THE GRIP OF GOLD.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3588, 30 July 1912, Page 3

THE GRIP OF GOLD.

By ROBERT HALIFAX.

(Author of “The Drums pf Fate,” “The House of Horror,” “A Woman in Their Web,” “Law Society,” ect., etc.) (Copyright—All Rights Reserved.) CHAPTER XXX. I THOUGHT THERE WAS A LIKENESS! Gloaming! Gloaming, filled with the scent of stacked hay and sweet briar, heavy with the breath of golden poppies—divinely hushed l save for an occasional distant gunshot or rattle of wheels, the laugh of homing workmen, the bay of a hound in some covert. Away, inland, the furnace of chimneys at Barrowdene were sending up crimsoning pillars of smoke against the sky. Here, down in the hollow, Felcotc lamps were beginning to twinkle and east shadows; hut from that picturesque point where the. road took its first dip downwards softest amber glory could still he seen dying behind the woods. Its reflecting caught upon a stately red-brick villa with white facings, standing in splendid isolation well back from the main road. Words cut into a burnished name-plate could bo clearly read—“ Doctor Gilbert Lancing.” And a woman had paused to read them.

Tall, and slender, with the swift, sinuous grace of refinement, and walking as with a fixed purpose, she had halted close against the brier hedge in front. Her intent gaze moved along to the wide bay window on the left. A flame of light had just shot up in there, and for an instant the interior of the room was laid bare, Then some hand let slip a rose-colorcd blind and shut it out-

The watching woman half-turned, one hand plucking meditatively at the strip of velvet around her throat, her thin lips curved in the suggestion of a bitter smile. Then —then a tremble had run through her from head to foot.

From that wide room just eclipsed a. sudden ripple of music had come. Skilful, confident fingers had swept the length of a piano keyboard. Now hack again, with alternating minor chords that rang out as with a sense of power and triumph. The flood of true notes swelled and swelled, like a crescendo prelude to the outburst of some waiting choir— to glide softly into one of the simple,-wailing waltz melodies. A man's voice struck in; a full, practised tenor voice. She listened for the words, lier face a study, her breast as still as though no heart .beat within. Now there came a lull. She waited a minute, then caught up her skirt, took a swift little rush Ijetwoen rhododendron clumps towards the door, and pressed the bell-push. She put her ear to tlio glass panels. A man's rich voice inside, that had been rising in a laugh, broke off as the electric bell sounded. A pause; then the do or went back, a trim maid appeared. The eyes of the woman outside scanned her coldly, contemptuously, through the veil meshes.

‘•Well!” she breathed sharply. “I cannot see your master out here!” “Oh, I beg your pardon ! Step this way, please. What —what name shall I give?”

“None! Why should you? I mightbo an utter stranger!”

“Yes, madam. But lie —lie expects me to know the name before I knock.’’ “Ah!” She gave a low little laugh- “ Sister Judith Cottrell, you can tell him.”

“Ay, of course! Excuse me for not recognising you, Miss. You —yon loked so different- in this light ! ’

She disappeared. Sister Judith, always a woman who could wait, was not the one to follow her. 'There was a suppressed sound of voices, the soft closing of a door—Two doors—and then the maid re-appeared, slightly breathless.

“Could you possibly leave it for tonight, Miss? Doctor Lancing happens to be engaged.” “Very well! I can stand here and await bis pleasure.” “I mean,- it was my mistake, Miss. The doctor is not in. just at present.” Judith Cottrell’s cold, erect figure turned in the twilight of the waitingroom. Her low, level voice gave no note of doubt or surprise. “I see. Perhaps I will not- trouble him, after all. Might I ask whose photograph that is? —whom it repreRents, I should say?” The maid stared at her, turned up the light, and peered forward at a rich green plush and gilt frame over the mantel-shelf. “That?” Why, isn’t it Miss St. John, the young lady up at the Manor?”

“Really? To bo sure, yes? I thought there was a- likeness, and yet f couldn’t quite understand Miss St. John’s picture being—here. Thank you; good evening-”

■She moved out in her tranquil, selfcontained way, and paused again in the same spot by the hedge. Through a still cluster of yellow roses she watched that window on the left. Minutes passed; she had nob moved. And then of a sudden it rang out afresh—that masterful ripple along the piano keys. As if she could see the man sitting in there, Sister Judith put out her hands slowly. “Devill”, she vrliispored. ' “And devils make devils!”

Back to the house* door she wad

sweeping. This time she used the brass knocker. - SY The door fell back. The maid stared into the veil. “Thank you I Doctor Lancing is in now, land will see me.” Just that icy, commanding little breath, and she was moving past down the passage, and had tapped at the door on the left. The watching maid stood with parted lips. "Sister Judith’s manner was the manner of the DeathAngel come with a. call. “Eh?’ came Gilbert Lancing’s bland voice, tinged with impatience. “What is it now?” No answer. Sister Judith, her veil thrown up, stepped back and watched the maid. It- might mean nothing, but it was a fixed, freezing expression that number any sound just then. “Confound it!” rang out from the room. “I say, who is there?” And this time the level, passionless voice replied for itself. “Merely a woman. Somc-one you did not think to see.”

He took two leaps, threw back the door, and was staring down into those deep green-grey lakes —the eyes of Sister Judith Cottrell. It was a shock; a red wav© of anger ran up into his fair, delicately-carved-face. “Hush!” she said, quietly. And he bit bis lip, remembered himself, and bowed deeply. “Miss Cottrell? Forgive my utter surprise anti seeming rudeness 1” “Yes?” she said, watching him. “That will do very well for the servant to hear!’’ And he turned to the wide-eyed maid.

“Don’t- stand staring. My mistake • —you can go!” His consulting-room was opposite. Ho opened that door and went in. He tiptoed back, and beckoned. But the coldly-still figure had not- moved. “Oh, no, thank you!” Looking at him, khc seemed to suffocate a little laugh. “1 come to-night as a guest, not as a patient. At least lam a patient —and it may need all your cleverness to heal me!”

His blue eyes wore blank as hje ushered her into the handsome- room with its rose-colored blind, its wliite-and-gold furniture, its subtle scent of Turkish cigarettes, its atmosphere of fastidious refinement- Now the door had closed, and the world shut out. He was so far lost to 1 himself that lie forgot even to push forward a chair. Mechanically Sister Judith unclasp-ed-her dust-cloak. It slid down to her foot with a silken rustle. >he stood with tier back to him, in tlio attitude of one whose purpose was so deep that for a moment she would not trust herself to speak. Possibly, too, there was a back-mist of memories too exquisitely bitter-sweet to lie masked in an instant. 'Then she slowly wheeled round, with a low, smiling irony cut the silence like a knife. “Yes; you shall receive me for once as, not so hopelessly long ago. you would have given up your hope of hereafter to receive me. And it may depend upon you to-night- whether I chocs? to bury all iny illusions in one grave, or -whether I drive you out of Felcotc and follow you over the world like the shadow of my dead self. For once in your golden career yon will leave your bed of down, "ion are face to face now with a woman whom you took to the edge of a precipice and hoped to leave there. Understand, Gilbert?”

“It is plain enough for a beginning” ho said, clearing something from his throat-.

He stood as if watching a claw that lay sheathed in velvet. She was glancing around his room, her lip curl-

ing as she took in its superb, artistic modernity. Then, to break the strain, he moved towards a table. A dish of walnuts lay there; he placed one beneath the silver nut-crackers. And the crackling sound at such a moment seemed to send a blasting flame of passion through the woman’s body. dYitli a moan she swerved round to face him. stripped of all her self-possession, her voice thin and strained. (To be Continued Daily.)