Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 38, Number 79, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 June 1906 — One Man’s Evil [ARTICLE]

One Man’s Evil

By EFFIE ROWLAND

CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued.) ' “That woman will give us trouble,” he said to himself; and then the next instant he laughed recklessly. “But why should I be afraid of a woman? Bah J I am losing my nerve. This day’s work is shaking me.” The road lay to the north of London, find when at last Stanton stopped the driver, the cab had pulled up in front of a shabby looking little house that stood in a garden and had a somewhat desolate air. It was some time before there came an answer to his summons; then a brisk step sounded, and the door was opened and a small, squat woman’s figure disclosed to view. “Laivks, Master George!” she said, “fancy your coming like this! You didn’t ought to have come to the back door. I’m sorry I kept you waiting, sir; I was busy putting the room to rights.” • Stanton passed'in through the narrow entrance, and followed the woman "to the front part of the house. “How is he, Sarah?” he asked. “Just the same, sir; no better, no worse. He lies there, poor dear; so patient-like, and his eyes are so bright. It’s strange to have to think there’s no sight in them. Will you come and see him, sir? But stay; shan’t I get you a cup of tea first?” “I want nothing,” Stanton answered. “I have come here, Sarah, because I want you to take a journey for me. I have to send some important papers to the north of England to-night, and the only person I can trust to do this is yourself. You need not be alarmed, hoVever; I shall remain with my brother. If necessary, I will have in a trained nurse." Tears gathered in Sarah’s eyes. She was a plain little creature; but the look that,_was_written_ on her homely features in this moment gave her almost a toucTf of beauty. “Oh! don’t take me away from Master Walter, sir!” she pleaded. “You don’t know what’ it mean means to me. Do you suppose any other woman in theu world will do more for him that I have done?” Stanton laid his hand on the woman’s shoulder. He was nervous and irritable beyond description; but he had to curb himself; he had to play his part, and there was so little time in which to play it. “Dear old friend,” he said, almost affectionately, “don’t make yourself so tin happy. You will be back here in another twenty-four hours.” - An hour later George Stanton had gripped Sarah’s hand in farewell and had seen her sturdy figure walk swiftly down the garden to the road outside. She carried, poor soul, safely hidden in the bosom of her dress, a small, square packet which she was to convey to Mill Cross Court. Stanton had given her a note to the butler. . In this he briefly said that the bearer was carrying some papers that were to be deposited in Sir Gerald’s study, placed on his writing table, and given to Stanton prepared to return to Gerald’s ?hambers. Before he went he stood in his brother’s room and looked at the poor, Helpless figure that lay there. Sarah had left everything that her boy would need —he wanted so little. If she could only have imagined that the minute her back was turned Master George would leave that poor, helpless creature unattended and unwatched, how quickly would Sarah have flown back again, and refused the duty he had imposed upon her! It was close on seven when Stanton stood once again in Gerald Tenby’s chambers. “Everything “is prepared,” he said. “Now, Tenby, you have got to have your wits about you to-night. One false step, my. friend, will land us beyond all hope.”

CHAPTER XIII. Lord Marchmont arrived punctually at four o’clock. lie was received by his brother arid by his daughter. Lady Betty" was still out driving. “My wife will be here directly,” Mr. Marchmont said, as he greeted his brother; but Lord Marchmont evidently was not in the least eager to see Lady Betty. “I have come to talk with you on a little business, Edward,” he said, and Antonia felt that she was dismissed., There had never been any great sympathy between the brothers; yet Edward Marchmont was always ready to respond to any call his brother made upon him. “You want me to do something for you, Pierce?” he asked, as they found themtielves alone. “Yes. 1 want to ask your opinion. You know this Gerald Tenby, who has inherited Mill Cross Court?" Edward Marchmont frowned. What was coming? This wns the last question he had exj ectcd to bear. He answered with some difficult. “Sir Gerald is an acquaintance of mine, not n friend.” "This is the position, Edward: The other day I received a letter from Gerald Tenby, asking my permission to approach Antonia with a view to marriage.” Edward Marchmont looked at his brother sharply. “You approve of this. Pierce?” he asked. "I have not set aside Gerald Tenby’s proposal.” said Tx>rd Marehmoat. “because, although I should never consider him my daughter's equal in one sense, in another his present position gives him a certain right to approach her. v I cannot, of course, forget that he is the son of Robert Tenby—whom I have no hesitation'in classlhg as one of the most unmitigated scoundrels it was ever my lot to nieet —and had this inheritance not passed to Gerald Tenby as it has done. I should not for an instant hove given heed to such a suggested alliance. But as things are, I do not see that I have a right to object to thia man as a husband for Antonia unless it Is proved to me that be is sot worthy of her.”

“My dear Pierce, I am sorry I cannot be of any definite use to you. At the .same time, I must tell you that this young man is regarded most favorably by everybody in society; a brilliant future was predicted for him when he was only his uncle’s heir. I understand that he is exceedingly clever, and I should say that with such wealth as he now commands a brilliant future must inevitably' be his. You will, however, approach Antonia yourself before he does?” * “Antonia will obey me?’ LordMarchmont said, loftily. “If I give her my wish she should marry this man she will marry him.” At that very moment there came a tap at the door, and Antonia herself appeared. The girl was looking very pale; her eyes had a strained expression. She carried a little note in her hand. It was evident, from the nervous way in which her fingers closed around the envelope, that this note had contained bad news. ‘ - - “You want me, Antonia, my dear?” Edward Marchmont asked, hurriedly. She had gone to her uncle, forgetting for the moment that her father was there, and the sight of him checked her eagerness to open her heart to her uncle. “I hardly know how to begin,” Antonia said, with a catch in her voice. “I hardly know what brought me to you, Uncle Edward, except that I feel I must have some sympathy.” 1 Lord Marchmont looked at his daughter very coldly. “Explain yourself, Antonia,” he said. “You are speaking very strangely.” The girl turned to her uncle. It chilled her sitddenly to realize that what she had to say would find but little tender treatment from her father. “Last night,” she said, “I was absent, “Uncle'“Edward, for - dinner. T Tear-you-must have thought this very strange; but .I explained all to Lady Betty when I came home. I met with an accident as I was driving back from Lady Charlotte Singleton’s. You see, I cannot move this arm very easily. That was not what JiepLme so late, however; it was a strange and wonderful thing, uncle. You have heard me say that I believed that Hubert .Tenby was not dead?” Both the men who listened started, and I/ord Marchmont’s brows contracted sharply. *■ “Well, dear,” Antonia went on, her voice gainipg a little confidence, “last night my faith was proved to be true, for I mot Hubert unexpectedly.’ He had come back to see his father, to claim his father’s forgiveness, to prove his inno■eneo. We talked for a long time. I had to (ell him that his father was dead. It was a dreadful moment, yet when he would have faltered, and have gone back to his obscurity. I told him,” Antonia went on, very quickly, “that for the love he bore his dear father lie must remain to ■lahn lifs title and his proper place; but aven while I did this, I felt instinctively that I was urging him to face a terribie futnre. nnTl, Ihu'ln Edward. I w. right. Ob! I was right.” Tllere“ was - 8 ' break in her voice. “I don’t know what it was I feared, but I did fear for him. Something has told me all along that if Hubert pme back there would be great difficulties to overcome; that the enemy or enemies that sent him to his ruin would never let him work

“I can scarcely believe my ears,” said Lord Marchmont, rn a cold, hard tone. “Are you telling us the truth, Antonia? Are you speaking of facts? Ts it possible that my daughter can have so far forgotten what was due to herself as to pass hours speaking with a man who is no tiring more or less - thftff a felon and an outcast? Is it possible that you, my child, are daring to link yourself even in sympathy, with one so degraded as Hubert Tenby has been proved, to be?” . ‘‘And is it possible,” she said, in a low, clear voice, “that you, my father, should be so miserably prejudiced and unjust as t<s condemn a man without-knowing the truth, as to turn your back upon one whom you have known from childhood, and deny him those rights open to every man?” “Silence! How dare you speak like this to me? I did, indeed, do a wrong thing when I let you come to this hod.se. You shall not remain here an hour longer than is necessary. Get your things put together, and be ready for me when I return. I am horrified beyond measure that my daughter should have acted and spoken as you have done.” He walked to the door, despite the protests his brother made. He took'no notice of Edward Marchmont’s words; passed out, and left the house. instantly. Antonia smiled in a wan fashion. “Let him go, Uncle Edward,” she said. "Though he is called my father, you see for yourself what the bond is between us. Let him go, and give me your attention Instead. Oh, Uncje Edward lam very unhappy. An hour ago I thought life most beautiful; and now —now I hardly know what to think, what to fear most.” Edward Marchmont took her two trembling hands and,drew her into his arms. “Speak out, Afitonia,” he said, gently. ■.“ Let me help you it I can.” And she told in broken words all her story, till she egrne to the moment when this letter site held in her hand had been vuit round from the hotel where Hubert waa staying. It was from Hen Coop. Only n few words, yet they se uned weightell with a presentiment of evil. “My dear child,” said E Iward Marchmont kindly, “I think both you and this good fellow are making a great mistake. What if Hubert has not returned from hia visit to the lawyers? It Is now early afternoon: he may have had to wait, or he may have been detained by a thousand and one things. There is really nothing to alarm in this absence of Hubert’s.” “I feel,” said Antonin. “I know Ben is right. Something has happened. I feel that Hubert to lost to me just as I have

.. / found him,” and she shivered as At spoke. It was as if some chilly hand had touched her, bringing her a message of woe. - ~ ■ ' '■’' iZ~ CHAPTER XIV. . Antonia never forgot the tenderness that was shown to h£r by her uncle in this hour. The sympathy between them deepened, and became a bond that jpthing but death would touch; in filet, Edward Marchmont was more than moved by the girl's story. It was true he had known nothing of Hubert in the past, and was unable to form a personal judgment of the young man, but he had by this time realized that Antopia’s nature and character were by no means ordinary, and he could not fail but be struck by the girl’s enthusiasm and faith; yet he sighed a little, for he saw that the fffture would be set with diffinounced her decision of refusing to obey her father’s will, Edward Marchmont felt thac it was his duty to argue with her on this point. “I am sorry,” Antonia said, quietly, “but it is quite impossible for me to allow' my father to control me in this, Uncle Edward. I could not go to Egremont just now. Perhaps if this news had not come, if poor Ben had not let mo see that he feared something, I might have gone for a time. You speak of a separation,” the girl added, sadly, a" moment later, “but do. you honestly think, Uncle Edward, that my father and I have ever been united? What could have brought him to London in this way I cannot understand; but he takes a lateborn interest in me, and, as a matter of fact, it is not of me that he thinks at all —it is always of himself. But I shall not stay here, dear,” Antonia added, quickly; “that would only make complications between you and him. I have decided on my plans. I shall ask Lady Charlotte Singleton to let me stay with her for a time. I will write also to my father, and remain here till his answer comes. He has told you what hotel he is staying at, I suppose?” Edward Marchmont nodded his head. He gave her the address. Antonia was still waiting for her father’s reply when Lady Betty returned to the house. The girl avoided seeing her. She had told her uncle she would remain in her room for an hour or two. . It was not long before Lady Charlotte sent an answer to her letter. * A cab brought* jt, a few penciled words full of delight, bidding the girl welcome whenever she chose to come. Thus the first step was made -easy;-but Antoma’s heart was full of foreboding as she sat waiting for her father’s last word. It came finally in the form of her own letter torn in two. It was natural that for one moment Antonia Marchmont should feel a pang. Though there had never been any love between herself and her father, yet they had been together all her life, in one sense, and though he had never done anything to win her affection, she could not utterly forget that he was her father. ~ ’ Lady Betty heard of Lord Marchmont’s arrival and departure with a shrug of her shoulders. “Where is your master?” she inquired, in her curtest way, and when she was told that Mr. Marchmont was in his study she went there, determined to be disagreeable, “I mm Imre, as you desired,” she said, coldly. “1 have sacrificed my afternoon at your decree.'and I find that your brother has not even the courtesy to wait for my return. I have not been informed (b'what “w“e~iswed the unusual honor of a visit from Lord Marchmont.” “Pierce came to see me to ask my opinion as to the merits of a man who has proposed for the hand of Antonia in marriage. Pierce understood that this ma, was a constant visitor at my house, am argued naturally from that that I shouk be able to assure him that this man w r as fitted to be the husband of such a girl as Antonia.” Lady Betty’s heart was beating at fever heat. “How ridiculous you are, Edward!” she said. “You will persist in putting Antonia on a pedestal, as if there were no other girl in the world as good as she! I hope you assured Lord Marchmont that this man, whose name you have not given me, was indeed worthy of your muchlauded Antonia?” “1 told my brother that, alttmugh Gerald Tenby was a constant visitor here, I was uot ” He got no further than that. Lady Betty had broken in on his speech. (To be continued.)