Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 78, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 May 1902 — WOMANINGRAY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WOMANINGRAY

BY ROBERT ESTES DURAND.

CHAPTER VII. Three months went by, and brought an early spring. For some reason, known only to herself (or possibly to that strange being f Miss Traill), the Woman in Gray had insisted on the public announcement of her new relationship with the ex-Home Secretary being delayed until Lorn Abbey should' be fit for a homecomning. ‘•When yotf begin life at Lorn Abbey,’! she had written to my uncle, “your home may be my home, if you will, but not before. It is only a whim, but I have a strange yearning for that house. I want the new order of things to commence there.” So the formal adoption of Consuelo Hope as the daughter of Sir Wilfrid Amory was to be celebrated by a dinner and a ball, which would also constitute the “house-warming” at the newly purchased, newly decorated Lorn Abbey, one night during the second week in April. I had taken chambers in Whitehall Court, and was to spend Saturday and Sunday at the Abbey when I chose. But it had been a whim of Uncle Wilfrid’s, and possibly of Miss Hope's, that I was not to see the old place until the night of the ball, when all the alterations and improvements would be complete and the house at its best. Uncle Wilfrid had gone down the night before, following the staff of servants, and Lady Towers had promised to take Miss Hope on the day of the “housewarming,” herself remaining afterward for a week or more." . An odd sense of being in the midst of a dream was upon me as I got out of the train at the railway station at Martenhead. I sent on my luggage and decided to walk up to the Abbey, having purposely failed to specify the train by which I would arrive. Presently I crossed the last stile', and found myself in the straggling outskirts of the village. Then on past the albur-num-bowered cottages and smart new villas, and along the road leading to Lorn Abbey, already arched over .with the green and white of chestnut trees in bloom. I remembered noticing on my first visit to the place in the autumn, that the cottage, which was called The Nest, was “To let —unfurnished,” but now it had evidently been lately taken. I glanced carelessly -up, -wondering if the new inmates of The Nest would prove to be acquaintances or strangers, when a suddgn flash of vivid scarlet color between the curtains of a central window caught and arrested my eye. A woman, dressed in red, was peeping out at me. I walked on thoughtfully. Why had my uncle’s new neighbors thought it necessary to hide themselves from me? I had reached the tall Abbey gates, and seen a couple of little children playing at the door of the long, empty and deserted lodge, when a whim seized me to enter by another I was not expected at any particular time, therefore a slight detour could inconvenience nobody. I walked on, past the high wall and long stretch of hedge, newly trimmed, until I had left behind me the limits of the park and reached the outlying meadows which on that side bounded the estate. At the corner of a triangular-shaped field was a stile, and I leaped over, skirting along the hedge within. In the distance gleamed the river, and half way between loomed the tall tree which sheltered the grave of the murderess, Florence Haynes. Now, to my surprise, I found that some one elsv had been before me. The tall figure of a man was silhouetted against the sunny yellow-green background, and I could see that he was standing still, with bent head, and hands behind him, close to the' spot where the stone Indicating the low grave .rose above the grass. His back was toward me, and my footfalls on the springy turf did not warn him of my approach. I had got close enough to see that he was young, darkhaired, and well dressed, before the crackling of some small twig under the pressure of my boot caused him to start and glance over his shoulder. That movement showed me a face which, once seen, and only for an instant, would never be forgotten. Even had he not turned to regard me deliberately, as I drew nearer to him, I should have known the man again after a lapse of twenty years. It would have been impossible to fancy a handsomer face. It was too handsome, indeed, to belong to any one save an actor, worshiped by foolish girls, or an artist’s model; and yet there was a certain latent suggestion of strength in it, too. Seeing me, he at once turned and rapidly walked away, and I very soon hud my curiosity »o far satisfied as to see him turn in at the gate of The Nest. Then I retraced my steps, and went slowly on toward the house. Dinner was over. In honor of Sir Wilfrid and bis beautiful adopted daughter many pretty little speeches had been made. Each moment carriages were driving up and depositing such guests as had chosen to come early to the ball. The huge room which, in the days before Queen Bess, had been the refectory of the abbey, was now the irnll room, with a hundred brilliant lights reflected in the polished floor. Beyond was a modern conservatory, which connected the drawing, room as well, and in the great hall between the two doors, outlined against a newly placed background of palms, stood Consuelo Hope beside Sir Wilfrid. Never had she been so beautiful. As usual, she was a “Woman in Gray;’’ but now it was the shimmering, transparent pearl-gray of summer moonlight. “Shall yon dance to-night?” I asked, when' I had stood near her for some time in silence. t She turned her luminous eyes ’upon me. “I do not know. I must not forget

that now I have undertaken new duties, new responsibilities.” “If you do, will you dance for the first time with me?” “I should like to say ‘Yes,’ and Sir Wilfrid would like it, I think. Yet, do you know, there is something supernatural about me to-night. 1— —” “I always thought that,” I interpolated. But she did not appear to hear my words. “I seem to know things before they happen,” she went on. “For instance, I knew that you were going to ask me to. dance the first dance. But I know, too, that something will prevent me doing so even if I accept. Isn’t that strange? I am feverish with many presentiments.” “If you need help,” I exclaimed, “and I could give it you?” “Ah, if you knew how I needed help! But there is no one who can give it to me, not even the friend who has been kindest to me in all the world. I think you know him,” she went on in an oddly apologetic way. “I heard you mention him. It was when you spoke of. that wicked or unfortunate woman‘who died in prison, and lies buried out there in the lonely field by the river—Florence Haynes. He defended her in court during her trial for murder, . I think you said.” “Do you mean Tom Gordon?” I inquired in the? unreasoning anger of jealousy. “Yes, I mean Tom Gordon. Sir Wilfrid knows he is my friend. He asked him here to-night. I hope, but I am not sure, that he will come.” “At least say you will give me the first dance,” I pleaded obstinately. “I will take the risk of your not being able to fulfill your promise. And if I am not to have it with you, it shall be with no one else. Will you make the same bargain?” “You mean, promise not to dance it with any one but you?” “Yes; if Gordon comes, for instance, don’t give it to him”— — The Woman in Gray usually hid her changes of fueling or emotion under a veil, which I was not astute enough to penetrate. But now, to my surprise, a rich wave of rosy color swept over the face which had been so pearly fair. “Mr. Gordon does not often ask favors of me. He demands them *as rights. And I—must grant them.” For a moment I lost my head. I forgot that I, at all events, had no “rights” over her. I was conscious only of my love for her, the pang of jealous agony which smote me, and the desire to be put out of my misery. “What is he to you that you, who rule other meh, should be ruled by him?” I broke out. “What has he done to ” The look on her face checked me, and the word died on my lips. “Finish your sentence. You must, now,” she said, in a half-whisper. “Forgive me; I know I have no tight. I was going to ask if you had given him a promise— to be his wife.” “Oh, no; not that.” She smiled again, as if relieved, and turned abruptly away. Then a stream of guests began driving. I had had her to myself for three minutes; it was all I could expect. But later, when the dancing was about to begin, I came and stood before her, waiting. 1 "I claim this waltz,” I said, with a certain seriousness beyond what the occasion warranted. Somehow, I did not stop to question why her consent or refusal seemed to mean a great deal beyond the mere promise of a dance to me. “You claim it? Isn’t that rather arbitrary? But, after all, my presentiment does not seem likely to be fulfilled.” The music of “Life Is a Dream” throbbed in the air. People were beginning to dance. I boldly laid my arm round her waist, and her pearl-hidden hand was on my shoulder. In another instant we should have moved away together, but a harsh voice broke in upon the charm. “Consuelo—quick! Come with me! There isn’t a moment to lose. There's something I must tell you.” . j

CHAPTER VIII. scarlet satin—Miss Traill, her idol-eyes goggling in a wild emotion, her podgy hands pulling at Miss Hope’s gauzy sleeve. The Woman in Gray started away from me. “What do you mean?” she murmured. “Don’t stop to ask. Come where I can talk to you—you must be prepared—thihk what to do.” Miss Hope, with one backward glance, allowed the elder woman to lead her away, still talking rapidly, excitedly, scarcely taking thought to\ modulate her voice. - - “Of all people in the world, he has come —just at this moment of success. Can you meet him safely? Or whqt is to be done? If you could get into the conservatory and train yourself to calmness before he secs you! It is those others who have brought him. Can it be a plot?” “I don’t understand you. ‘They,* ’he’ —whom do you moan?” murmured the beautiful lips. . “Ah! it’s too late! They’re coming!” My first thought was of the masterful barrister, Tom Gordon, whom, it had seemed to me, Consuelo Hope either loved or feared. I looked round expectantly, but, as my eyes traveled further toward the great open folding doors, I couifl hardly bring myself to believe what they told me. Was it possible that the tall, dark, beautiful woman pausing between the hall and the drawing room, leaning on the arm of some man I could not see, was Paula? Yes; there were the Annesleya, just in front, and as I stood staring at the three, whom I supposed to be far away in Italy or France, their names were loudly announced by one of the bowing footmen;

“Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Annesley, Miss Wynne, Mr. George Haynes-Haviland.” They mbved up the length of the drawing room, where my uncle stood among the guests, who were disinclined for dancing. Paula’s head held high, a defiant smile on her red -lips, yellow satin draperies billowing around her, diamonds glittering in her black hair. Her hand was slipped lightly through tlie arm of the man I had seen a few hours before bending over the, grave of Florence Haynes, the murderess —the man whom I had watched' afterward until he disappeared into the gate of the newly let cottage, The Nest. “You have chosen to give us a surprise, Paula,” I said in a low voice, as she barely touched my extended hand. “Yes, I suppose it is—rather a surprise” —with quick eagle glances round the room a,nd into the hall beyond. “We came back to England— er—somewhat unexpectedly, and heard there was to be a ball. It seemed hardly necessary for me to wait for an invitation, did it?” “Not if you choose to come.” “Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Annesley, who are fond of the river, and I know I like it, have taken a cottage in the neighborhood. It is called The Nest.” “Ah! Then it was you I saw at the window-there in a red gown this afternoon?” “Did you see some one? If you nad recognized me or Mrs. Annesley, then it would have spoiled the effect. I would not have missed this for anything. By the way, let me make you- and Mr. Haynes-Haviland known to each other. Mr. Haynes-Haviland is the gentleman of whom Uncle Wilfrid bought Lorn Abbey last autumn; but he has added to his name since then, for family reasons. We met at Nice, and he came back with us to England a few days ago.” I knew now why Paula had chosen to bring this man to England in her train, why she smiled at him, with beguiling in her eyes. She had made up her mind that he would be able to recognize the Woman in Gray. -He was the stepson of an ex-servant. That alone, I thought, would have been enough to ban him in her eyes, had she had nothing to gain from his acquaintance. Now she was still leaning on his arm, with a certain air of confidence and good-fellowship. “Uncle Wilfrid has told me that he is ready and willing to forget,” Paula said, looking up at me with a peculiar burning glance. “I asked him, though it was hard, for I don’t like humiliating myself. Now I ask you—will you do the same?” “Gladly, if you consider that I have anything to forgive you.” “Not that I mean to beg Uncle Wilfrid to take me back,” she went on. “I am emancipated; and, besides, to-night he has formally and publicly filled my place. But we can all be friends. Don’t mind my saying this before Mr. Haynes-Havi-land. He has been With us so much of late that our affairs are no secret to him. And now there is some one else who must fqrgive me for past rudeness, else my state of beatification will not be complete —I mean Miss Hope. Take me to her, ’please.” “She is dancing, I dare say,” I answered confusedly. “There are so many old friends of yours here, Paula, who will be glad and surprised to see you. Better stop and greet them first.” “No. They can wait.” “I will take you, then,” I said. “But Mr. Haynes-Haviland should not-he compelled to lose a dance. I will Introduce him to a partner.” “Mr. Haynes-Haviland is going to dance with me by and by.” And Paula looked up at him bewitchingly. “Miss Wynne has excited my curiosity in regard to this wonderful Miss Hope,” said he.

“I cannot help you,” I answered. “I don’t know where Miss Hope is to be found.” ‘‘Ah, if you won’t, Uncle Wilfrid will.” She almost pushed past me, clinging still to the man whom she appeared completely to have subjugated. I did not wait to see what they would do. An uncontrollable impulse bade me go to Consuelo, if she were still in the ball room, and stand ready for any emergency that might arise. I got myself into the now apparently deserted conservatory out of the dancers’ way. Then, feeling that my mission had been taken from me, I sat down in a retired corner, into which a rustic seat had been pushed under a palm. I had scarcely occupied the hidden nbok for sixty seconds when some one passe 1 behind me, having entered from the outer door. There was a rustle of silken skirts along the floor, accompanied by the step of a man, and then followed the creaking of a seat as one or more persons subsided upon it. I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, not be pleasant to.overhear a snatch of love-making, perhaps even a proposal of marriage; but where I sat I was completely hemmed in. As I hesitated the man spoke. Instantly, though I had not met him for years, I knew that I was listening to Tom Gordon,, the famous barrister who had pleaded the innocence of the dead Florence Haynes. "What are you going to do?” he had questioned. “I do not know," answered the voice of Consuelo Hope. “Strange that it should come at the moment of your triumph—if it has come.” "But life is strange. My life stranger than all." "If I stand by and see that there is danger.forjo.u.wbaf will you do for me if I can save you?” "What could you do?” “Ah, you’ll find. I'm never quite without resources. Other people have had occasion to learn that before.” “I know. I should be grateful, whatever you did for me.” “Gratitude! We've got past that, Consuelo. I want more from you. Give me my answer to-night. And there's only one answer possible from you to me.” "Mr. Gordon! Do you mean to threaten me?” ■ "No, no. And yet, I don’t know. I think sometimes there’s a demon in me, mad, desperate, which would send me to the world’s end to work for you if you loved me, or to work against you if you didn't. I don't know of what I should become in such a case, so don't try me, 1 warn you.” “Oh. for a friend—a true, disinterested friend!” "Nonsense! Women of your sort don’t make ‘disinterested friends’ among the men. Let me kiss you once, and I’ll stand between you and danger, as I’ve done before. What! You won't? I’ll take it then!” I could bear no more. I sprang from my seat, and. with a crashing of flower pots around me. strode out of my ambush.

I stood there, eyeing him,. my breath coming hard. With a little involuntary cry which cut straight to my heart, the Woman in Gray moved close to me—a way from him. For the fraction of a second her hand lay on my arm, and I could feel the electric quivering of her slight body. A wild, passionate joy surged over me. She had come t<rthe for protection from him. Gordon had leaped up from the bench ■where they had sat together, and faced me, frowning and silent for the moment. “Hello!” he ejaculated in a peculiar, meditative, yet angry growl, glaring at me the while. “Terence Darkmore, of all men! What a fool I’ve been that this never, occurred to me before!” “Consuelo,” I said—never before had 1 dared to call her by that name, but now it came to my lips without volition—“foVgivt me! I was caught in a trap; it all happened in so few moments. I tried not to hear; but now I can't regret that I -did. Let me be that friend for whom you cried out, and, some day, more to you than that. I ” “Hush!” she said, with a strange, almost unearthly solemnity. “Heaven knows what this night’s work may end in for me.” (To be continued.)