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Chwiliwch 15 miliwn o erthyglau papurau newydd Cymru

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THE PRIESTS' HOLE. -...

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THE PRIESTS' HOLE. BY JOHN FiNNEMORE. Author of the "Red Men of the Dusk," The Lover Fugitives," Etc. CHAPTER I. MARGARET AND RICHARD Lieutenant and Commandar Richard Vil- liers, heme after four years oji the Ciiina station, strode up to the door of bprin^- meads, and mounted the .stepo. It v.iiid xiiS aunt's house, but had always meant h-oma to him for as long as he could remembe.r; cmd he turned the ponderous handle of the heavy door and entered the huge hall. At 1i.r,t glance there seemed no one about, and the early autumn afternoon was dusk with- in this vast apartment, panelled in black oak of immemorial age. A fire of logs crackled in the great cavern of a hearth, and gleams of red light fla&hed on stands of armour and trophies of weapons arranged upon the wails. ihe tall bronzed saiior walked towards tho hearth, the fall of his feet deadened upon the carpet which ran from the door up the liali. Suddenly lie stopped doad. Some- one was sitting in the huge chimney corner, and, as he recognised who it was, he drew a deep breath and gazed at her with all his heart showing in his brave eyes. She sa.t there, a half closed book on her knees, lier eyes fixed on the glowing core of heat in the heai't. of the bkaing logs. The light showed a lovely Kngiish girl of 0,0 iUiu-tw-ctity, brown haired, brown eyed,, brown cheeked as became one who icwieu neitiitsr wind uotr weather. Villiers stepped forward, and she looked up. toiie feiarisjd as the lirehgnt tell on Uie tallligme and sprang to her feet. "You!" she cried. "hy, itiehard, you have dropped from the skies. Wo did not expect you tdl to-morrow." "Ship got in ahead of time," murmured Villiers, as ho took her outstretched hand. "Landed last night and came on this morn- ing. How are you, Margaret?" "1 am very well," she said; "and you, how are you after your long stay abroad? Welcome home! it is a very quiet welcome after your absence. No one to meet you." lhe best of welcomes is good enough for me," said the sailer quietly, as she sat down again, and he .stretched his long legs in front of a wide elbow chair new at hand. "Then the telegram that camlê for Lady Anne about three hours ago was from you f" said &he. "Yes, I wired to my aunt before I Left Southampton," replied Richard. And she had gone out just before and has not returned," said Margaret. "o no one was expecting you. Are you hungry ? Shall I order something for you ? I think I may venture on that." 'I should think you may," laughed Rich. ,coni;hlormg you've been familiar wicii tne place almost as long as I have, out 1 won't take anytlutig, thank you. I lunched, on the train." ,1.ow, j0?.1 .into a quiet chat over old times and old friends, bringing up all sub- jects save one, though it was present in the minds of both. It could not fail to be ab- sent from lucnard's thoughts when he saw ior the first time the plain circlet of cold )icn glittered on her left hand, her wed. ding ring. Her hands were folded in her lap, and they wore no other ornaaiient, save the shining strip of yellow metal. But she made no sign of mentioning her marri- age, and under the circumstances, it was not for Richard to bring it up. So he stretched himself at ease in the great ohair, fealmg in every bone how good it was to be homo again, how delightful—after grilling in dry heat, stewing in damp, being ham- mered by typhoon and monsoon—was this grey English weather, and how perfect it was to sit by this roaring fire of English logs and chat to the woman he loved best- in the world. Margaret was altered; 'he saw that at once. She was quieter, her calm, steady look had deepened, her beautiful brown eyes no longer flashed with their old in- tecÜous gaiety, but to him the woma.n seemed a thousand times dearer and sweeter than the gay laughing girl of seventeen to Wiiam he had said good-bye four years ago. i suppose there is no party here at pro xemarked Richa.rd. Margaret laughed. "The house is full from top to bottom," she replied. "The hall is quiet for haif-an-hour, and you have hit upon that very instant. The Colonel is out at the head of the guns, and of the wome.n are there, too. The rest are driving or walking, or in their rooms. A p. pivaranc(\s are deceptive at this moment." So it seems," laughed Richard. "The place had a delightful air of quiet as I came In. The hall door was now thrust open and a stout man in tweeds, a gun in his hand, entered and walked towards the fire. "I thought I did not see you to-day, Mrs Levinge," he said to Margaret, "and as it got rather slow I came back." "Have you seen Lady Anne. Major Wal- asked Margaret. "She's just driving up to the doeir," re- plied the Major. Lpon hearing this, Richard sprang to his reet and went to meet his aunt. The lat- ter was on the steps as he showed himself at the entrance. .< x- Dick, my dear lad," she or led. 1 ou here already and, regardless of the bevy of people trooping up from the coverts, she saized him in hen- arms and hugged him as she had done when he was a little boy. Lady Anne was tall, stout, red-faced, five- and-fifty, and ordinarily a stately gentle- woman to her finger tips. But she cast dignity aside at sight of her only near rela- tion, the boy to whom she had been aunt and mother combined since he was three y-ears old, and embraced him warmly. i p"* i r<?°m have they taken your things to r" she asked. /pH'' traps down at the station." said Richard, and walked no "Someone shall fetob them at once," she Haul. I can t give you VOUr old room at present, my boy, you'll We to have the little red room opposite mine." "Anywhere will do for me," murmured Richard. Now a swarm of guests descended UT>» them, sonic of whom knew Villiors Lid some did not, and a chorus of greetings und introductions followed. When Richard entered the drawing-room &fter dinner his first glance was in seai-ch of Margaret. He saw her in the midst of a cluster of girls, guests in tha house, and, turning aside a little, lie sat. down to await <tn opportunity of joining her alone. He knü\v himself to be no great hand at small talk, and he had much to say to Margaret that was not small talk. Steady as was the he always maintained upon himself, it had stirred him deeply to into the, old hall that afternoon and find hor seated by the fire,as he had of ten seen her in otiier years, yeans when he had deemed her too young to speak of the deep affection which jdled his breast. It put the last perfect touch upon his home-coming that Margaret should be at Springmeads. True, there a number of chattering, frivolous, idle j*fOple in t-1 10 house as well, but he knew :!fr-a"'r t's haunts of old, and promised him_ ^°if in any a quiet half-hour with her, if she were not unwilling. He glanced round the familiar drawing- OOln with the pleasure one feels in revisit- ■ tig every apartment of a house to which ■<j .,s deeply attached. It.was a strange- °king place for a drawirg-room, lofty and "u'ted, with tall, narrow windows. The anntion was that the room bad p oe > 31 a chapel in long distant days, when the family who inhabited the house had wor- shipped at home, and often worshiped secretly, for they had been of the Roman Catholic faith. The holism of Snringmeads had been built between the years 1589 and 1595, as recordod in quaint figures on the tablet over the door of the hall. It was a time when Mizabeth and her ministers were cruelly severe on Reman Catholics, and, as com- monily found in houses of that date, Spring- meads was simply riddled with secret pas- sages and hiding places. The "priest's holes" in the mansion had been designed by that areheontriver Nicholas Owen him- self, the famous Jesuit, and were among the finest examples of his cunning and sKili. were three distinct ways of entering or leaving the secret chamber where the priest, his vestments and bouks. had been hidden more than once upon the arrival of officers and pursuivants to search the place. Passages ran through the immense thick- ness or the massive walls, the entrance^ a.nd exits being hidden in the old oak panelling, the latter much oider than the present building: it had been removed from the ancient house which formerly stood upon the site. When Lady Anne was fifteen years old the last representative of that branch of her family which had held Springmeads died. He had left the place to her, and, since her marriage, it had been her home. Presently Margaret strolled towards Rich, ard, chattering with a visitor an American girl, who had arrived a Springmeads three days before. They halted near Richard, and Miss Van Loo gazed up at a portrait a full length, painted on a long panel. Mrs Levinge, he looks fierce," murmured Miss Van Loo, eyeing a gentle- man with a very stiff peaked beard and w&rii ke moustaohios. Yes, he was the owner of this house at the time of the Civil War," replied Mar- garet. "He hid twenty Royalists in the place, and not one was found, tliough the Ironsides turned the house up- side down to discover them." Sa y. that sounds romantic," said Miss Van Leo. "I suppose there are secret chambers and hiding places by the half- dozen in a big old house like tliis. It's a puzzle to find your way about, I've lost myself twice in the corridors already: I suppose you call them galleries F" At this moment Miss Van Leo was called upon to sing, and Richard stood up. His movement caught Margaret's eve, and she turned and smiled when she saw who it was. "Won't you sit down?" he said. "You would hear Miss Van Loo admirably from here." "I would rather hear vou talk," said the girl frankly. "I was expecting to hea.r all about your adventures when we were dis- turbed this afternoon." "I couldn't help smiling to hear your companion speaking of the secret places while she was looking at that portrait," went on Richard. "She would have been surprised had you touched the sprinp- swung the panel back, and revealed the gloomy hollow behind." I was very glad she didn't push any questions home on the subject," said Mar- garet. "Lady Anne is intensely unwilling to allow any knowledge of the priests' holes ■■ and passages to get abroad. She says that it would permit untrustworthy people, par- ticularly servants, to play suoh pranks in the house." "She is quite right," replied Richard, though I fancy she knows very little of them herself." "At this moment, in this house, I be- lieve no one knows them except you and I," said Margaret. "What of old Bates, the butler?" asked Richard. if He knows them pretty fairlv, I think." "He was dismissed two years ago. for drunkenness," replied Margaret. "His besetting sin," remarked Richard. "I suppose it got too bad at last. Do you remember me finding the plan of the hid- ing-places?" he went on. Ii A large folded sheet of parchment, drawn u.p bv old Little John himself, and tucked away in the leather cover of that great copy of Froissart in the library. How we worked at it until we had mastered every nook and trick and spring." He paused abruptly, for a slight change had come over his companion's face, and he remembered that there had been three of them, two tall boys and a little girl, and the other boy had become her hus- band. He shot off at once to something else. "When do these people go away?" he asked, nodding to the groups which were scattered about the great room. "Mast of them, I believe, leave at the end of this week," replied Margaret. "But you are not going?" "I? Oh, no, I am here for a fortnight again." "That's capital," said Richard. "I feared to hear you were due somewhere else, and would wing your flight with this covey." Margaret laughed, and the talk now turn- ed upon the story of his doings abroad. That night, when the guests were dis- persing to their own rooms, the host,Colonel Blount, touched Villie.rs on the arm. "Where are you going, Dick? Smok- ing-room ?" "I thought so, uncle." "Come up to your aunt's sitting-room. She'll let us have a cigar there, and we can have a. quiet chat." They went up to Lady Anne's room, and found her sitting by the fire. You've captured him, have you, Frank?" said she looking up. "That's good. Now we can hear what he's been doing. There's no chance to get two words with anyone when so many psople are about. Draw your chairs up to the fire and light your cigars." In two minutes again the three were seat- ed comfortably about the blaze, and Rich- a.rd prepared to unfold the budget of his four years' doings in these interested ears, He had written regularly, but their was much to be talked of again. For a moment they spoke of other things. "This is your biggest shoot, isn't it?" remarked Richard, as he lighted his cigar. "Yes," said the Colonel, "that's why the plaoo is so full." "I'm afraid it's not very convenient, my marching on you now," said Villiers to his aunt. Hear the boy talk," laughed Lady Anne. Not convenient. Where on earth Should you go? You know very well the place is as good as your own, since and 1 nave neither chick nor child "Oh Aunt Anne," protested the young man, "I have never dreamt of such a tiling." "I knew you didn't," said that lady with a shrewd smile, or perhaps I shouldn't bo so quick to say it." Colonel Blount took his cheroot from his lips, blew a long cloud of smoke, and chuckled. "There's something in that, Anne," he remarked. Nearly an hour of busy conven&ation passed before Hicha,rd. managed to turn the talk to the subject nearest his heart. "When I came in this afternoon," -he re- marked, "I thought at first the place was deserted, then 1 found Margaret in the chimney corner." "You found her alone?" said Lady Anne. "Quite alone," returned Kichard. "We had a, chat before anyone else turned up." "Do you find her much altered?" asked his aunt. Well, of course, she seems much oider and quieter, "rephedRichard;" but that was to be expected. She was such a merry girl, and the shock of losing her husband as .he did must have been dreadful. It seemed the oddest thing to me as I looked at her to think that Margaret had become wife and widow-; while I was away. And Levinge lest bis life in the frightful .^a/aar lire in Paris ?" \es," said Colonel Blount slowly, "that was it. He was staying at the same hotel as Our neighbour, Captain Lowry; in fact, they went to the bazaar together. Lowry got out quite easily, but he missed Arthur Levmge, and Arthur was never seen again. 1 do not believe they really know how many lives were lost there: it was a terrible ousL ness. "Terrible indeed," murmured Richard, and for a moment there was silence. "I must admit," went on the sailor, "that I was surprised to hear of the mar- riage. I hardly thought Arthur Levinge the kind of Inan he hesitated and paused. n iou were not more surprised than 1, said Lady Anne, grimly. "And decidedly Aiti.ur Levinge was not the kind of man to mate any girl happy. He was not the man I incoiiaeci Aiargaiet to marry." She smootned her clown with both lianas ana gave a significant snili. Colonel is loan c passed a hand over his high, bald brow and iaugued. "On, you may laugh, Frank, said his wife. "1 know quite well what you mean, that I axil more a tiiiie of a ina'ieui- makor. Well, I aamit it. So I am. But I should never have made that match." "it was really made by iom Levinge, Arthur's father and Margaret's guardian, said the Colonel, "and tuough Tom Levinge is a right down good fellow, lie made a ter- rible hash of it that time, and did very wrong, as I think, in persuading Margaret to marry his son." "I remembar that Margaret was always passionately attached to Mr Levinge," said iiicnard. "That's just it," put in Lady Anne. "Without pressure from him I am sure she would never have married Arthur. But I believe the elder man thought the marriage would be the salvation of his son—a foolish enough idw-alld so he worked upon her till she consented." Was Levinge in need of salvation ?" asked Villiers. "You must remember I have seen little or nothing of him since we ran about this house as youngsters together." Was he not!" returned Lady Anne lott- ily. "He turned out a very unsatisfactory person. Debts!" She raised a horrified hand as if they were numberless. "I don't think I've heard anything of this," remarked the sailor. "Quite, possibly not, llW boy," said his aunt. "it was a sickening business, and it is very likely I did not blacken paper with it when writing to you. I was glad enough to put it out of my mind." "Then he was no great loss," commented Richard. "Loss?" cried Colonel Blount. "His death was the luckiest thing in the world. Why, at that very moment, bills which he had forged were maturing." "Forged?" cried Richard. "Forged, to be sure," replied the elder man, pulling his long, white moustache. "Within a month of his death one turned up for me, to the tune of twelve hundred pounds." "What did you do?" Your »••>(•; did nothing." reolied Lady Anne. "lie on id it and never said a word. The fellow was dead, and Tom Levinge was heartbroken, and, as it turned out. practi- cally ruined by the heavy drains his pro- digal son had made on his purse." "But mine was only a trifle," continued the Colonel; "there was a lad named Poole in young Levinge's regiment, a lad with plenty of money, and Levinge fleeced him pretty roundly at cards, Then he got the lad to back one or two bills, and, at Last, being very hard pressed for several heavy debts, he put Poole's na.me on a big bill, a bill for five thousand pounds." Richard gave a low whistle. Who found a, great sum like that?" he .exclaimed. "it hasn't been found," replied Colonel Blount. "Poor old Tom Levinge tried to meet it, but he could no more raise the money than he could fly. Then Margaret wanted to pay it. But she dees not come into control of her money till she is twenty- rive. Siie came to me—1 am the other trus- tee, you know—and pressed me very luard for the money, but I would not give my con- sent." "I never saw your uncle so determined in my life, said Lady Anne. "As a rule, Margaret can twist him round her finger, but this time he was. simply adamant." "WelL by George! Anne, what was I to to?" cried he. "if she likes to pay up when the money is absolutely her own, that's another affair. But I wasn't going to hand out her cash in order that she might shovel it into the hands of the sharks with whom Arthur Levinge hiad been dealing." Of course you were not, Frank, and you were perfectly right," replied his wife. "How did Margaret take his death?" asked Richard. "Well" said Lady Anno slowly, "Mar- garet is not a girl who parades here emo- tions. I have no right whatever to say that she found out the terrible mistake she had i.Le, but that she had found it out I am quite sure. I believe myself that within a very short time of the wedding she would have given anyting to be Margaret Harto again." At this moment Margaret Levinge was pacing the floor of her room, a large cham- ber at the other end of the gallerv upon which. Lady Anne's sitting-room opened. She had dismissed her maid, and had re- mained seated for a long time in deep thought by the wood fire piled in the deep hearth. Then she sprang to her feet, a.nd moved to and fro, for she loved motion when her mind was working fast. She, too, had booi stirred deeply on meeting her old companion again, and she had seen that in his eyes which she had seen without understanding four years ago when they parted, and which now she com- prehended only too well. She looked back on her husband, and felt a panp" that she should have become entangled with Arthur Levinge. And yet she did not blame her- self. With her present knowledge, she looked back and was very sorry for the in- nocently ignorant girl wh/j had fallen under the influence of Arthur Levinge, and, above all, had been implored-to marry him by the man sihe loved best in the world, Arthur Levinge s fathe.r. She knew now the in- jury that Thomas Levinge had done her, H ^orK,avc him, and believed through &1I toiat li^i liacl never of "t/ho man- nfr marriage would turn out, that ne ixiad never really known his son's character. Her thoughts now turned to her dead hus- band, dead without tears on her side, for there was not a grain of the hypocrite in Margaret's nature. She sighed thought- fully as she remembered how his death had oonie to her as little short of a relieif, though the days of marriage and widow- hood liad been separated but by a brief space. She knew now how easily such a man as Arthur Levinge, handsome, gay, with charming manners and the tongue of the old serpent, could ensnare a, girl's fancy, and she did not blame herself, only felt sorry for the innocent young creature who wont blithely into such a marriage without tho faintest idea what it meant. She oeased her light pacing to and :1', and threw herself into a c-hair otfore the large mirror on tilLI dressing +abio. She looked steadily at herself, and saw beneath the lines of experience on the woman's face, the smooth features of the girl of eighteen who had worn the bridal veil. She smiled sadly at herself as she recalled the few months of that disastrous marriage, the merciless manner in which her husband fleeced her of every shilling he could lay his hands on, his, groans to think how far off was the day on which her fortune came into her own disposal, his cruses upon the watch. tantCare Wl11dI had ^Pointed a day so dis- taut. mii?,0 W"an Saving steadily mto the muioi, e.bow on the arm of the ohair, when a strange sensation crept o\ or her. Something was mov- ing in the depths of the mirror, something was moving m the dusk of the room behind her. the room in tfhich she-believed hensod' all alone. A door seemed to lie opening in the wall where sh0 knew no door was, and a form was stepping into the room, the form of a man. Dimly in the dark depths of the mirror she saw his white face, his bright! hi vTb f ^oved swiftly forward to the her chair, and at every step his face Sffi ? advanced into the li-ht of the tall candle burning in tie sconce. He paused at her shoulder. She had not turned her head. Her wide eyes were fixed on the smooth sheet of glass where her pale features and the still whiter face of the intruder stood out sharply agamst tho ebony dusk of the distant panel led wall. In the mirror their glances met eyes fixed on eyes. (To be Continued.)

--LONDON PICTURES. ----

,AGRICULTURAL NOTES.

--COOKERY FOR WORRIED HOUSEWIVES.

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