People's Pilot, Volume 4, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 September 1894 — THE OLD MILL MYSTERY [ARTICLE]

THE OLD MILL MYSTERY

By Arthur W. Marchmont, B. A.

Aatbw ol “Miser Hoedley’s Secret,** “Madeliue Power,” “By Whose Hand,** “Im,” Ac., Ae. [Copyright, 1592, by the Author.l CHAPTER XXV— Continued, “You want to anger me, Savannah,” •aid Mary, at length; “and if it were for myself that I am pleading you would have succeeded. But in this «ause I have no feeling but determination that the truth shall come out. I want to win'you to speak the truth for no reasons but love of the truth. Why will you persist ip keeping silent?” “Oh, don’t sit maundering and drivelling there. Go away. It’s a pity you’re not both going to be hanged instead of only one of you. If you want • reason why I don’t mean to go up •nd tell what you call the truth, and I call lies, I’ll give you one. I hope Tom will be hanged. When it’s over he’ll be a great deal happier out of the •world than in it, especially with you,” and she laughed again. “That’s the reason of a mad woman,” •aid Mary, firmly and deliberately. In a moment all the assumed calmness of the other vanished. She tossed ■the work from her to the ground and, with a fierce wrath blazing from her eyes and flaming in her cheeks, rose •nd faced the other. “Take care! Take care! You may gc too far,” she cried, stretching out 2»er hand and threatening Mary. “There is a limit to my patience, and if you go too far I won’t answer for mytaelf.” Mary returned her fierce, burning, threatening glances with steady, unflinching gaze, watching every movement the other made.

“You will not frighten me,” she *aid, quietly. “I tell you again that lif the reason you give for your strange »nd guilty silence is what you really think, you are a mad woman. The proper place for anyone who takes pleasure in the death of a fellowcreature is the place from which Lucy Howell escaped—a lunatic asylum.” In an instant the other reeled as if Under the force of a viglcnt blow. Then *he recovered herself and, glaring ■vengefully at Mary, with a storm of passion disfiguring her handsome face: “You she-devil, what do you mehn?” The words came from between her clenched teeth, and, rushing suddenly and swiftly upon Mary, she seized her iby the throat, as though to strangle Iher, shaking her violently in the fierce frenzy of furious wrath that possessed ber. CHAPTER XXVL AT BAY. The struggle between the two girls was short and sharp. Mary was like a child in Savannah’s grasp, and having been caught unawares had not even power to call out. After a single effort she ceased to resist, and concentrated all her power to prevent herself from yielding to fear and from losing her presence of mind. Savannah’s flood'of passion ebbed almost as suddenly as it had risen. Her hands relaxed their hold, and, letting the other slip from her grasp, she hid her face and burst into a storm of tears. Mary felt instinctively that was just the Critical momeat, in which the greatest tact was necessary if she was to hope to accomplish the object of her visit; and she waited in silence for Savannah to speak. Impulsively the latter dashed the tears from her eyes, and turned to Mary. “Why do you come here to try me like this? Why do you say such things to provoke me and drive me out of all self-restraint? Go away. If you are hurt I am sorry; but anyone would flare up at being called such things. You brought it on yourself. Go away.” “Will you not say what you know about Tom, Savannah?” asked Mary. “1 am sorry, very sorry I angered you. Hut if you will but speak what you know, we can forget all this." Savannah cast a quick, furtive, auspicious look at Mary, which the latter affected not to sep. “I cannot, I catinott” she exclaimed, ■wringing her hands and weeping again. “You do not know —you cannot know. I cannot.” “You cannot! Why not? Who's to prevent you? It is only the truth that I want you to tell,” said Mary, astonished at her answer. “I have told the truth. Tom was not with mo. d never spvf him that night. I did not. I didin#- I did not.” Sh«- repeated the Word?; rapidly, and shook her head like a child the While. “Yes, you did,” returned ilary, •almly. "And what is more, it will be

proved that you were together; and 11 you persist in swearing what is not true you will be put in prisonyourself.” “Have you not had warninff enough?" Savannah said, angrily. v “Do yon want me to do yon a real misehief? Go, before Ido it. I won’t be forced to speak by yon or anyone. Go away,” and she pushed back the chair on which she sat as if making ready for a fresh attack. Mary’s heart sank then. “I have tried to be your friend, Savannah, and yon won’t let me,” she 6aid, resolutely. “It is not my fault if yon drive me to other steps. The story you can tell is necessary to prove Tom's innocence, and tell it you shall, If it has to be dragged from you. I know your secret, and, if you will not speak without my using it, then I warn you I shall use it. I will give you till tomorrow night to make your decision.” Savannah sprang to her feet. “Go!” she cried. “You dare to threaten me? If you want to leave this room alive go at once, or I’ll twist my fingers round your throat again, and not to release them.” “I am going,” answered Mary, quite Steadily. “But remember what I have said. I shall keep my word, and with that she left. Mary hurried home, and when she reached there she began to feel the effects of the interview. “Gibeon was right,” she said to herself. “Savannah is mad, and probably she is Lucy Howell. But how is that to help us, supposing she will not speak?” Then it flashed upon her that this «onfirmation*of Gibeon Prawle’s story was also jl proof that he had been making Inquiries; and that she had Wronged him in supposing he had been merely wasting the time in order that Tom might get convicted. This brought about a fresh revulsion of feeling. If Gibeon was really anxious to get Tom acquitted, i£ seemed perfectly clear that he himself could not be the murderer, since, as he himself had sa.id, he would have been a fool to interfere and run the risk of drawing attention and suspicion to himself. Next day she caught sight of Savannah walking in the direction of the mill. She was not at her looms, however, and when Reuben Gorringe came to speak to her during the afternoon Mary asked him whether he had seen Savannah. “I have not,” said Gorringe. “She sent word this morning that she could not come to work to-day. She is not very regular now. What I want to say is that Mr. Cliarnley wants to see you in the office now. There is something fresh about Mr. Coode’s death. I think it is good news.” Mr. Charnley was the new proprietor—Mr. Coode’s nephew and heir. “I shall have finished this cut in a few minutes,” she said, pointing to one of her looms, “and will come then.” Mary followed in about a quarter of an hour, but Mr. Charnley was not in the office. “He has had to go out,” said Gorringe, “and will not be back for an hour or two. lie was sorry, but said

it must keep until he came back,” and with that Mary went back to her looms. She waited anxiously, expecting a summons to the office, but none came; and when the day's work ended Mr. Charnley had not returned. “I am surprised,” said Gorringe.. “He was so positive and said ho must tell yon to-night, as it was important. I should think he will be sure to find some way of telling you. He may call at your cottage.” But 1 no message came until it was growing dark, and then Reuben Gorringe came himself with a letter from tlie mill owner asking Mary to go to the mill g,t once, as the writer had good and important news to tell. The girl was in a flutter of excitement, and went at once. When they reached the mill Gorriqge closed and locked the yard gates behind them, and did the same with the large heavy doors which led in to the factory itself. Then he led the way through the now gloomy and deserted building to the office. “Where is Mr. - Charnley?” asked; Mary, stopping on the threshold when she saw the office was empty and tho gas turned down. “He must have gone out for a moment. Never mind, he’ll be here directly,” said Goi'ringe, leading the way in. “Sit down.’* “Washe here when.you left to come to me?” she asked. “Certainly he was. ■ Don’t worry yourself;” and having turned np the gas he took, a position betwaifen the girl and the door, leaning against the wall. “Is there any fresh news, Mary?” he | asked, in as indifferent a tone as h<j <spuld assume. “You know tjiat lam bound to speak at the next hearing, I, cknn'ot put it off any longer. Have you found ont anything?” “I have found out everything,” answered Mary. “How do you mean everything?” | asked Gorringe, sharply. “I know who murdered Mr. Coode—or at any rate I know who broke inta the mill on the night of his inurder,” answered the girL “Who was that?” “Gibcon Prawle. It was he who was in the mill that night.” “Wha,t!” exclaimed Gorringe, excitedly. ‘“No, it can't be; you’re mistaken,” he added after a moment, in a quieter manner. “No, lam not mistaken. He knows that I know it.” “But it’s impossible. It must be impossible,” said Gorringe. “Why impossible for Gibeon if possible for Tom? How can that be?” “Eh? Oh, I mean all the other things prove that it was Tom. They all point to one conclusion.” “Then they are all Wrofig, os i said they were from tho first.” “How are yon going to prove that Tom wasn’t in the mill, then?” “By Savannah’s evidence,” answered Mary, confidently. “X have found out a means of making her speak tho truth.”

“The deuce you hxT&T’ said Gorringe, hastily. “You’ve not been idle.” Then with a slight laugh, as of annoyance or admiration:. “What have you found out about her?” “The secret of her life,” said Man* “Do you know anything of her past life?” she asked. “I will not tell you all I know, because I do not wish to betray her if she tells the truth. But she is not what she pretends to be.” The man stared long and earnestly at the girl before he replied: “You are wrong. The man who has caused all this trouble is Tom Roylance.” “Well, we shall see. I say that I have the evidence that will clear him even from suspicion.” “Evidence!” cried Gorringe, “what evidence have you? If, as you say, Savannah Morbyn is mad, bow wilLshe be believed?” “Mad!” cried Mary, looking at him very suspiciously. “I did not say she was mad. Do you think she is?” “You said so—eh? Oh, well, I thought you did,” answered Gorringe, with contusion, which did not escape his companion's notice. “Well, it's the same thing if she has some disreputable secret.” “I did not say even that it was disreputable,” answered Mary. “But you seem to have thought she was naad. Did you?” “How on earth should I know? I know nothing about her and her secret. But I say I should not accept her evidence in Tom's favor against th<j other evidence.” - “It's not for you to say what evidence may be given,” answered Mary, warmly. “You are not the judge. What I have now found out will make Tom’s innocence clear no matter what other evidence may be given.” “Do you mean that you do not mind the evidence I have to give?” “I mean that we shall prove that Tom was not in the mill—was not anywhere near it when the deed was done,” answered Mary. “You set me at defiance, then?” “Set you at defiance? What can you mean? How strange you are. You said before that nothing would please you more than that Tom’s innocence should be proved and that I should be happy with him.” “I am not altogether well,” he said, “I’m worried, too, a bit. You are quite wrong about Savannah. I know that she is quite respectable and is to be trusted,” continued Gorringe, doggedly. “And I am sure she is not,” returned Mary, with as much emphasis. “Now, wherever can Mr. Charnley be? He must have gone. I cannot stay. Whatever it is he wants to say must wait till the morning.” She got up from her chair and walked towards the door.

“Don’t go, Mary,” said Gorringe. standing in front of the door. “Dob*6 go. It isn’t often I get the chance of having you to myself. Stay awhile here.” He spoke with gentle persuasion. “This is no time for yielding to feelings of friendship,” replied Mary. “There is work to be done’ —serious and important work.” “But Mr. Charnley will be disappointed. Stay a little longer. It is such a pleasure for me to have you alone, all to myself; to look at you, to feci you are close by me, to know you trust me.” “I cannot let you talk tome like that again, Mr. Gorringe. I am Tom Roylance’s promised wife.” “But Tom is not free yet, lass. He has to think about getting away from this charge before he thinks of a promised wife.” -“But I shall free him. Let me go, please.” “I cannot let you go like this,” he said, his voice trembling. .. “What do you mean?” she cried, a shadow of fear for the first time crossing her thoughts.

‘She was alone with him in a great building, in a room shut away in the very heart of the mill, Where not even a sound could possibly reach the outside. . , “I mean that I cannot let you go from me without an answer to the questions I have been asking you for some days. If I consent, not-to give the evidence will you promise not to see Tom'again?” “No, certainly not—a thousand times no! If you will give the evidence you must give it; though be sure it is evidence,,., and riot such rubbish as’ you made up at Tom’s cottage.” ~ “Made up at Tom’s cottage! I don’t understand ydu.” “I mean when you mistook red paint for blood, and a broken piece of iron with which he was making ah experiment for a dangerous weapon.” ' Without a word he turned to the safe, and took out the packet she had brought to him before. When he saw what she had done he held it. out in front of him, looking from it to the girl and back again. “I see what you .have done,” he said, in a hard, firm tone. “This is your work to cheat me. You will repent it,” he said, deliberately. “You have cheated yourself,” she answered. “But I have given you my answer. I will go.” He was silent for a lengthy pause as if in thought. Then he looked up and spoke :> “You have mistrusted me and tried to trick me. You have succeeded in that; but you have made my task easier than f thought to find it, Mary. I also have cheated you. It was I who wrote the note in Mr. Charnley’s name , to get you here alone in the miU with me. I also have succeeded. I have brought you here to tell you that yys. must be my wife. You are in my power here; and if you will not be mine, then the consequences will be on your own head.” He spoke with deep earnestness and concentrated passion, made more impressive by bis calm manner. She Stepped back a couple of paces and then faced him, her features white and full of determination. “Do you mean that' you have lured me here with a lie in order to try and foroe me ta bo your wife?"

“I have brought fan here to tell yon of my love, Mary," he said. “Love!” she cried, with ineffable scorn. “Love! Why, pyou are the basest coward and villain I have ever known.” And she stood before the man, draw* to her full height, and she looked him dauntlcssly and resolutely in the face. He gazed at her for a moment with passionate admiration and love in his eyes, and then rushed forward to take her in his arms. For amomentshe was panic-stricken, but the next her eyes fell on the dead ly iron bar which lay on the table, she snatched it up and held it aloft threateningly. “Stand back!” she cried. And Reuben Gorringe quailed before the dangerous light which flashed from her eyes, and for a moment hos itated. Then he darted forward, and with a quick movement wrested the bar from the girl’s hand and tossed it to the other end of the room. Then he turned and faced her, and stretched out his hands to take her to his heart. But she drew back as dauntlesslv as ever. [to bx coirrorrrm.l