Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 67, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 March 1910 — The Quest of Betty Lancey [ARTICLE]

The Quest of Betty Lancey

By MACDA F. WEST

CHAPTER XVIIL "If that isn’t a wireless I’m hearing. I never heard one,” quoth Johnny. The trio had taken refuge below, xs ths rain was falling heavily aqd there was no cabin accommodation above. x "I learned the code, you know, coming over,” he confided to Betty. "Wonder what they’re fraying? Listen.” Johnny’s knowledge was not very extensive. He deciphered the words “Tyoga,” ‘great haste,” "make all efforts to save life,” and “H. H.” “Well, we’re on the trail of the story, anyhow,” he cheerfully mused. “That ■ought to be some consolation.” All night the three' were crowded 't a space not big enough for two of them. The yacht made good time, and when it finally stopped with a jolt, Meta sought them out and bade them go ashore. They were landing at the wharf* of what might have been a conventional English seaport country place. At the and of a driveway, over which everybody limped except City Editor Burton, who Benoni had left tethered in ths yacht, rambled a pretentious house of Gothic architecture. A modern glass covered piazza was built along ■one side of the place, and as they mounted the steps Betty recognized within this enclosure Tyoga in cap and apron, in charge of a pair of children, approximately 9 and 10 years old. The boy was the larger of the two, a slight dark lad, with a petulant expression and awkward movements. Later Betty saw this awkwardness was caused by a deformity of the hip. The- girl was plainer of face than her brother, but her figure had the perfect symmetry of all wild things that live in the open air.

Tyoga was mending a white garment, but at sight of the pilgrims she dropped her work and went forward to greet them, leaving the children staring after her. She bowed before Betty and the two ether Americans, kissed Meta warmly en the cheeks, and embraced Benoni passionately: —Wheirthese two were together the. relationship of mother and son was easily discernible. “Ah, so you came safely away,” she sighed, in a relieved manner. “I was so alarmed. Hamley came home this morning. He and the old man had a dtiWclful argument. They are upstairs' now. It has been frightful. But you must not mind. I do not know what I am going to do with the children. They are getting so old now, I can’t put them off with fairy tales any longer. It is racking.” She to Betty. “I’m glad your friends found you. Poor child! The strain on you has been terrible, but the . snarl is nearing its end. You shall soon see.” The Interior Of the house was as conventional as its exterior. Betty, Larry Morris and Johnny felt that the penumbra of mystery was at length being pierced by the return of reason. "But if Mr. Wayne finds these people here he may. kill them,” objected Benoni. “He shall not see them,” assured Tyoga. “Nor Hackleye, neither, They And the children must all be out of eight before he comes down stairs. Since she is dead Hackleye cannot abide the sight of the children any more. And all her things—he wants them out of sight down here, yet he Ilves in her old rooms. Take them to the north wing, Meta, and, I will bring, the .children.” The north wing had four bedrooms, * sitting room, and a small alcove. It was done in English chintz, and several canaries sung and swung in. the windows. In Betty’s roojn had been placed garments more conventional than those she. wore, and a dozen little toilet conveniences, not the least welcome of which was a box of “hairpins in assorted She lingered long at her dressing—why shouldn’t she have done so? In all this time she had not been so near the accustomed> luxuries of life. The bath tub was a delight, the brushes, creams and powders brought back visions of civilization, and even the makeshifts for fashionable clothing were a comfort. True, the skirt latd out was plainly Tyoga!s and needed a dozen reefs and tucks; but for a waist there was an old-fashioned polonaise, and this was better suited to Betty’s size. When she was finished she really felt proud of herself, and awaited the reunion with the boys in the sitting room with great anticipation. They had fared better in the matter >f clothes, though Johnny’s trousers were too long and Larry’s were at half-mast. While they criticised, commented, and compared the children burst in upon them. The boy limped quietly in, but the girl stormed through the doors like a whirlwind. "Where -you live when you were a little girt?" she flashed at Betty. "Did they always have something doing around that you couldn’t see into?” “Of course they did,” said Betty. •Those things always happen when you’re children.” "But I, dqn’t believe it was like it is here," persisted the ' ph lid. "Here things are so funny, they make you creep if you don’t want to. You. needn’t scowl, brother, you know it’s true. Anybody can see it And why did these people come here in those skin clothes ? And wtjy has Tyoga been so worried? And why won’t papa see us, and where Is mother? Do you—oh, tell me—do you, think our mother's dead?” the child cried, flinging herself in Betty’s lap. “We had the loveliest mother, and she’s been, gone for so long!” • “What was your mother’s name, dear?” questioned Betty, though she

knew before she asked, and felt ashamed of the query. She had the hot little head pressed close to her shoulder and could feel the rising sobs. The boy had gone over tp the window arid was tapping it moodily with his fingers. “She was Mrs. Cerisse Wayne Hackleye,” replied the child K “but we just called her mother.” Betty’s tears mingled with those of the little girl. “I don’t know, dear,” she answered. “Wait till we get a post and then we’ll know.” “That’s what Tyoga always says,” continued the child.- “But the post never comes here any more. What’s your name?” “Betty Lancey.” * “And his’n?” “Mr. Johnson.” “And his?” “Mr. Morris.” "Mine’s Paula, and brother’s is Walter Hamley,” announced the child. “We just call him Walter, though. He’s awfully shy, is brother. He doesn’t wear mother’s picture any more; he-says she’s been gone so long Jhat she doesn’t love us or else she’d come back. But that isn’t so; Tyoga went away for a long time, but Tyoga came back. This is mother, see?” She opened the locket around her neck and displayed to Betty the now familiar face of Cerisse Wayne. It was such a beautiful, lovely, mocking face, but it wasn’t a good face! Betty couldn’t held acknowledging that to herself even as she made her bow to the witchery of the painted features before her. There was nothing of the mother there.

“I hate this place,” went on Paula. "I don’t like the blacks and I don’t like, the quiet that’s always here. Papa, said he’d take us to England, but since mother -went away he never talks of that any more. Papa doesn’t seem to love us like he did. He was away, too. He’s just come home. And set cross! Why, the other day he stepped on one Of' my guinea pigs and killed it, and then he killed another and took and drowned the whole pen full of them in the river. \He used to be so good.” "Paula, you’ve talked enopgh,” chided the boy. “These folks don’t care.” Larry proceeded to make friends with Walter, and Betty and Johnny kept .Paula amused with a wonderful- game of ball that you make out of your handkerchief and twirl around from one to ahother on two hat pins. Gradually Larry and Walter got into the furt, and the. revel was at its height when Le Malheureux came into the room. "Le Malheureux!” cried Betty, and stretched out her hand in welcome. But the shrouded figure stood aside. “Excuse me, please,” he protested, "gq these arfe your friends? Now they have found- you, I hope they may be able to see you safely home again. I will ask of you, too, a favor. Will you take these two\helpless children with you? They belong to my sister, Mrs. Hackleye, known to you as Mrs. Wayne. I wish, they may go to their father’s people in England. There is no one else who can take care of them and they mustn’t stay here any longer. No,” reading the question in Larry’s eyes, “the father is not dead, but he is not well. And it is best for them to go.” s "When can we go?” blurted Larry, "and where is the father? Didn’t he ki ” Betty threw the ball at Larry, and it struck him squarely in the mouth, Interrupting the question on his lips. “Judge not,” cautioned Le Malheureux. "I will dine with you later, after the children have gone to bed.” The remainder of the day was a catechism by the children. They devoured their strange visitors with questions about the country they had never seen,•wondered if they would meet the(r mother, made a thousand childish plans for the voyage, and drew lots as to which of their pets they would take with them. Discussion as to the relative merits of white mice over guinea pigs and peabocks was bordering on belligerency when Tyoga carried the juveniles away to the room that did duty as a nursery and left their impatient elders to kwait the coming of Le Malheureux.

X CHAPTER XIX. ■She clock In the room told ten, and he was not yet there. The children slept and Betty ayid her companions moved restlessly from room to room Had it not been for Johnny, Larry and she might have been exchanging a thousand queries as to “when did you first begin to love me," and "do you remember that time?” but as it was they tried to be unselfish and make general conversation and, as is usual in such cases they only succeeded in having everybody miserable, Johnny as well as themselves. Angry voices sounded from the corridor. • Orfe, unmistakably that' of De Malheureux, the other that of an older and a mode-irate jnan. They extinguished the lights, and Betty cautiously stealing to the door PU,t her eye to the keyhole and her eat to the crack. Gut Tn the hall was Le Malheureux, with him a bent old man, white-haired and saffron-skin-ned. The old man leaned totterlngly on a staff. "I hate you, hate you, a thousand times ..more than I ever have done before, oh wretched son!” he shrilled. “Vile that you are!” * . “You cannot, father,” Interrupted the -harsh voice of Le Malheureux, In a sorrowful Intonation. "You have long

condemned me to tortures. What lam you made me.” The. two walked slowly dqwn' tho corridor. Motioning to Larry and,BettX;J«o await hlg'-peturn Johnny followed in j’ their wake.' Through the main building and across to the south room wing they went, stopping in what was evidently the old man’s sitting room, JThere the discussion broke out afrefrh. "I hate you, I say— A thousand times more," repeated the old man. “tlnfilial son! But I have outwitted you! My cohorts, my good black negroes, any one of theifi worth a thousand such sons as you, have found out your secret castle, the gate to those bonanza fields where the diamonds He so closely bedded together that a needlepoint could not separate them. lam free of you now, forever, free;' do you understand? That wealth that yqur mother and young aunt so long denied me is mine, mine and Cerisse’s. Ah, there is devotion for you, devotion for you! She is a girl after my own heart! What vfin! What nerve! What nerved fool like you, and you, my son! Bah! Now that I have the path to tho mines, now that I need him no longer, Haokieye may go, and his children with him if he wishes. They are but poor offspring for my beautiful daughter to own. Small wonder she never loved them. Nor him either. Her heart has long been with one man, and now with all this new wealth she shall have' him. Money buys anything! Diamonds are money! Cerisse shall be rid of this Hackleye. I hate him, too!” ’ Another figure stepped out of the darkness. . Johnny recognized the early morning visitor he had trailed from the Desterle into the Flanders mansion, months before. “Don’t believe that for. a moment,'* this man rasped. “You blithering old fool you! Cerisse is dead! Do you hear! She’s dead! Dead!” The old man dropped his staff and fell back into the arms of Le Malheureux, who led him to a seat near by. ‘JHackleye, Hackleye!" wailed old man, “you didn’t—you didn't You didn’t kill her?” Hackleye pulled a roll of newspaper clippings from his pocket and dangled them before the old man’s eyes, and spread them out on the table before him. With qUTvering lips the stricken man read, punctuating each sentence with a moan. He saw the headlines only, then flung the papers from him and tried to reach Hackleye with his staff.

"And you, you—” he malevolently called to Le Malheureux, “why did you not prevent it?” "How could I?” answered Le Malheureux, “and why should I? You know what Cerisse was, father. A murderess at heart, and my own sister. My mother's daughter!” “Yes, and mine,” snarled the old man. “Where are those brats ofc Hackleye’s? I'll kill them—kill them, I tell you!” Le Malheureux rang sharply on a bell. Benoni entered from the hall, and together they bore the old man from the room. Hackleye gathered up ths clippings and With darkenthg brow paused before the portrait of the two children on the wall before him. Opposite was a life size painting qf the mother, and his wife—radiant, smiling as she had. been in her early girlhood, and when she had listened to the ardent love-making of her future husband. As the man looked the frown vanished. A breeze stealing in from ths window swayed the portrait forward on the wall. With outstretched hands and lips apart the girl In the picture seemed to move towards the weary man, to offer him the roses she held in her hands. The dim lights completed the illusion. Hackleye sprang forward to embrace the girl in the picture, soft words upon his lips. “Sweetheart, sweetheart,” he cried, "You’ve come back to me. I know it, and you’ll never go again, will you, dear? Just piy girl again, just mine, just mine He had touched the canvas now and its clammy surface woke him from his dream. Hurling it back against the wall, Hackleye snatched a jeweled knife from the table, and slashed the canvas into finest fringe. “And all for love of a wpman,” quoth Johnny to himself, as Hackleye tinseling rushed down the corridor in a blind rage and almost knocked himover. (To be continued.)