ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3319, 11 September 1911, Page 3

ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

(By L. T. Meade, author of “A Son of Ishanael.” etc.) CHAPTER • “THERE’S A CRUEL SIN SOMEWHERE.” On leaving the lions© Mrs Ires w'alked quickly up the evenue. When, she Laid 'gone nearly a mile she met on© of the under gardeners. He was weeding and cutting the edges of the road. As her wont was, Mrs Ives dropped a curtsey right in front of him. “A’ternoon,” she said. The mami looked at her and nodded in reply.

“Fine day,” he said, after a pause

“Yes, fine day,” said Mrs Ives, “but you might speak to a body. In Cornwall' they speaks to a body when; a body curtseys. Isn’t that the manner with Devonshire folk?”

“I don’t mean, to be oncivil,” said the man. “Was there anything you wanted to ask, ma’am?” “I’d be obliged if you’d kindly direct me to, the family vault,” said Mrs Ives.

“What in the name of fortune for?”

“Curiosity, my young lad'. If I have a. failing it’s unbounded curiosity. I want to see the place where the kittle Sir Piers is lying till the trump of doom.’'

“Oh, if you really wish to see the family vault,” said the man, resting 1 on his spade as he* spoke, “you just take that turn there to the left and you’ll find yourself alongside the chapel. There’s a lyoh gate and a graveyard' all correct and proper. You goi through the gate and you’ll see the vault, in front of you.” “A big vault, Jl s’pose?” said Mrs Ives. “Yes, a, big square vault with a stone top. It’s mostly full by now.” “I don’t want to hear no more,” said Mrs Ives. “I’m curious by natur’, but I lias no taste for the ’rrors. I’ll be wishing you a good a'temoon.” She dropped another curtsey, and the man touched his bat and went on with liis work.

Mis Ives took the next, turning to her left. She went down a narrow path, and presently saw where the old chapel partly in ruins and partly well preserved, came into view. In the east part of the chapel services could be held, and were held on certain occasions. The old lyeli gate was in .front of her. She opened it and went through, and then walked up the path which led to the chapel. The chapel itself was open and she entered. The walls of that part which were still in preservation, were covered with brasses and monuments, seme vjery old-fasliioned, some more modern, but all to the praise and glory of the dead and gone Pelhams. In every direction there were monuments, and as she was looking some workmen were busy. They saw her and made way for her to pass.. A lovely tablet of the purest white marble was being erected to' the memory of little Piers. Mrs Ives began to speak to the men, but they were strangers and did not know anything about the child:

“It seems mortal sad for the young to pass away in iliedr first blush,” said Mrs Ives, turning to the head work man.

“It is that, ma’am, ' h answered. “And' where is this beautiful monument to- be placed, if I may venture to ask?”

“On this wall, in front of the familypew, just there,” said the man. “It’s young Lady Pelham has ordered it to be done. She comes to see how we are getting on: every day.” “Well, it’s a pretty simple design and no doubt worthy of the lamb' called so' early to his rest.” said Mrs Ives. She dropped another curtsey, not to the man but to the tablet, and went into the churchyard. There she' found the family vault and stood by it for a time.. An old man who was passing through the. graveyard camie up to. her. “Now I wonder was you present at the funeral of Sir Piers Pelham?” askMrs Ives,' dropping two curtseys. “Ye®, that I were,” he replied, “and it was the finest funeral we’ve had for many a. day. All the. county come, and there was a lot of crying and sobbing, but it- was. nothing to what tootle place that same night.” “What were that?”—she asked. ‘I like a good story,” she continued. She slipped her hand into her pocket, produced a shilling, and pressed it into the. man’s palm. He 1 pocketed it with a quick motion and turned and faced her. “I don't mind telling what I know,” she said. “The awful time was when the heir himself, the new baronet, came back.” “Sir Richard, you mean?” “The same. He come that night 3.11 alone, and he were in. a terrible state. He went right into the vault. He had a lantern with him', and down he went, yes, down the steps and into the vault. I stood near in. the dank trembling mighty, just ahint that yew tree, but he didn’t notice me. He went into the vault, and I saw the. lantern! lighting up the gloom. I heard him groaning to himself. He was in." mortal trouble if even you mg man were.” “It’s a. strange tale,” said Mr® Ives, “and affLictdn.’ He must ha’ been, a tender-hearted y'oung man. I’ll wish you a. good a’tcrnoon.” She left the little-churchyard and was soon on the high road. She reached Haversham station, in tiimei to catch her train, and very late the same night found herself home once more in. her little cottage in Cornwall. Piers wias asleep. As he lay on his small bed, with one arm flung above

| his clustering curls Mrs Ives, shading a candle, bent carefully over him. “The same,” she muttered. “The same shape of face, the true oval, most aristocratic, the mouth with its dimples and its curves—aye, it takes quality to' make a mouth like that. The brows,they look as if they was Cupid’s brows. I ha’ heard 1 the expression, it’s poetry and it’s beautiful. _The ’air dark and curly, and as soft as sil'lc. “Oh, he’s till© very same. Clary, what do it mean'? what do it mean? (To be continued.)