Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 20, Number 85, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 June 1899 — HIDDEN TERROR [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HIDDEN TERROR

rl CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued.) Mr. Charlford passed his hand in a troubled manner over his brow, appearing im■aeraed in thought. His companion interrupted him. g* “You must make up your mind within five mihtttes, Filton; I cannot sit gaping *t you all night. Now then” —taking out a gold repeater —“I give you live minutes —which is five times too long.” Then the speaker closed his eyes, and 'Waited for the answer. Slowly it came, as if spoken with infinite pain. “All I can arrange is to give you five thousand to-night, and five thousand—borrowed money, mind—six weeks hence. The f rest 1 will raise before Mabel's wedding 4ay. Will that satisfy you?” “1 will agree to those terms. It is a | Urge sum, but”—laughing gleefully—“l don't imagine you will feel much grief in reducing the portions due your son and daughters. Ha, ha!” “Stop that!” interposed Charlford. "Res' member, if you make me desperate —if you -drive me to a last stand —I shall do as Samson did—crush my enmies, even if I -crush myself.” “Nonsense —you won’t do that!” said -the man, assuming a lighter tone. “And -old friends should pull together. It is all agreed then?” “Sign this first, to show you have receiv- ' ~ed it. You have made life pretty hard for roe for a good many years to come,” said -Charlford. “All right—here goes! Where shall I I <et my next installment?” | “In London. I will let you know. I 'Will meet you at the usual place in the •city. Now shall we have some wine after all this wretched business?” £ “ *Tis anything but wretched to me, Fil<on," replied the other. “Wine? To be «ure, and a bit of that pie, too! I am as as a hunter, for I have not dined.” “Eat then,” said his unwilling host, ■carving the pie, and interrupting in order "to pour some wine into the glass which Mabel had substituted for the one into '■which he had dropped the liquid. The visitor emptied his glass, saying: ■“That puts new blood into me!” “Drink some more then,” urged his corns' -panion, whose face had grown very pale .and whose hands trembled. “I’ll eat now; keep me company,” said | 'the man. I “Oh, I dined in town—had a capital dinner, too —so I’m not hungry! And, to tell ’the truth, business such as ours doesn’t ■help the appetite.” “Not yours, perhaps, but it helps mine. "Fifteen thousand pounds! I shall marry K «gain, Filton, and marry an heiress.” “By all means. I wish you luck!” responded Charlford. “Don’t be a day over the time for pay- ; -Ing the next installment, or I shall consider our bargain void.” S “No fear,” answered Mabel’s father, I -dryly. “Well, keep faith with me, and I will "beep faith with you,” replied the man—.““otherwise I shall know how to retaliate.” “Who doubts it?” said Charlford, laughing. “There —don’t be foolish! Get to the Crow and Eagle, and sleep off your |> -suspicions.”

The man waved his hand, and, without .response in words, went down the passage, crossed the threshold and was lost to view. Mabel's father followed, and stood gaz•ing after him. Then he began to mutter to himself. “The Crow and Eagle—the Crow and > Eagle,” he breathed. “What will John think of it when he reads the —the account in the papers? Let him think what he will, he will be the gainer!” Muttering thus, he stole back along the passage toward his own room. He was >*ot in his usual calm, cool temper, ready ‘for any emergency, eager to find fault, quick to assert his own will. E’er once he ■was glad that no eyes were upon him; he must rest, collect himself, be armed at all points for the coming day, and all that it anight bring. “I have borne with him long enough,” he murmured; “and, fool as he is, he did not know where to stop! He goaded me to it. It was his own doing.” Mabel, half hidden by the cabinet and S by the intervening pieces of furniture, < could not be seen immediately as he reg entered the room, and she caught the last sentence which fell from her father’s lips —"lt was his own doing.” No doubt now remained in her mind as to his intentions -toward the man who had just left him. Her eyes grew dim. She tried to cry, "Father—father!”'but could not articulate. | Then Mr. Charlford, advancing into the -room, caught sight of her, standing, as if transfixed with horror and with grief. ft “Mabel,” he cried, his face assuming a livid hue, “why are you here?” With a stifled exclamation she sprang toward him, then fell at his feet. “Why am I here?” she gasped. “Why, heaven must have sent me, father, in order that I might save you! Oh, father, let me save you! You will be glad all the / rest of your life!” k “Save me?” he echoed, completely overwhelmed for the moment, doubtful how to answer her, uncertain as to how much she < knew. “Yes, father—yes! Listen!" She sprang to her feet and spoke in a low and unsteady voice. “Already, unknown to you, L 1 have saved you! I—l poured away—that which you meant him to drink! He has ip «not drank it! Are you not thankful, fath-EX-rt? And I will stand by you to the end, f If you will let me.” g At her words he staggered backward; P <*K could not speak in answer to her minE .filed pleading and accusation. B? Pierced to the soul as she was by this gi dßUte confession of his guilt,-Mabel bore e -up bravely. gt, “Yes, look up, father,” she whispered—b •you are saved! Henceforth let me trans•act yonr business with that man. Do • •ft#’ toXlftw v fin rw.pl #* pvpt to hi m

me see him for you. I can do more than you think; and you can trust me.” She joined her hands beseechingly, and her tone grew more and more pleading, as he still did not answer her, but sat with his bowed head between his hands, as if stricken too deeply for speech. How was she to guess what vile thoughts revolved within his mind? How was she —guileless as she was, full of high ideas of duty and self-secrifice —to imagine the ignoble scheme which ’ this man was concocting in order to deceive her and to save himself? “Answer me, father!” she cried. “Oh, listen to me! Am I not ready to give up everything in order that you may be safe and happy?” Slowly then he uncovered his face and looked at her, meeting her gaze, so full of entreaty, with well-assumed grief and agony. “Now, my dear child,” he gasped out, “what must you not have thought? W’hat must you not have suffered? Oh, I will explain all to you presently—all! But first let me assure you, my angel-child—-whom I have never really known till now —that that fearful thing of which you I was guilty is without foundation. Mabel, your father could never have planned such a crime as murder. That which I poured into the glass was but a sleeping draught, made to taka effect in a few hours, in order that my cruel enemy might be shipped off to America — whither indeed he intends to go almost immediately. Once out of the country, he would not return —for he dreads crossing the sea—and I could have arranged our business' by letter. It must be otherwise now; but, my child, I do not the less feel your tender devotion. Henceforth I will strive to requite it!” Mabel experienced such a revulsion of feeling, such a deep, inexplicable thankfulness that her father had not contemplated a crime, that she burst into tears, sobbing out: “Is what you say true —really true, dear father?” “My poor child,” he returned soothingly, “what can I say to convince you? Nothing, perhaps; but let me take a dose myself —then you will credit my assurance;” and he made a movement as though he would have poured something into a glass. “No, no, father!” cried Mabel. “I am already convinced. Don’t drink it! How frightened I should be to see you go into a deep sleep!” “My darling Mabel, never were you so dear to me as now. Ah, my child, you have never known, never guessed, the secret of my unhappy life! To-night you must be told it.” “Father, I grieve to give you a moment’s pain; but perhaps it is better I should know it —then I might turn away my thoughts from it. As it is, night and day I shall say to myself that there is some terrible, hidden thing in your life.” “Hidden —yes,” he said, in a changed and softened voice—“hidden, and, though terrible, not terrible in the sense of being disgraceful.” “Not disgraceful!” she cried, in a tone of rapture. Then, after all, she need not be separated from Neville; and she lifted up her eyes in unutterable thankfulness.

CHAPTER XV. “If there is nothing disgraceful connected with the secret of your unhappy life, why need you be unhappy, dear father?” asked Mabel. “Dear child, you speak like an unsophisticated, pure-hearted girl—as you are,” rejoined Mr. Charlford, with a melancholy smile. “But to my tale. When you and Dick were almost babies, I left your dear mother to go with your uncle to the West Indies to see my dying cousin, who was enormously wealthy, and who had gone abroad a year before, hoping that the warmth of the tropics would prolong his life. “You have heard of accidental resemblances so striking as to lead to cases of mistaken identity? Unfortunately, I had not been long in attendance on my dying eousin before I found that I myself was an instance of what I have just alluded to.. There was a man who often passed me in the street, or whom now and then I ran up against—a man who regarded me with looks so full of indignation and scorn that at length I addressed him, asking if we had ever met before. “‘Wretch,’ he answered, with a menacing gesture, ‘do you insult me further by pretending ignorance? You know where we have met before! You know that you have broken your promise not to remain in the same city where she is! And you feign ignorance! Or course, you are aware that she is here. If you have a shred of manly feeling, a particle of honor, leave this place before she becomes aware of your presence.’ “I warmly entreated my unknown accuser to suspend his judgment until I had convinced him of his mistake; but in vain. I acquainted him with my name and the object of my journey. He merely became more infuriated. “ ‘As if two or three years could cheat me of my senses!’ he cried. ‘Traitor, I should recognize you in any place, even although we have met only once before I encountered you here! If you value your miserable life, quit this city before another sunset!*

“With that he rushed upon me, unprepared, defenseless as I was. Stunned by the blow, I fell, and knew no more until I found myself in bed in my hotel. It seems that some bystanders interfered to save me, and that my enemy—whom 1 supposed to be some lunatic—fled. Not till long afterward did I understand that this man, Arthur Lane, identified me mistakenly with a person who had grievously wronged him, and sown dissension between him and his wife. “I had recovered from the shock, and had nearly forgotten the circumstance in my daily visits to my poor dying cousin and in my thoughts of home and of your mother, when, one day, feeling oppressed by the heat, restless also with anxiety because of letters I had received from England, concerning your mother’s health —I was unwilling to leave my dying relative, who implored me to stay with him till the last—l walked to a lonely place to de In my present difficult portion. I was unconscious that the man Lane who

had once before attacked me had dogged my footsteps for some time. No presentiment warned me of my danger, no guardian angel caused me to look up and be prepared to meet my foe. “Oh, my dear child, what followed was too cruel and wholly unforeseen—undeserved! Without an instant for preparation, I found myself suddenly called upon to battle with my direst foe, and that for life. “He sprang upon me —his hold was fierce as that of a madman—yelling out defiance and threats; he swore to have my life’s blood. What could I do but defend myself? My opponent, however, was the more powerful man of the two —the combat was very unequal; but in such straits one fights till the last. My strength was giving way—he was aiming to grip my throat. I made a despairing effort and hurled him from me; and he fell—fell backward, and did not rise again.” “You had killed him, father!” gasped Mabel. “Rather say that he had killed himself, Mabel. His own fierce anger had made him refuse to listen to any explanation.” “You are guiltless, then, father?” said Mabel, softly, when she could speak. “Guiltless? Yes, my child. The difficulty was to make men think so. I was arraigned for the murder, as it was called, and I was weak enough to give a false name in order that the ancient name of Charlford should not be dragged cinto court.” “Oh, father!” murmured Mabel. “It was an error, not a crime,” said Mr. Charlford, with a sigh. “I have lived to understand since then that all concealment is wrong. But to you, my child — my noble child —I am confessing all the truth—the truth I would have spared you. Under the name of Filton I stood my trial. There was a full inquiry, and the medical man called to give evidence expressed his opinion that the violent excitement of the struggle had caused Arthur Lane’s death, the man being in an advanced stage of heart disease. My story would have been believed, and I should have been released, but that a brother of the wretched man who had attacked me came forward with false evidence. He swore that he had witnessed our quarrel, which, he said, I had provoked. This asservation was fatal to my cause. I was condemned.” “Poor, dear father!” whispered Mabel, clinging to him. “But you were saved!” “Uncle John contrived my escape. 1 fled, Mabel—fled from what was called justice. No one suspected that the socalled criminal Filton was in reality Richard Charlford, a wealthy English gentleman, for during my trial my poor cousin had died, and I had succeeded to half of his enormous wealth. I escaped—gold will do much—and I was preparing to embark for England, when Lane’s brother traced me, stopped me, and declared he would again denounce me. And your mother meanwhile lay dying without seeing me by her side. For a few thousand pounds my false accuser consented to leave me unmolested and to settle in the far West. And I yielded.” “Poor, poor father!” murmured Mabel, with tender compassion. “Mabel, that man has gone on increasing his demands, till now he asks fifteen thousand pounds more, and ten thousand from your Uncle John, because he knows that he is wealthy and loves me and that he is sensitive about the family name.” Mabel gave a weary sigh. Alas for her hopes! With this accusation hanging over her father, baseless though it was, she could not wed Neville Wynmore. “Neville —oh, my love!” she cried to herself. “It is good-by forever in this world!” Her father watched her narrowly. “Mabel,” he said, presently, “look up, my dear girl! You said yourself that I was unfortunate, but not disgraced.” “Yes —yes, father, because you are innocent,” she answered, softly, but in a pathetic tone. “Still do you not see that I cannot consent to marry Neville? I will be forever silent —silent as the grave—but he and I must not meet again.” She rose tremblingly to her feet as she concluded, and her father kissed and blessed her, then led her from the room, watching till her graceful form and woebegone face disappeared in the gloom overhead. “So that danger—as great a one as I have ever encountered —is over!” he muttered, emptying a glass of brandy, and passing his hand over his knitted brow. “I have converted her from a horrorstricken child, silent only from duty, into a warm ally full of compassion and trust. Well done! And now for the future. It will be too annoying if she sticks to her resolve, and I lose the position it would give me in the county to have a daughter married to a man like Lord Wynmore.”

CHAPTER XVI. A few days after Mabel’s agitating interview with her father the county was electrified by the tidings that the marriage between young Lord Wynmore and Mabel Charlford was definitely broken off. The poor bride-elect lay ill and silent through the long days. First the family medical attendant and then a great London physician came to prescribe for her; but all in vain. The doctors ordered immediate change of air. At this news Lord Wynmore fled to Charlford House again, but he found thgt his lost love had already been moved from home. “Where have you sent her?” he asked, almost fiercely, in his despair. It was her sister Caroline who saw him, for Mr. Charlford had accompanied his suffering child. “My father has taken my sister to a lovely country cottage surrounded by woods and fields, where she can have the complete solitude recommended, together with fresh air. I begged leave to keep her company, Lord Wynmore, but was told not to ask it for the present. It is very hard to see her as she is—perfectly listless, caring for nothing.” “I must see her, Caroline,” was all he said.

Miss Charlford gave him the address, and the next day Neville presented himself at Mabel’s new abode. With profound emotion he gazed at the house which inclosed all that he held most dear; but there were no signs of cheerfulness about the place—no flowers, no open windows; all appeared dull and cold. Another glance showed him that there were iron bars to all the windows. He rang hastily at the door; a neat maid servant quickly answered the summons. “Take my card to Miss Oharlford,” he said, in a voice choked by emotion. “Is Mr. Charlford here?” "Yes, sir—yes, my lord; but Miss Charlford, poor young lady, doesn’t see any visitors—she isn’t fit for that But I’ll take up your card, my lord.” “Bring me an answer from her, and here

is a sovereign for you,” said Neville, lowering bis voice. “I’ll be sure that Miss Charlford has your card, my lord;” and with that the maid ushered him into a neatly furnished room looking on to a long garden at the back, where an old man was mowing the grass. At the end of five minutes the maid returned with a note in Mabel’s handwriting. Neville tore it open and read: “I will not reprove you for coming here for tidings of me, for I know well that I should follow you to the ends of the earth if we could change places. But I dare not see you. We parted forever when we last said farewell. My heart follows you, but do not try to see me again. M. C.” “Where is she?” said Neville, in a husky voice, to the waiting servant. “In her own room, my lord, where she sits night and day. ’Tis a bad case, the doctors say.” “Good heavens, they told me there waa no danger! What is the matter?” exclaimed Lord Wynmore, heart stricken. “Don’t you know, my lord? Then it’ll come with a shock on you. Miss Charlford has lost her reason.” He staggered back. His own bright lovely Mabel insane! Was this the meaning of bringing her to the cottage? He sank down upon a chair, overwhelm.' ed with misery, but was roused by hearing Mr. Charlford’s voice and step, and started up to meet him. & “Why was I not told?” he cried, wringing the elder man’s hand. “Why was I not told? But it cannot be true! What did the doctors say? Has she had every possible advice?” “The very best. You can talk to Dr. Crane yourself,” answered the other, in a low, agitated voice. “I could not bear the idea of sending my darling child to a private asylum, so I have taken this place for her, and she has a trained nurse to attend on her. It is not thought desirable to let her sisters come here yet.” “Why was I not told?” repeated Neville, frantically. “We hoped against hope,” said Mr,. Charlford, “and even here we meant to have tried every means of recovery before you were tortured with the knowledge of the truth.” (To be continued.)