ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3332, 26 September 1911, Page 3

ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM.

(By L. T. Meade, author of “A Son

of Ishmael.” etc.)

A RECORD OF PLOT AND PASSION.

CHAPTER LX

GONE

0.111 the night that Clara Tarbot faced - the awful fact that slie was not long for this world, that consumption had claimed her for its prey, and when she had also discovered that her -great secret was in jeopardy, and that at any moment her husband’s plans would be brought to utter, ruin, Mrs Ives was also restless and uneasy. Mrs Ives/ did not like sleeping in Luke Tarbot’s house. ‘.‘lt don’t suit me,” said the little woman to herself,, ‘‘a bed like this. I want my feather bed. I don’t- like these sort of springs under me—shaky and unnatural, and mighty like earthquakes they- seems to me. And I don’t like carpets all over the floor; unwholesome they is, they don’t let enough air in, and you can’t clean ’em often enough, and I hates heavy curtains to the winders. “Finery don’t suit me, nor luxuries— I weren’t born to ’em, and the worst of it is that Clary, my own- darter, don’t suit me neither. No, she nor her ’ouse ain’t my sort. I’ll get back to Cornwall as fast as ever I can go. If I don’t go away she’ll he after wringing a. promise out of me. Well, I just won’t make it—l’d- rather a deal lose the money. What’s money, after all, if it only brings you things like this? My word ! my old bones will be shook into a jelly .if T lie much longer on this bed. I can’t move without the- thing jumping under me. I’ll be c'ut of this house at dawn.” Mrs. Ives sat up in bed. The per-fectly-balanced springs annoyed her much; finally she rose and seated herself on a hard-bottomed chair. There were two or three easy chairs in the room, but she chose the hard and stiff one by -preference. “That’s it,” she said. “Now, I’m easy. I can turn and twist, and the thing don’t rock under me. Now I can think for a bit. Clary, my own darter, is a gen- me, I can see that. Well, I’ll be off afore she knows anything about it.” There' was a clock on: the- mantelpiece. Mrs Ives found herself watching the hours. The clock struck one, two, three ,then four. When it gave cut its four strokes Airs Ives began to tidy herself in -front of the glass. She was careful not to make tire slightest noise. “For Clary wor always a light sleeper,” she said to herself. She poured a little water with great skill and care into the heavy basin, grumbling at the weight and beauty of the jug as she did so. At each process of her toilet she objected more and more to the comforts which surrounded her. Having dressed and" once more arranged heir little black shawl and her neat poke bonnet, the old woman made for- the door. She took a- long time opening it, but she succeeded at last. Clara, who had 1 been awake until an hour before, was -now in a- heavy slumber. This wa-s her time for repose. Tarbot was not in the- house, the servants’ rooms were far away. Mis Ives stole like a thief in the night downstairs. Step by step she went, holding her candle higli and .looking straight before her. “Dear 'heart, what a gloomy sort of place! If this is what grandeur and ri-ches mean, give me poverty,” she muttered to herself. “Clary, you don’t get no promise out of me.” ■ By-and-hy she reached the- hall, and the next moment found herself standing by the door. It wa-s boitecj and chained but Mrs' Ives saw to her relief that it was not locked. She could manage to remove the bolts and chains. In a few seconds she was out- in the-, open air. She gave a little skip and spring of delight, and running down the steps walked- nimbly up the street. “I’ll walk to Paddington,” she said to herself. “I don’t know when the next train goes to Falmouth, but it’s sure to start early. Mr darter will be in a state,, but I -ain’t again-.’ to promise her, not I. I’ll take little Sir Piers back to Pelham Towers, that I will. I won’t hold that a-wful secret not another day.” Mrs Ives, busy with her thoughts, stepped cheerfully along. Presently she saw a policeman walking by.. She quickened her steps almost to a run and went up to him. “My good sir,” she said, “can. you tell me the way to Paddington?” The policeman- gave her directions a-nd she walked on again-. “I wish I had asked him when the next train started for Falmouth,” she said to herself, “but perhaps he wouldn’t ha’ known. Dear heart! how hunted Clary do look! She ain’t at all a nice sort. She never wor, and she grows less so as she- gets older.”

r Mrs Ives continued her walk.' From Harley street to Paddington was scarcely thirty minutes’ walk. She arrived at the great terminus soon after five o’clock, and found to her relief that a train started for Falmouth at 5.30. She took her ticket and as soo,n as ever she could seated herself in the corner of a third-class compartment. It was cold at this hour, but Mrs l Ives was made

1 of stern metal, and she- drank in the j keen air with appreciation. I A porter- was fijhning and she called out ta him. “ s '. r i docs thri. irfuvt-.arrive ..t: Falmouth, my good man ?” “Four-eighteen,” replied the man. “My word—*.a long time ! But never mind, I’ll- be there in time for his tea —bless ’im!” The porter did not know to whose tea she- alluded, but did not stop to inquire. “He alleys like his tea with me.” continued t-ho little woman, “and he shall have it to-night with a fresh egg and a little honey. Honey agrees with him wonderful. He’s a splendid child. 1 love ’im better than I loves- Clary. Clary takes after her father. My word, how thin and ugly she have grown-. I shouldn’t he surprised if she had caught he- consumption same as her father died of.” (To bo continued to-morrow).