Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 74, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 May 1902 — HE WOMAN IN GRAY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HE WOMAN IN GRAY

BY ROBERT ESTES DURAND.

CHAPTER 111. —(Continued.) “Don't be a fool, then! You’ve brought It on yourself!” grated the deep voice of the companion. I put" temptation away from me, and strode, with footsteps purposely made heavy, to the furthest end of the room. Still, I could not avoid catching an occasional word, so oblivious did the speakers, in their evident agitation, seem to be of everything save themselves. “Do you mean to carry it through, or do you not?” .itridently demanded Miss Traill. , “Yes —yes —yes! A thousand times yes! But it must be in my own way. Now will you leave me in peace?” “Not till you tell me whether or no you found what you went to look for in that old woman’s room.” “How do you know I went to look for anything?” “Because I know you. And I know that there was something there to find." There was a sudden cessation of all sound below, and the silence was not tuoken again. With what threats had Miss Traill the power to terrorize her lovely 'mistress? What did the latter mean to “carry through in her own* way?” And had Miss Traill referred —in mentioning “the old Woman’s room”—to that strange, dim chamber of murder in the clock tower at the House of Fear? “Did you hear that big clock striking all the-Lhe_iirs-and_aiiarter hours last night, sir?” inquired bur smooth waiter "at the breakfast table. “Yes, I heard the church clock striking,” I returned absently, “until the quarter after 2 had sounded.” “Ah, but, sir, it wasn’t the church clock. That's why I took the liberty of mentioning it. Everybody in the village has been talking about it, sir.” “Indeed!” Until he had spoken I had forgotten the sudden traveling of those slim gilded hands over the face of the clock at Lorn Abbey; but now’ I remembered that the Woman in Gray had wound it, and knew what the man was about to say. “How do the village penile explain the fact that the clock has suddenly begun to strike?” “Oh, it’s explained in different ways, sir. You see, when Mrs. Haynes was murdered everybody missed the clock, which had always struck every quarter of an hour since the oldest inhabitant could remember. Then if got round among the superstitious old bodies, sir, until everybody’d heard it, and got. used to it, that if the clock in the tower should ever be set going again it would be by old Mrs. Haynes’ spirit itself, come back to try and tell something which was lying heavy on its mind."

CHAPTER IV. We did not meet Miss Hope that day. Upon inquiry I letiwied.that sho and her strange companion had left the inn early In the morning, bound for no one knew whither. My urrcle looked disappointed when-I reported this fact to him, Paula pleased. We went oyer the Abbey that forenoon and discussed this and that improvement suggested and necessary. "I have decided to give the Abbey full and complete attention,” declared Sir Wilfrid when we returned to the inn, “and I have also decided to accept an invitation that has been extended for some time.” Paula looked curious. Iler satisfaction was apparent as my uncle concluded: “Our dear friends, Sir Thomas nnd Lady Towers, are at Hazelniount. I shall write to have them expect us for a week at least. In the meantime I will wire my private secretary, Jerome, to join us. You young people can enjoy a- delightful outing, while I formulate my plans ter the future.” Monday found us all pleasantly domesticated with the most charming hostess and genial host the country afforded..We had always met pleasant, harmonious people at Hazelmount; nnd the present was no deviation from the usual occasion. On Wednesday my uncle's factotum and assistant in various literary and artistic researches with which he entertained himself, arrived .upon the scene. He aud I had never been familiar, scarcely friendly, for I had always disliked and distrusted him. With Paula, however, it was different. She had found Jerome in the past an humble and willing servant, and the fellow was faithful and careful in executing commissions that could not be trusted to a minor menial. I fancied she was more than ordinarily civil and pleasant with him on his arrival, and twice in the day I noticed them in the garden conversing together. “He has so much to tell me’of home and Loudon, you know,” she explained to me later, but I cared nothing for the same, for my thoughts were—and had constantly been since the preceding Friday—on Miss Hope. Somehow the memory of our strange meeting haunted me. Several times my uncle, When we were together alone, with a retrospective and half-longing look, reverted to the wild-rose beauty who had flashed across our path so dramatically, and then magically disappeared, and 1 readily saw that the Impress of the interview at the tan had not left his mind. On Thursday Lady Towers announced a rare treat for her guests, Bhe stated that a very dear lady friend at Marchmont, about fifty miles distant, had written her asking her to entertain a young lady of rare dramatic instinct, whose presence she felt assured would enliven her guests. She was" anorphan, Tier' father and mother having recently died iu America, welt connected, and anxious to give private dramatic readings in order to prepare herself for more pretentious exercise of her ability when she had gained confidence and experience. The young lady arrived late that afternoon. Imagine my surprise, the delight of Sir Wilfrid, the sharp, keen,, vi-

cious displeasure of Paula, when she was announced as “Miss Consuelo Hope,” and we greeted once more our dazzling Martenhead acquaintance who had less than a week since predicted we should thus meet unexpectedly It seemed to be Miss Hope’s desire that we should meet as strangers, and thus indeed we met to the eyes of others. That evening she gave the assembled company some wonderful dramatic readings. The genuine applause was timed by the menacing, deadly glitter of renewed hate and’rage in Paula’s eyes. I noted this. And the next day I noted, too, that she was several times in confidential” discourse with my uncle’s secretary, Jerome, as though she were giving him explicit instructions on some theme of deep interest to her mind. In the afternoon Jerome disappeared. It was late in the evening when I was lying on a divan in a little reading room oft from the main drawing room. This apartment opened into a side corridor that went out and down into the garden. It had begun raining about dusk, and the guests had a dismal evening of it, -sa-vewhen relieved from the monotony by Miss Hope's fine singing. I had sought this solitude in something of “a huff.” Miss Hope had been radiantly attentive to Sir Wilfrid, and, it seemed to me, markedly evasive of myself. So I had sought solitude to mope, so influenced by lh-£.negleet of the young lady that I was glad that Pa lila did not nbtiCC 'me. as many" times during an hour she passed through the reading room and anxiously, I thought, went along the corridor and looked out into the dark, dripping garden as though expecting some one. I was in the midst of a waking drcam, with closed eyes, when abruptly there was a clatter, then a erash, and, ringing high above the double commotion, the shrill scream of a woman’s voice. I sprang up from the divan, and with a few quick strides had reached the corridor. There was Jerome and Paula. He had tottered backward, and losing his balance on the slippery and polished floor, had fallen heavily, striking his head with a crashing thud. The' noise of the fall and the cry of alarm from Paula’s lips brought every one trooping out from the drawing room. “I met him just coming in, very wet and strange looking,” exclaimed Paula innocently. Even as she spoke Jerome opened his eyes. "The—letter!” he stuttered in a thick, unnatural voice. “Where is ” “Tell us what it was you saw that startled you so.” Again Paula spoke out sharply. “Thank you,” faltered Jerome. “I—my head Is very queer, but I remember — it was close outside the house —only , a few yards down the avenue. I —l’d been -walking fast; and stopped for a -minute to take breath. Suddenly I smelt something strange lyid pungent. It was like the odor in the tiger house at the Zoo more th an a ny th i ng else. I kept .still, for I heard something breathing close to me, short and hard, and when I looked round I could see a thing, darker than the darkness, moving close by among the trees at the end of the avenue, and I stared straight into a pair of eyes that glowed like two red-hot coals. I gave a shout, and whether that kept it away from me I can’t tell, for I Hadn’t time to think again before I was inside the house, coming In through that little door at the end of the lon£ passage there which opens on the lawn and slamming it after me. That’s all, except—except the letter, Miss Wynne, and I ” “I don’t think poor Mr. Jerome half knows what he is talking about," ejaculated Paula. “You want to be taken to y&DT room, and have cooling bandages put on your head, I'm sure, don’t you?” “Yes—oh, yes. My head is very bad. I have a feeling as though something had snapped—inside." Forthwith he was assisted to his feet by two stalwart footmen, almost twice his size, and so, supported firmly under each drooping arm, be was borne away in the midst of a little procession. As they moved him. a folded sheet of paper fluttered from his coat to the floor, and I, being nearest to the spot, stooped and picked it up. So doing, without the slightest intention of reading words not intended for my eyes, part of a sentence, written in a large, bold, clerkly hand, seemed suddenly to separate itself from those surrounding it on the page which was uppermost and print itself upon my consciousness: “I have been able to ascertain that the woman now passing under the name of Consuelo Hope is My blood leaped with contending emotions; anger against Paula and Jerome, surprise and disgust, as a flood of enlightenment regarding the errand on which the secretary had been sent poured into my mind, and above all an overweening desire to turn the page and read the remainder of the sentence. “Isn't-lhat the letter which poor Mr. Jerome appeared to be so anxious about?” Paula inquired. “At least, he has dropped it, and aa I am going to my own room I will get my maid to leave it at his door.” Without a word I gave her the letter, and she hurried away with it at once. I hesitated momentarily; but, deciding that it would be impossible for me to play the hypocrite, and go to inquire civilly after Jerome's state of health, I slowly followed the others into the pretty music room. “I was just going to find you," spoke Lady Towers’ voice Inside the dbor. ’Tin sure the poor little secretary will be better presently. Sir Thomas has sent three or four men skirmishing with guns all over the place, in case that dreadful beast may still be lingering about; and another man as gone to Barnes, rhe person from whom the thing escaped. You know there really is a wild, wild beast at liberty. You see, he’s a menagerie pro-

prietor, and keeps his animals on his own place sometimes.” As we moved nearer, Miss Hope looked up and met my eyes, the pink-shaded candles on the piano illuminating her face. She smiled faintly, and began softly playing, without notes, some plaintive little melody which I had never heard before. i ■' . This, womin—angel or devil—had had the power to teach me a new meaning in life—the meaning of love. I was bound to marry my cousin, Paula Wynne, but I loved this other with all my heart and soul and mind. And a week ago I had been ignorant of her existence. I was roused from a long reverie, half pain, half pleasure, by a voice close beside me. “Lady Towers sent me over here to find Mme. Patti's autograph for you. And she thinks Mary Anderson’s is on the same page." As I J looked up and rose quickly to my feet; I fear I must have blushed like a school boy detected in some..piece of mischief, so conscious was I of the crisis I had gone through, so fearful of betraying my feelings, ~ “Don’t get up, for I am going to sit down here by you,” said the Amber Witch. “You were surprised to find*me here?’ she asked. “I hardly know. The hint you gave my uncle at Martenhead has eaused us to be a little gayer in a social way than we should otherwise have been. We have continually been expecting to meet you, and allowing ourselves to be disappointed when we didn’t. But your first appearance was slightly— er—disconcerting, to say the least.” She laughed. “Ah! I have a dramatic instinct.” “You have indeed.” “Why not? But you look as though you would like to lecture me. Let us talk of something else, pray. That escaped tiger, for instance. Who knows but its baleful eyes may be glaring at us through that half-curtained window over there? Ugh!” “If you give me the choice,” I said, "I should much prefer to talk of you —the ‘Lady,’ and not the ‘Tiger.’ ’’ “Do you remember my saying last Friday to Sir Wilfrid Amory that perhaps one day I should have a very great favor to ask him ? Well, I have askdd it tonight—only a few moments ago, in the conservatory. And the scent of the flowers was so friendly and persuasive that unconsciously he was influenced by them, and induced to say ‘Yes.’ Last week I I didn’t dream, of course,'that I should have an opportunity of asking him so soon. But most things come to one unexpectedly, I have found. Haven’t you?” “Yes—of late,” I was drawn to admit in a low voice. “And Sir Wilfrid was most kind. He has promised that while he is here —while his secretary is unable to work —I shall be allowed to assist him. And then, later, he is thinking, it seems, of giving Mr. Jerome a holiday. If he does so, I am to be secretary pro tem. Now, at all events, I have surprised you.” “You have done nothing else from the first moment I beheld you.” “But now? You are not —displeased? It would not vex you, or—Miss Wynne, that Miss Traill and I should be 1 , for a' time, guests in your uncle’s house, fel-low-inmates with yourselves?—for it would, of course, amount to that.” I knew not what to answer, aud for a moment I was dumb. “Please tell me,” she said childishly. “I—l can answer for myself tha e t it would be a great delight.” I stammered. But even as I spoke I told myself that, with the knowledge of my own heart which” thl3’ ntgh't'had given me, it would be impossible for me to remain, day after day, under the same roof with her and —my atfianced wife. “You cannot" answier for—Miss Wynne?” “How could that be possible?” “I know,” Miss II opt went on, yvitb a new meekness, “that she doesn’t like me. It has not been difficult to see that. Why should she like me? And yet, why need she be angry? I should do her and her prospects no harm. I shouldn't interfere with her in any way. You—and she may think that I am hot in earnest about really working for Sir Wilfrid. You may think that I don't know bow, and that my desire is simply to visit in the house of a great man, and become intimate with his family. But I swear to you, Mr. Darkmore, that whatever my motive may be, it is nothing so vtilgar, nothing so sordid, as that.”

CHAPTER V. Our next day at Hazelmount passed for mo like a troubled dream. In the morning Paula quarreled with her uncle over the arrangement he and Miss Hope- had made for work together. My peacemaking attempts were ill received by her, and she delighted in distressing me by vague threats of a forthcoming revenge. It was intended that on the following morning we should have some shooting, the weather being crisp, with a light frost; and after dinner I, with all the other men, adjourned to the gun room. It was on the ground floor, With a door opening upon the laWn, and another into the hall, close to the foot of a stairway. Half way down these stairs a small window had been cut, which looked into the gun room and lighted the hall, which otherwise would have been rather dark. The stairs themselves afforded a short cut to the'bed rooms above, and were a good deal used by every one in the house; but until this evening—though 1 had caught glimpses of the interior of the gun room through the window in going up or down—l had not happened to go inside. I could not call up the enthusiasm for the hunting trophies I might have felt had I owned a lighter heart, for I recalled, with some anxiety, Paula's threat of the morning. “Wait until to-night!" she had said, with intensest malice in voice and eyes. And “to-night” had now arrived. Already it was after 10 o’clock. At last I made some excuse or returning to the drawing room. As I approached the doorway my heart bounded with a great sense of relief, for 1 heard the sound of the piano and Miss Hope’s rich contralto voice ringing out in the grand strains Of “'The Erl King." Nothing bad happened, then, after al). I waited until the singing had ceased; then I opened the door and went tn. “We were just thinking of joining you all in the gun room,” said Paula. “You were really wanted there.” Somehow, there seemed a hidden meaning in the way she smilingly spoke the words. “Didn’t Miss Edwards sing that song

chanfiingly?’ she wept oa, turning t« Lady Towers. • “Miss Edwards? Miss Hope, you-mean, my dear," corrected opr hostess carelessly. “Yes, she did indeed.” “I beg your pardon and hers," said Paula, suavely, fixing a blank stare upon thq girl, who still sat at the piano. “I forgot for the moment that she preferred to use her writing name h?re —‘Consuelo Hope.’ Each syllable scents to mean so much, doesn’t it? Still, Fanny Edwards is not a bad name at all. It sounds simple and unassuming, you know. There was a pretty girl of that name, a maid at a strange old family place of ours—Lorn Abbey—once. She had to give evidence in a murder trial—oh. years ago! She would be quite getting on towards 30 now, I suppose. Tall and blonde, with a lot of fair hair—much your own style, Miss Ed Miss Hope, I mean; for 1 mustn’t forget again, must I? She went out to America ever so long ago. Perhaps she may have lived in your neighborhood over there, for you have said you were once in New York, you know. You may have met her. Miss Hope?’ (To be continued.)