ON THE BRINK OF A GHASM.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3313, 4 September 1911, Page 3

ON THE BRINK OF A GHASM.

(By L. T. Meade, author of “A Son of Ishmael.” etc.l

CHAPTER XLI. “YOUR EYES ARE BIG AND . BRIGHT.” When the boy was suund asleep Clara went into the room whore her mother was waiting for her. “Well, Clary, and how do you. think he is?”

“Splendid, mother. You have taken excellent caro of him, but you must go back with him to Cornwall to-mor-row.”

“He don’t like it; he’s mad to come back to his own folk. Why should he stay away from them?” “If he goes back you will lose your two pounds a week.” “Aye, there’s summat in that,” said the old woman.

“I love my bit of money,” she continued after a pause. “I don’t believe in. no bankses. I has my money in an old stocking at the back of the chimney. I has got a hundred and fifty pounds. When are we to go back, Clary ?’ “By the first rain to-morrow. It is sheer madness of you to stay here. If you do such a thing again, I must take the boy away and put him in the care of someone else, but I would rather he were with you, mother.” “You may as well leave him with me. I’ll look after him and tend him, and he loves me.”

“Well, mother, here’s five pounds over and above what I generally give. This will be plenty for your fare and the boy’s back to Cornwall, and I will send you three pounds a week in the future if you will look after him well.” “Three pounds a week!” said the old woman. “That’s twelve pounds a month—a deal of money—a deal! I’ll look after him a bit longer then, Clary, but don’t try mo too much, for I can’t abear his little cry of “Blood’s thicker than water, grannie; and if you knew who my people were you’d take me home, wouldn’t you, grannie?’ That’s his little cry, and he’s such a grand, brave little chap. ,1 don’t know what you’re after, but it’s evil, I make no doubt-. You ain’t- my sc-rt —you don’t go to your chapel reg’lar, and you d>n'» siy your prayers reg’lar. And chickgreen is your oomplexicin, and your fi -.-kies is spreading. Now I'll say good-night, for if you ain’t tired I am.” Mrs Ives held up her mouth, as she spoke, to Clara’s sallow cheek. The daughter scarcely returned her salfitation. Wrapped in thought, she left the house. She ran downstairs and let herself out, returning to the house in Harley street some time after one o’clock. As she stood on the steps fumbling for her latch-key, her husband confronted her.

“Where have you been?” “To see an old patient.” “I thought you had given up nursing.” “1 had a message from an old patient who wished particularly to see me—a message which I could not refuse.” “Your mother brought it to you, didn’t she?”

“How did you know my mother was flere, Luke?” “I saw you go out with her. What did she come about?”

“I have just told you she brought a message from a patient, Luke. I did not know you were curious.” “I aim not the least curious,” he replied. “To be curious signifies an interest in a person. As I do not take the slightest interest in you I am not curious. Now, I have much to do, and will wish you good-night.” “Good-night,” she answered. Husband and wife parted in the hall. Clara went very slowly up the broad flight of stairs. When she' reached the first landing she turned and looked back at Tarbot, he on his part looking up at her. The look she gave him back in return was full of an undefined and curious expression. It puzzled the man, and he thought over it a good bit as he sat in his study. “If I did not know that it was quite impossible,” he said to himself, “1 should say that my wife, the woman to whom 1 have given my name, for whom I 'have- ruined myself, holds some secret against me. What did she mean when she spoke of having the ace of trumps her hand ? If Clara turns against me I shall be lost. I hate her, but I must keep friendly with her, that’s evident. She would be faithful to me—poor soul!—if she thought I had the’least vestige of love for her. Can I feign what she wants and so get that ace of trumps from her? Shall I try?” ' . . . He sat with his head buried in his hands, and once or twice as the night advanced he started up and paced the Early in the morning she rose and went to her husband. He was still in his study.

Clara also scarcely slept that night, room restlessly.

He started up when Clara came into the ■ room. She- Was dressed witili- care', arid notwithstanding her sleepless night looked trim and fresh. As usual, she wore black, soft real lace encircled her thin white throat, and her head, with its crown of red hair, looked something like a tropical flower. She was a graceful woman, and the dress sh& now wore gave, her a special charm. - To Tarbot, whio had been experimenting, thinking hard, who was almost worn out in consequence, she suddenly appeared as almost a- vision of beauty. (To be To-morrow.)