Abergavenny Chronicle

| X. [All Rights Reserved. ] <> THE PAIGNTON HONOUR | BY X ALICE & CLAUDE ASKEW, <f> ? Authors of "The Shulamite," "Testimony," &c. ?' I ? _?_ <? <><X> CHAPTER XT7. A STORM IN THE MOUNTAIWi. D:ck Caisford had an overwhelming desire to &c,Ie those ten ladders that lay between Leuk and Albinen. But it had been con- sidered bv his elders unwise that he should attempt to perform the feat. He had pro- tested against this restraint, but without avnil. "You must all look upon me as a regular duffer," he grumbled to Marian and Amy "I could do the thing as easy as easy. And how's a man ever going to learn to climb mountains, as Bruce does, if he isn't allowed to begin with the simple things?" Dick had a great admiration for Bruce, who was fond of the boy and used to take him for climbs, climbs that were really far more diScult than the coveted one of the Leuk ladders. They had set off together on such an expe- dition the day before that upon which Owen Mortimer was to leave for England. When Owen arrived at the Leuk Hotel, therefore, to bid his friends good-bye, he found only Lord Paignton, Marian, and Amy, for Doreen had been tempted to accompany Bruce and Dick, while Basil and Gregory were also out on their own account, and as for Lady Thorndale, she had been induced to indulge in one of the hot baths which are the speciality of Leuk. "I tried one myself the other day," said Lord Paignton, chuckling and rubbing his hands together in the manner that was pecu- liar to him. "It was really quite delightful. Such a convivial lot of people, all up to their necks in water and quite at home. I soon got tired of it myself, but folk stay in the bath for hours together, and it's too comic for words to see a whole crowd of heads bob- bing up and down in the big bath, and little tables floating about with lig-ht refreshments on them, and games, chess and draughts, and all that sort of thing." "Oh, yes, papa," interrupted Marian, "and didn't they throw water at you because you went into the bath-house without taking your hat off?" Lord Paignton laughed with boyish ap- preciation of the joke. "Yes, they did," he p 7 c  atlon of the .e. rejoined, "ard I couldn't make out what was the matter till somebody told me. I wonder how dear Lady Thorndale will enjoy herself, and how she will pass the time. I expect Bhe'Il want to go to sleep, and that would never do, you know." Lady Thorndale was of a somnolent nature. She always slumbered peacefully durilpg the long drives which the party had taken over mountain passes, only opening her eyes now and then to mutter, "Beauti- ful, beautiful," when she felt that such a re- ]mark rn i mark might be expected of her. More often than not it was out of place. The afternoon was sultry and overcast, threatening storm. Over and over again Marian glanced up at the sky and gave ex- pression to her anxiety on behalf of the rest of the party. "They will go such long distances," she said, "and they profess not. to mind a storm a bit. But I'm terribly afraid of lightning among these mountains—I've got & morbid horror of it." "I love it," said Amy, her eyes glittering. "It's grand—and then the excitement of it!" Amy had been very avid of excitement of late. For weeks after the night of the ball she had not been herself. A^ change seemed to have come over her. For the few days im- mediately succeeding it she had talked a great deal about the convent and the desire to become a ii-un., She had even hinted at something of the sort in the presence of Lord Paignton, but he had expressed so great a horror at the bare idea of such a thing that she had never ventured to revert to the sub- ject before him. Instead, a peculiar sort of restlessness seemed to take possesion of her, and a reck- less desire for more and more amusement. This was especially the case in those days before they left London, when, Basil waa naturally & frequent visitor at Wandsborough House. She never complained of being tird now. She danced night after night till the end of the season, ehe made friends with certain girls whom Marian did not wholly approve of because they were reckoBed to belong to rather ft fast set in their company sine played bridge at this club or that, sometimes upending the greater part of the day away from home and not returning till late at night. The evenings when she stayed away were, of course, particularly those upon which Basil was expected, but Marias never noticed the coincidence. More than once tne elder girl ventured to protest. You're doing too much, Amy, dear, you're making such a business of your pleasures. Besides, it really isn't good for you to play bridge so much and for such high stakes. I hear that at the Avenue Club, where you go so much, they gamble for very high stakes indeed. Oh, Amy, darling, it isn't right, it really isn't right." But Amy resented her sister's interference, protesting that she could amuse herself in any way she liked. "If you think that it is any fun for me," she said protestingly, "to plav gooseberry to yon and Basil and to Bruce and Doreen, you're quite mistaken. I'm third in the party, whichever way one Jooka at it. so it's much better for me to find my own amusements. Since I mayn't go into a convent, which is what I want, winy should you be surprised that I fly to the other ex- treme? It's only human nature." She spoke with a cynicism altogether out of keeping with her age, and it hurt Marian, who felt herself, as the elder, in sorm> way responsible for her little sister. Yet how was she to cure the disease when she had never diagnosed the cause of it? The balm she sought to apply, that of begging Amy to be more with her and Basil, was only calcu- lated to increase the smart of wounds that were still fresh. Matters improved a little while the family were at Henley, for Amy did not have the same facility for distraction here. Also Basil only came rarely to the riverside house which Lord Paignton had taken. Then in Switzerland she had regained something of her ordinary good spirits, and this had la-sted all the time till they reached Leuk, when all the old symptoms of restlessness and discon- tent manifested themselves once more. Marian could not understand it at all. She had spoken on the subject to her father, but he, unobservant man, had noticed nothing wrong; she had spoken to Basil, too, only the mischief of it was that in Basil's presence Amy always sought to be briglht and cheer- ful. H, too, could only think that Marian must be deceiving herself. "But I certainly don't like the heavy bridge-playing," he remarked, with a slight frown, "and you're quite right, Marian, in what you say about the Avenue Club. I've heard of queer things happening there." "Anyhow, we shan't, be in London much more this year." said Marian hopefully, "and 60 it's no use making a fuss. We go straight back t.o Charlton, you know, and there's not likely to be any bridge or gambling there. And so the subject had dropped. Amy, not being afraid of etorro, was in- clined to laugh at Marian's fears for the pedestrians. "I wish I'd gone with Bruœ she said now, "for it must be simply grand to see a storm up in the mountains, the light- mng all about you and even under your feet. Ob, I shouldn't at all mind getting wet." It was as she spoke the words that the etorm broke in a sudden torrential flood of rain. Everyone had, of course, to seek shelter within the hotel. The rain lasted for an hour or so, but if there was thunder it was only dimly heard t, ere the distance. Owen Mortimer spent ?e time in pleasant converse—as pleasant as r?n1d be expected, considering Marian's ?ety-?th his friends. Now and then he anxIety-v, 1 teh would look at his watch. f t'- ..f .t "I shall reallv h to f? the rain if it "I shall rea Y 11'?,. said as the after- doesn't slacken ?oon, he sai d as the after- If Cf Up In(>n, noon wore on. Mainwanng, up at Albimn, was expecting me back quite early, for l pro- mised to go out with by way of being a botanist, you know, "Ience I know 109 a. botamst, you no t t something about myself—and he wants me to help him hunt for a certain Alpine flower. It's the last chance we've got, as I go off quite early to-morrow morning-got to be driven to the station at eome unearthly hour." The rain, however, obligingly slackened after a time, and so Mortimer was able to make-his farewells and take his departure. The next time they all met would be in Eng- land, no doubt at Charlton Park. "We may possibly spend a week or so at Wandsborough House in the winter," Lord Paignton remarked, "but it's very uncertain. I always think," he drew himself up rather pompously, "that it is my duty to spend at least the greater pa-t of the year upon my own estate." "YouVe quite right," agreed Mortimer. Then, as he took Marian's hand: How about your marriage, Miss Marian T he inquired, his grey eyes ecrutinising her face closely. Are you still decided to take a year to think it over? "It's Basil who wants the year, not I," she replied, with a smile, but conscious all the same of his scrutiny. "Bruce and Doreen will be married first." Probably early next year," interrupted Lord Paignton. "We're going to talk it all over seriously as soon as we. get home. Oh, yes, Mortimer," he added, "there'll be a couple of weddings in the family before long, so you'd better be thinking about wedding presents. He chuckled gleefully to himself. "Well, we meet again in a week or so, and I'll even consent to give you a ten minutes' business talk if you really want it." He gave Owen Mortimer's hand a friendly squeeze, and then trotted with him as far as the door of the hotel, where he stood and waved his hand until the other man had dis- appeared from eight. Marian, too, had moved to the window and watched Mortimer as he strode quickly away. She was thinking of the curious glance which he had given her as he bade her good-bye. "I wonder," she murmured to herself, "I wonder if Basil can be right? But, oh, no, it's impossible, impossible." She had had no suspicions at all until Basil had suggested them to her mind, but the idea once started, she had been able to recall certain small incidents, insignificant enough in themselves, which, however, in the light of what Basil had said, became sugges- tive. From the very first day that Owen Morti- mer had called at Charlton Park she had often been conscious that his eyes were fixed upon her with a curious regard which she could not understand-very much as they had been just now when he bade her fare- well. It was a queer, hungering look-that was the word by which she could best de- scribe it-and she often wondered if perhaps her features recalled those of someone to him—someone whom he had cared for in the long ago. There had been a boldness in his look at first, but after awhile his eyes had softened wonderfully, and he had never stared at her save when he had imagined that she was unaware of it. She had begun by disliking him, she had had the same feeling in regard to him that Amy had often openly expressed. His eyes were shifty, and he had a cruel mouth; she had thought that he was not a man to be. trusted. After a while, however, she had modified her views, and perhaps, now she came to think of it, this was because he had very palpably laid himself out to please her. He had talked to her a good deal about him- self, told her things which were perhaps hardly to his credit, and other things for which she had been better able to commend him; also, in some indirect way-for it was certainly not from Owen Mortimer himself- the tale of his bravery in Yukon had come to her ears, and she had admired him im- mensely for what he had done on that occa- sion. She had ventured to question him about it, but he had simply pooh-poohed and laughed at the whole affair as if it were nothing at all. Anyway, he had talked to her about him- self, which, as far as she knew, he had not done in the same way to anyone else. And a man rarely opens his heart so freely unless he is attracted by the woman to whom he e pertks. It was curious, too, that since he had been told of her engagement to Basil a change had come over him. There were times when he had spoken to her almost roughly, and, indeed, he seemed generally to have retro- gressed, or, rather, to have gone back to the style of man he was when she had first met him. He came into a room now with the same swagger, and his voice had resumed the self-assertiveness, the roughness, which had characterised it. She had felt sorry, not understanding what had brought about the change; but now a suspicion had crept into her brain, and, though she could not quite tell why, she was afraid. CHAPTER XV. I NEARLY A TRAGEDY. I That night, after a rather rough and ready dinner, which was the best that could be provided by Mortimer's friend at the mountain chalet, Mortimer strolled out of doors to get a mouthful of fresh air. The rain had ceased hours ago, but the night was dark and threatening, a faint, watery moon being obscured every now and then by heavy storm-clouds. And there was still every prospect of that thunderstorm which lmy had declared herself eo anxious to behold. He had only intended to walk a little way, for he had some packing to do, and the start on the morrow was to be a particularly early one. His friend Mainwaring was busily en- gaged with some botanical specimens, and had not seen well to accompany him. Mortimer strolled along, and, in some re- spects, the thoughts that surged through his brain were as wild and menacing as was the night itself. The mountain peaks that sur- rounded him, snow-topped or rugged and bare, the dark woods, the precipitous path he trod, the threatening storm—all these accorded with his spirit and fascinated him. There were moments when the moon was completely hidden, and then he could hardly see his hand if he held it up in front of him. Walking on such a night appealed to the man, and he wandered on and on, forgetting time, forgetting everything else save that down there, in the valley far below him, where the lights glittered like glow-worms, was the one woman upon earth he cared for, the woman who had given her love to another. He stood still for a moment leaning over a low parapet, gazing down upon the dis- tant village of Leuk. Yes, she was there— Marian, happy because she loved and was beloved, quite unconscious of the danger that mena,ced her, the sword that was sus- pended by so fine a thread above her head. above the heads of all those whom she held UCttL It was he who had suspended that sword: he whc might even now remove it if he cared to do so, and it was he who would cut the thread and allow it to do its work. As he leaned over the parapet, his chin resting in his hands, gazing down into the valley, he was somehow reminded-it must have been from the position which he had taken up—of the Devil of Notre Dame, that sinister stone figure which stands, in just such an attitude, mockingly contemplating Paris spread out at his feet. "Yes, that's what I am," he decl&red to himself, "a devil, a devil-for if I wasn't,. I'd spare her, even now, from what I know must come. I'd spare her because I love her. I'd give her up. be happy because I'd know she was happy." He dislodged a stone from the wall with his elbow and laughed at the noise it made as it fell. "Psha! sickly sentimentalism," he mut- tered," "she's his, body and soul, and why t,ercd, "s h e's his, hb i o d ?ands ? Why should I should I play into his hands? Why should I want to-even now?" He wandered on, careless of the direction he took, hardly aware of the fact that he had come to the neighbourhood of the ladders by i which direct descent could be made into the I valley. And suddenly, out of the darkness, there came a .oiœ cry,ng "Hel help! The word was spoken in English. Owen Mortimer came to a halt and gazed about him, trying to penetrate "the darkness. He realised where he was and quickly surmised that the person who needed aid must have got iitlo di ifieiilty with the ladders. But who could be fool enough to think of making the descent or ascent on such a night? M^ortimer groped his way to the edge and peered over the cliff. "Is anyone there?" he cried. "Oh, thank God!" — the voice seemed familiar—"I've been hanging on here for hours-hours. And there's the boy the voice broke in a despairing groan. The darkness was impenetrable, but at that moment a vivid flash of lightning rent the sky, and Mortimer was dimly aware of a dark figure crouching on the level ground at the base of the second ladder. He fancied he could make out another form, too, but was not quite sure, for the second figure was not on the ridge at all, but appeared to be on a lower level and actually hanging over the cliff. It was a moment for action. Stav quietly where you are," cried Mortimer. "I'JI be with you in a minute." His voice was drowned by a great peal of thunder that re- verberated among the hills. Agile and a stranger to giddiness, Mortimer seized the topmost rung of the ladder and swung himself upon it, then, in the darkness, he descended carefully but swiftly. He had passed that way many times before, and knew exactly what he was doing. A few moments later he was clutclied by eager hands, terrified hands that clasped his knee as he descended, and nearly made him lose his foothold. "Don't do that!" he exclaimed with some vehemence. He began to realise that the man who had called to him was beside him- self with fear. The ridge was quite broad enough to preclude actual danger. There was no risk of his falling or injuring himself in such a position. "What's the matter, man?" he cried, as he set his feet on the firm rock. "You've got plenty of foothold here. Are you hurt? "No," muttered the other. It was just a voice that came out of the darkness, for the man himself was quite invisible. I'm not hurt. But I can't go on and I daren't go back—and there's the boy, Dick." "Dick Gaisford?" An oath rose to Morti- mer's lips. "What the devil is he doing here? "He would go," came the whimpering re- ply—a voice that was almost a wail—"I couldn't prevent him. There was light when he climbed down. But, oh, the darkness now, the horrible darkness A Bocoad flash of lightning lit up the SCene. In the momentary light Mortimer recognised the green knickerbocker suit of Scotch homespun and the Tyrolese hat which he had come to associate with Basil Heath. And Basil was clinging to his arm in desperate terror. Mortimer threw him off roughly. What on earth was he doing there, moaning feebly for help when Dick Gaisford was probably in actual danger, hanging below somewhere, overcome with dizziness, between life and death? Mortimer crept to the edge and called aloud, "Dick, Dick!" But there was no answer, or, if there were, it was lost in the pealing thunder. Flash succeeded flash rapidly now, and heavy rain beat down, stinging, cutting drops that drove into his face as though they would impel him back from what he had to do. But the lightning was merciful, for without it Owen Mortimer would have been helpless. "He's there—half-way down. He wasn't afraid-he went down laughing; but there was a flower—sometliing—he reached out for it—climbed away from the ladder; he couldn't get back, and I couldn't help him, and no one came—but the darkness, the darkness It was the moan of a man overcome by terror. Mortimer paid but small heed to it. He was prospecting from the top of the ladder, making up his mind rapidly as to the best course to be pursued. He could see the figure of Dick Gaisford now, a little to the left of the ladder, where the cliff was broken. The boy had evidently been tempted to a foolhardy feat, thinking he could easily retrace his steps, and, when it was too late, found himself unable to do so. But a hand stretched out to him from the ladder-that was all he needed. With the assistance of such a hand he oould easily have regained safety. And that hand had not been forthcoming, although Basil Heath -bad been there, within a few yards of him almost-a strong, healthy man, unhurt, in the full possession of every faculty, but yet unable, through sheer physical fear, to give the small assistance that was needed. The coward—the utter, despicable coward! If Dick Gaisford lost his life his blood would be wpon the head of Basil Heath. With the lightning playing about him, Mortimer climbed down the ladder till he came abreast of the spot where Dick was clinging, his hands extended over his head, still clinging at Heaven knew- what—some shrub, perhaps, growing from the cliff, the feeble support by which he had been able to keep himself from being dashed to death. "Hold on, my lad, cried Mortimer hoarsely, "help is at hand!" There came the &ound of a faint moan, and Dick Gaisford moved slightly. "I can't hold on any longer." The words were spoken faintly, feebly they were almost inandible. There could be no delay, and there was none on the part of Mortimer. Firmly grasp- ing the edge of the ladder with one hand, he swung his left foot away from it alto- gether, finding support in a slight crevice of the rock—that of which Dick had evi- dently availed himself-and, stretching out his long arm to its full extent, he found himself able to encircle the body of the boy. In this way, by the exercise of sheer strength and tremendous will, he was able gradually to draw Dick Gaisford to the comparative safety of the la<lder. But by the time this was achieved the body of the boy hung and it was evident heavily upon his arm, and it was evident that Dick had fainted, and was unable to help himself. Yet, with that dead weight resting upon him, gripped tightly to his side, Owen Mor- timer scaled the ladder. When he had reached tine top of it he laid Dick Gaisford carefully down upon the ground, staggered a pace or two, and then himself fell. The exer- tion had been a tremendous one, the veins in his neck felt as if they would burst, the ten- sion upon his muscles had been overwhelm- ing. He lay and gasped in the safety of the broad lodge between the two laddenr. "Thajik God thank God!" The voice of the otner man—the coward—fell upon Morti- mer's ears. He dragged himself up to a sit- ting position. "Yes, you may thank God, Basil Heath b<' muttered savagely, "th&t there has been someone to save you from the eternal dis- grace of having sacrificed a life. It hasn't saved you from that of your wanton cowar- dice. Any man "—he spoke the w*>rds with bitter emphasis—"could have got the lad out of his awkward plight as soon as he'd got into it. But you—you were afraid-afraid for your own precious life." He rose to his feet, disregarding the other altogether, and bent over the boy, gently feeling his heart and chnfing his limbs. "He'll be all right," he said, after a. moment. He's only fainted, and no wonder. Let him lie where he is for a little until he recovers. He's got no hurt-a scratch or two nothing more And you"—he turned fiercely upon the cowering, 'humiliated man by his side—"you stay with him till he comes to. I'll send help there are cottages not a hun- dred yards up the road. I'll have a cart ready—whatever I can get—to take you both down to Leuk. You needn't whine any more," he added fiercely, "you're out of danger now. You"—this with a bitter intonation—"were never in danger at all." "I couldn't help it," groaned the other. "I swear to you, Mr. Mortimer, I was giddy—I'd have lost my own life, I-I couldn't do it." The speaker had sunk down upon the ground, burying his face in his hands, rock- self himself to and fro. The lightning flashed and the rain beat down while, on the opposite side of the valley, over the great peaks, the clouds had broken and the faint light of the moon flickered through, making visible the tops of the mountains while the rest of them. were in total darkness. And down below the lights of Leuk glimmered fitfully; there were but few now-no doubt Leuk was sleeping. Yet, doubtless, at the hotel they must be astir. Mortimer did not know how it had come about that Heath and Dick Gaisford should have been on the ladders at that time Of nignt he did not trouble to inquire, but doubtless there was a great commotion at the hotel over their prolonged absence, and pro- bably a relief expedition had already been formed. How Marian must be trembling for the safety of her lover. Mortimer ground his teeth as the thought rushed through his mind. Her lover—tihe coward, the hound that he was-was quite safe. She need not have been alarmed that he would risk his precious life. And doubtless he would have a fine tale to tell when he got back to the hotel, for there would be 110 one to contradict him. And, as if to confirm this thought that had just flashed into Mortimer's brain, the crouciiing man spoke, though he did not raise his head or venture to meet Mortimer's eyes. "For Heaven's sake don't give me away, Mortimer," he muttered. "Don't say any- thing about this." Mortimer deigned no reply, savq that he re- peated with infinite scorn the word "Coward!" Then he laid his hands, which were torn and bleeding, upon the ladder ready to descend. No further help was needed from bim now; lie had only to warn the peasants in the cottages, and they would see to the rest. They would carry the boy and drag the fear-stricken Heath up the two ladders; for himself he had done his part. And as for lvoasting of it. he would scorn to do f'0. Heath might tell what etorv he cliosfc. Mortimer knew him for the coward 1e was. There was no sleep for Mortimer that night. He was at war with himself, his spirit was carrying on a. struggle within him. "Shall I leave her to be marri ed to that coward, that despicable hound ?" he mut- tered. "No! -.t times no!" He set his teeth firmly. "I'll Will her for mtself. She shall marry a man, and not a cur, and whatever means I win her by, though she hates me, I swear it, I sweur it before God, that she shall learn tn live." (To be Co-ttinued.^