said, reproachfully. “For a time only,” replied Miss Merton, lingering at the door. “Soon yon will marry and have your own home. All I wish for, all I.desire, is to see you happy, and occupying the position i you should have.” “As master of Tanbuck Hall? “The Jew has prevented chat, siv' flashed out; “he cheated you out of your inheritance. But the Lord, ’"ill repay him, and he shall not always escape punishment.” “He has escaped a great danger lately, at all events, Susan.” “Thanks to you, who aided your enemy.” “But I have not forgiven him,” • anl Lancelot, gloomily. “Nor I—and yet I should. But we are all weak mortals, and talking will not mend matters. Good-night, ihy dear. I am too weary to’talk more.” When she retired, Ashton sat down to finish his glass of port wine in rather a puzzled state of mind. Now that things were on the mend and he had set his foot on the lowest rung of the ladder which led to monied ease and to an assured position, lie thought that Susan Merton should rejoice. But she ivas one of those women —as he concluded —who never could be happy in this world, by reason of self-torture. In spite of her kind heart and constant self-sacrifice for the sake of other (peo-ple,-she nevev could gain that inward peace which she desired. All the money in the world could not buy it, so Lancelot confessed with a sigh that his success would not enable him to made her happy. To the end of her days she would continue to torment herself over trifles. Truly good people—thi.s was Ashton’s view—are rarely happy, as they are always striving to gain a perfection which constantly eludes them. The Pharisee and the hardened sinner alone enjoy ipeacc—but it is the peace which the world bestows. Poor Miss Merton did not seem likely to gain : <it to her soul until she off . her over-sensitive body, since the smallest slip on her part tormented her more than the greatest crimes of less aspiring people. But these thoughts soon gave place to a pleasurable anticipation of seeing Judith. In spite of his doubts about Verily and his fears for Judith’s jpre sent happiness, Ashton knew that a single hour with the , girl would ( give him sixty minutes of sheer delight. He hastily finished his wine, wrapped an overcoat round him, and went out to get his bicycle. In a few minutes lie was spinning along the well-known two miles which ended at the gate of Verity's farm. The night was dark and cold and there were few people abroad, notwithstanding it was hut eight o’clock. Lancelot did not mind the weather as he was on h:s way to Judith, and he spun along the hard white road under the bare boughs of trees, over crisp fallen leaves, and through an Egyptian darkness which might almost he felt. Shortly he arrived at the gate and saw the glow of the sittingroom window.

Then a disappointment waited him. Verily was at heme, but Judith had gone with her mother to see a neighbour, and would not be back until ten o’clock. Sorry as "Ashton was at the absence of the girl, lie yet recognised that it was better things should he asthey were, as he now had an opportunity of- talking freely to the farroci, and of thus getting at the truth. “I am glad to find you alone,” he * said, emerging from his heavy coat like a grub from ’ its chrysalis. “I want to ask questions.” “Sit thee down, then,” replied the farmer, heartily, and looking with an approving eye on tho stalwart figure cf the young man displayed so finely in his well-worn evening dress, “'lake out thy pipe and smoke.” “Thanks,” said Lancelot, sitting down in thelcomfortable armchair, on. the opposite side of the fire and filling his pipe carefully ; “it’s cold. ’ ;' “Seasonable i" Seasonable 1” was Verily’s reply, and then a silence ensued. Ashton, stealing glances at the farmer, thought , that Phineas had lost thejook of peace which formerly marked his large face. There were troubled furrows on the brow and a restless look in the eyes, quite at variance with his usual placid appearance. The young man took advantage of lii.s observation to learn what the old man really thought concerning Judith and her future. “You look worried, friend Phineas,’’ he said, slowly. The Quakeri nodded. “This H a world of trouble,” he said, with a sigh. : “Then why make more?” ‘‘l do' not understand thee, friend. Lancelot.”,.-

1 Ashton crossed his legs and settled himself comfortably, with his eyes on the farmer’s' troubled face. “Judith has been much worried .lately, for I have found her crying. She will iiot tell me the reason, so I am glad of the chance, of a conversation with you, to.; ask if—” - - - : “"Why not ask ■ the herself r, interrupted Verilyp fidgeting. “The child will not tell me',” , said Lancelot, drily; “however/ let me put the questions in another way. I have now "started on Avhat I trust will be a successful career. Don’t you think that Judith and I can marry ?” /; Tliou hast not yet acquired a'settled income,” said Phineas, uncomfortably. , , _ “H’m! I thought so.” “You thought what?” “That you would object.” Verily carefully placed some coal on the- fire. “'Why didst thou think that I would object?” “Because you don’t want Judith to marry me.”

“Why dost thou say that? C- whose authority—” • ■ > , “On the authority of Miss Ida Cash-

oil,” ' “The governess of- the Dove family, friend Lancelot?” queried Verily, uneasily. • Ashton nodded. “You must be aware, since many people have heard the rumor, .that Sir Reginald admires her?” “Yes; but not that lie wishes to marry her.” \ -. “Miss Cashell assures me that he does, or, rather, that he did until his wandering fancy was caught by the looks of Judith. Since that accident, I am told by Miss Cashell that Sir Reginald has been here very often, and—to be plain—seeks to make Judith his wife.” There was silence for a moment or so, then the farmer spoke hesitatingly, a ■ remarkable thing for him. “It is true, friend Lancelot, that the young man Dove hath ,sought the child’s society, but he hath said naught to me of making her his wife.” Ashton shrugged his so aiders, contemptuously. “Pooh! That is a mere quibble, Phincas. You know that if his, attentions were not honorable you would not allow him inside your doors.” “That is true. And what then?” “This,” cried Lancelot, the hot blood flushing his face, “that you must suspect Sir Reginald wishes to marry Judith, and are encouraging him, so that the girl may gain a wealthy title. Do you call that honorable, Pliinens, when Judith is engaged to me?” The farmer would have remonstrated indignantly, but a feeling in his heart told him that he was not acting, as he should act towards the young couple. To exonerate himself it would be necessary to explain what Ben-Ezra wished. “Thou must not ask me these, things, friend Lancelot,” he said, composedly, “but inquire of the Jew, Joab Ben-Ezra.” Lancelot rose from his chair as though moved by a spring, and stared at the homely old man with open eyes and mouth, scarcely able to speak. When he did-find hi.s breath, it was to gasp. “Ben-Ezra,” lie breathed, choking with anger, “and what has that infernal Jew got to do with Judith or me ?” “'Softly, softly, frieml Lancelot; thy impetuosity doth betray the hot blood of, youth, and the oath thou hast used—” “Ob, the deuce take your preaching,” interrupted the young man, iuriously; “you are acting dishonorably towards me and Judith, and yet try to rebuke me. I won’t have it, Phineas. And if any other man,” cried Ashton, in fiery tones, clenching his first, “had dared to talk -and act as you are Hiking aud acting, or had dared to say that you would behave in this way. 1 should have struck him across his lying mouth.” “Friend 'Lancelot,” said Verily, striving" to retain his calmness, which was difficult in spite of liis religion and training, “thou art too hasty. First. I must explain why I act with .such apparent baseness. That the young* man Dove admires Judith, and hath '.•me here at times, is known to mo. I would have taken steps to forbid his visits, but Joab Ben-Ezra asked me to permit the same, and, indeed, to encourage them. I owe the Hebrew much, and, moreover, lie assures me that he plans the child’s good". Therefore have I done as he asked me. Yes,” said Pbkuas. rising slowly, “I have even advised my child Judith to wed with the young man Dove, so that what the Hebrew desires may be bro, light about.” “The marriage, of Judith with Dove, I suppose,” .said Ashton, scornfully. “Nay,'for that would make the maid 'unhappy, and Ben-Ezra assures me that he seeks the child’s peace oi mind.” “But what does it all mean? What right has Ben-Ezra to—” .“Friend Lancelot, I may not ans--Aver thee, because' I cannot. But I tell thee that this Hebrew bath a greater right to detect the doings' of Judith than :have, I.” • . "“On-what grounds?” ' : 7 “Ask the maiden herself, for she knowetb, and even now approachetli.” >- \ - (To he Continued.) - .