THE GRIP OF GOLD.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3587, 29 July 1912, Page 3

THE GRIP OF GOLD.

By ROBERT HALIFAX.

(Author of “Tho Drums of Fate” “The House of Horror,” “A Woman in Their Web,” “Law Society,” j ect., etc.} i (Copyright—All Rights Reserved.) CHAPTER XXIX. DO YOU WISH TO GET RID OF ME? Not in-that way! The soft words reached him with a significance that no man could mistake. Her eyes watched him—watched him as is ready to light up with tender passion or a tigerish defiance —according to his answer. Vaguely he read it all. She had allowed herself to be carried by eagerness just over the border line of prudence. How much of it might be true, lvow much of it might be the effort of a superb actress whom he could admire while he scorned, he would not stay now to ask himself. He was perfectly calm now, but ho was upon the one firm strip of ground in a quaking morass. - He kept his face as a mask. He bowed courteously. “Set your mind at rest, Miss Cottrell. • I shall respect as a sacred confidence what- you tell me to-night. I am prepared to learn that my late uncle’s perversion of ideas did not stop at that; in fact, I am prepared for anything that could happen. Doctor Lancing can according to his own discretion. 1 will speak for myself. Should such a paper come to light in due course, it will he torn to pieces —as it deserves to be!”

“And his money—ah!” She had put out the long white arms as if unconsciously. Tho sharp breath flashed from her lips like a finality. “What of that? I am to go, knowing that I "have robbed you of that!”

“Not at all. You are to remain here as long as you wish—as long as is necessary for your purposes. Forget all the rest! Any court of law would find that such a paper had been dictated or written by a person not mentally responsible. I will not keep you longer. I came to this room—l came—”

He paused. No—no; lie could never say now what lie had 'knocked to say. And she saw it. She had rutled close, as his hand reached for the door. Inward despair will sweeten the coldest face. It transfigured Judith Cottrell’s face at that moment, as rihe put her hands upon his shoulders, and whispered: “You have lied, to spare my feelings. Own that! Be a man to-night —as lam a- woman! You came here with another purpose, but your courage failed you. You had not expected I should have taken it so to heart. Speak!”

“I can speak, and quite truthfully,” he replied, his own hands drawn back. “I meant to say that I feared Miss St John was ill—that she had been left alone' in her room. You, as a capable nurse, were the first person I turned to in a difficulty—as you asked me yesterday to do. That is all!”

“Ah!” she breathed. She stood, so that he could not turn. “Shall I go ? Do you wish to he rid of me, in your heart? Say it, at once!”

“What do you imply?” he whispered. He was growing sterner, and yet lie felt himself weakening under those eyes. “You know! Tell me what it is to be between us. As lam placed, you must. It is my woman’s right—you shall!”

“Well, then”—he* back her arms steadily—“if what I have said is not sufficient, I can only add that it rests between yourself and Miss St John how much longer you remain in this house—her house!”

He went out. He would not look back. The .clear air of the corridor seemed to fan him like a cold wind; he felt like one who had stood in a drugged chamber. He had turned down the western passage. His- hand was upon the door of his own room, when he hard that swift rustle of skirts, and the staccato commanding breaths behind.

“Mr Spun*! One last word! Hear this !”

He could have feigned a deafness, and escaped; but it was not in him to think of that. He swerved round. She had followed him—paused by the window some feet away, through which a shaft of the moonlight struck across her face. A queer sensation crawled through tho man’s veins—a prescience of trouble deeper than he* could realise to-night. He found himself listening in sick fear for the opening of some door, to tell him that her words had been overheard.

“One word!” she panted. “It rests with you, and you alone. You have my heart’s secret—wrung from me in that moment of weakness. If you 'hate me utterly for coming here to say that, remember that it was you -\yiv- if-'-i ’be to—-to know that 1 had a heart!”

He was dumb. He could only wait for the next withering, entreating breath.

“Vr>n. T-'n .-■HoW'-'l me to spsgk —- to think that you knew all! You spoke last night as though—as though you understood. God! —how shall I put it ? And then you thought again You had seen another woman’s face here. Need I name her? Yon had seen the face of a woman who had set herself—pledged herself—to gain your affections. Yes! You have led me

into the most terrible position that a

woman can know. And now I am to go!” One) more pause. Then the man found his voico, and answered;—. “So bo it, Miss Cottrell. Perhaps it would be best for all concerned—best <f we let +T>is matter a? if begin, f have -nothing more to say—although until this happened I had much to say to you upon other questions. Let them go! lam honestly -sorry, if I ever gave you cause to take up this attitude. That is all.” , “Yes,” she whispered. “You’re a man; you can forget it all to-morrow. I’m a woman—l never shall!” For one last moment she stood facing him, the moonlight playing over her half-smiling, scornful face. Then —then the swish of her gown was dying down tho corridor, j No one had heard. No one would be likely to know. And yet—the words had been spoken, and could never be taken back! (To-be Continued Daily.)