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,(ritE STORY OF A GOOD WOMAN'S…

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,(ritE STORY OF A GOOD WOMAN'S SWN.) BY C. HALL FEILDEN. AUTHOR OF Good Man's Sin," When the Tempter Fails" &c., &c. CHAPTER XVI. 'Dt RAYMOND HARDING IS LURED INTO A rRAP. As a rule, Herbert Blake drove in to Black- town every morning. His figure was none too popular to allow him to show himself in the streets too frequently. But on this particular occasion he had decided to walk. Half way through the little forest which separated Rainsford Hall from the town he came face to face with Sir Raymond Harding. After the sudden death of Basil Barclay, Sir Raymond had imagined that the course was clear between himself and Enid Burton. He little knew what the girl's real opinion of him was, otherwise, perhaps, he would not have troubled. However, he was a man not gifted with the keenest perception. He was one of those bull- dog brutes who imagine that when he wishes to acquire a certain result nothing else need be taken into consideration. In fact, he went so far as to flatter himself that he was doing the girl a good turn by taking the place of a lover whom death had claimed for its own. In his inmost heart, had he really analysed his reason for wishing to marry her, he would have discovered that, mingled with the tittle love he possessed for her, such as it was, was a pre- ponderating feeling of financial advantage. He was not a poor man exactly, but certainly far from rich, and he appreciated that the wealth which Enid possessed would be yery use- ful to him, and, above all, he always had in his stupid mind that it would be a good match for her. Since the death of Basil Barclay he had met "the girl on several occasions, and once or twice Bis conversation had suggested that granted permission he would like to declare his love. The girl had evidently foreseen this, for she had turned the conversation into a different channel. Once she had almost insulted him when she had told him that she would sooner that he reserved his platitudes for someone else. Sir Raymond had not forgotten that remark, and he had grown to appreciate that in order to gain the girl the fight would not be an easy -one. He had met Herbert Blake a good deal lately, but nothing of a confidential character had passed between the two, and, consequently, as he saw him approach, his intention was simply to pass the time of day and then go on his way. But Blake did not intend that this should 'be so. "You are making the best of a crisp morn- ing, Sir Raymond," he said, shaking hands cor- dially with him. "I am generally an early riser, Blake," the pother replied. "An uneasy conscience turns you out?" Blake Said, smilingly. "Oh, not exactly that," the other replied. "I like to wander about in solitude sometimes; it gives a man a chance of turning things over in his mind." "But surely you have nothing to worry you. A county gentleman like yourself; you have everything that you can want, and no business troubles. Now if you take my life you might bave something to keep you awake half the night." Blake was leading up to the subject which he knew would touch the baronet's heart. @"VFhy, even yesterday, in addition to all the worries and troubles which necessarily attend a business man, I even had to put up with a long interview with Sir Donald Barclay over the ques- tion as to the grievances of my Mill hands. Of course you will understand this, Harding. Sir Donald is not a. business man he knows nothing about it; but a woman's influence goes a long Way. He is getting desperately in love with Miss Burton." Blake saw the colour rise to Sir Raymond's face, but he feigned not to notice it as he con- tinued. co Yau see, Barclay is a very impressionable youngster, and he has got an idea that because he is in love with a woman that he should do every- thing she tells him. Now, for my part, I think Snidf Burton is a girl who requires a husband of a much stronger character." "Quite right-quite right!" Sir Raymond said impetuously. Scarcely noticing that during the conversation Blake had taken hold of his arm and was leading him in the direction of the Mill. "Of course I am a stranger here to a certain Extent," the scheming manager went on to say, "and perhaps a lot of people don't like me. They never like a man who has revolutionary ten- dencies but although I devote most of my atten- tion to the Mill, one cannot help hearing rumours, Sir Raymond, and perhaps you will pardon me for mentioning the subject, with which you are probably au faix, when that poor fellow, Barclay, net his death in the hunting field, I understand that it was because he was endeavouring to avert what looked like an impending accident to Miss Burton. Of course it was very chivalrous on his part, and he paid the penalty which cost him his life. Gossip also tells me that in addition to that man being rather fond of her she recip- rocated that feeling. Now, in my own opinion, with all due respect to abserat ones, that is no reason why Sir Donald should use that as a lever to urge his claim upon the girl." 'The scoundrel," Sir Raymond said, inter- rupting. "Now, wait a moment, Sir Raymond. You have allowed me to open my heart to you so far, and you can think what you like of me when I have finished, but I must tell you what gossip has been kind enough to say. It appears that the only person who seemed to stand between Basil Barclay and Enid Burton is yourself. I believe you were fond of the girl, and now that that barrier is removed, if you are still fond of her you ought to press your suit. So far as I know and remember, this is in the strictest confidence, I should not look with favour upon any alliance between Sir Donald and the girl. XHiring the time in which he was away from home as the result of some unfortunate scrape that he got into, I have reason for knowing that Barclay led a life which would not reflect credit Upon even a man born in a much lower station of life than himself. In fact, some of his dealings absolutely unfit him for a marriage with a girl of aucfa a pure character as Miss Burton. It is a matter in which I myself cannot take any open part, but I feel it my duty to inform you of my intentions." Raymond had drunk in every word! which tha "schemer had spoken. He had made few friends in his life. He was not a man to make friends, and at last he thought lie had discovered one as unscrupulous as him- aelf. He still thought that there were some people in the world who had a disinterested reason for doing good, and, curiously enough, in such a light he looked upon Herbert Blake, in spite of all the vituperations which had been cast ,upon him. "Blake," he said, clearing his throat, "you are the first man who has been kind enough to talk to me in this manner. I am desperately in have with Enid Burton. It is a love which some people cannot understand, for the simple reason lhat whatever coines or goes—whatever I may &Bve to resort to-—by fair means or foul—that Sirl shall be mine. In some matters I am very wn, and this is one. If I don t have her I will tqke every means to prevent her ever becoming Sir Donald Barclay's wife-" There was a slight pause in the conversation they walked along- Wake had already made up his mind what to w, but he was too much of an old hand at the re to put forward his suggestion immediately, wanted a little time to pass, in which his companion could find himself in a quandary, then 4t would be his turn to step into the breach, and earn for himself the other man's everlasting gratitude. Just as the pause was becoming rather painful Blake relieved the situation. He spoke in cold terms now and again, inter- spersed with assumed feeling towards his com- panion. In five minutes he propounded such a scheme aa would bo calculated to for ever separate Enid Burton and Sir Ronald Barclay, and would grobably place the girl in Sir Raymond Harding's "In any event," he said, in conclusion, "I am certain Sir Donald will refuse to marry her. Remember, the time is not yet ripe. When love is young it is inconsistent-it should be allowed time to mature. Let this love grow until it will seem to them that even heaven itself could not diminish it. The blow will be all the more crush- ing when it follows. Wait until you hear from me, Sir Raymond-it may be a week-it may be a month, but Sir Donald Barclay shall never marry Enid Burton." I CHAPTER XVII. I I F JJNIB, I LOVE YOU." I During the past few months Enid Burton had been a frequent visitor at Rainsford Hall. Generally her visits had been of a business character, inspired by her charitable mind, but latterly they had been the result of persistent appeals upon Sir Donald's part that she would come again. On the particular afternoon in question she had taken her seat at the little table on which tea was set exactly opposite Sir Donald. It was evident from the easy manner in which she addressed him that they were on much better terms than when we had found them here last, confronting him with the problem of the treat- ment of his employees. She had taken off her hat, and thrown it care- lessly on the sqfa. They might have been brother and sister, except for the appealing look in his eyes. "I am beginning to lose faith in you, Sir Donald," she said petulantly. "Time after time you have promised me that you were going to take a vivid interest in the welfare of your people. I don't think you understand the gravity of the position." And then the girl warmed up to her subject. "You are very wealthy, Sir Donald, and wealth creates a great gulf between yourself and those who are helping to keep you in your present posi- tion. It is difficult for you to imagine that there are hungry mouths in Blacktown-that there are women and children begging for their food whilst the men hardly know which way to turn. They are not all deserving, perhaps, at least in the way in which we look at the world. Some of them are out of employment through indiscre- tions, but even these you can afford to be charit- able towards. In the slums in which Blacktown unfortunately abounds, you will hear the wail of misery all day long. They have no one to help them. The authorities are lethargic, whilst they are arguing amongst themselves as to who shall have the contract for laying down fifty yards of drainage pipes. Whilst they are haggling over estimates which perhaps only vary by a shilling, they are forgetting that a certain class of humanity is starving because no hand is held out to help them. If the men who are supposed to look after the town neglect their duties in an idle desire to combat with one another it is reason why you should stand aloof. Let your young life be devoted towards doing some good— you have it in your power to make the name of Barclay a household word in every home. The fact that you have caused even an hour's happiness to one of these creatures ought to be an added recompense for anything that you might do. The wail which rises up every hour from the slums is unconsciously addressed to you. The poor are still crying out for assistance, and it is in your power to give it them. Won't you help them, Sir Donald ? > Throughout the girl's appeal Barclay had gazed upon her with mind feelings of wonder- ment and admiration. Never in his life had words so touched his heart. To him the girl seemed something etheral. It was like a message from the unknown world borne down upon him. Sometimes I think," he said, when he could summon up courage to speak, "that all this wealth which I have in my possession would be so much better wielded in anyone else's hands. You, for instance, Miss Burton, would raise up to your- self an everlasting monument by the good that you would do, but to me it is like a cumbersome rock which stems the tide but doesn't turn the water into another groove and which could avail nothing. I have one great fault which shines out above all others. I am very weak. If some one would only help me there is still a chance that I might do some good in the world." As he looked at the girl he noticed a slight flush suffused her face—it was enough for him to know that his suggestion had' appealed to her. A certain courage overcame him which, had! he thought longer would probably have forsaken him. He leant across the table and took hold of her dainty hands. "Edith," he began, "when a kind fate has in- vested me with wealth which I don't know how to wield, there must be something wrong. It means that I should have a partner who would help me to do my duty-someone to go through life with me. Someone with a sympathetic heart who can understand the sorrows and needs of others. You tell me that I have it in my power to do So much, will you help me to alleviate all this suffering? Will you be my wife? I know I ought not to appeal to you in this manner. I ought to have tried to win you, but perhaps we shall be able to do so much good together. Won't you help me 1 The girl's fingers closed somewhat tightly round his, and she looked up to him with love gleaming ini her eyes. "I will love you for yourself, Donald—even for your weakness which you have the courage to confess. We will work hand in hand and go through life together endeavouring to help all those who have been less fortunate than our- selves." Then he stooped and kissed her tenderly. "How shall I start, dearest?" he said; "there must be a beginning." Well," the girl replied, in a practical manner, "it is right that we should get at the root of the evil. I want to try and put myself in your place if possible, and if I did do so I should say dismiss Herbert Blake immediately." Donald's face assumed an ashen hue. He knew how impossible that would be. "I can'h.o that," he said in a voice so different to what she had just heard. "Why not?" she asked. "I cannot tell you why," he answered after a pause; "do not ask me; he must stay in his pre- sent position until better circumstances permit met to get ridl of him. Anything else you wish me to do shall be done, but this is a matter over which I have unfortunately no jurisdiction; don't ask me why, little one; take me for what I am; put my past life behind me even if he won't. Leave Blake to his fate, his course may not be a long one. The Mill will know how to deal with him when the time arrives." CHAPTER XVIII. I THE STORM CLOUDS GATHER OVER THE MILL. I Stephen Bond was waiting outside the Mill, as was his custom, for the purpose of seeing Grace on her way home. It was winter time, and ha never liked the idea of her walking across the fields by herself, apart from which it relieved the monotony of his daily toil to see her. They had so much in common to discuss. As she slipped out of the large gates he crossed the road, and they were soon marching off together in the direction of their destination. "You look rather upset to-night, Steve<—what's the matter?" "Haven't you heard," he said grimly, "about the mass meeting which is to be held in the market-place to-morrow. The men won't stand it any longer. Flesh and blood can put up with a great deal, and men bear their troubles, but: they don't like to go home and see starving mouths. Since this man Blake has had charge of the Mill he has dismissed something like five hundred men, and if I don't make a mistake the whole lot of them will turn out to-morrow. I can't understand why it is your father is so indif- ferent to the situation. In fact he displays some- thing less satisfactory than indifference, he seems toy side with these autocrats who are crushi E; us Y if one dares to mention the name of Barclay in anything but favourable terms, and he looks as though he would like to kill the man who makes the remark." "WeU, father is getting old," tha girl said. "You mustn't mind that, Steve. He is a little bit funny on some subjects, but his heart is right and he is very fond of me." "That makes amends for everything, my girl," Bond said. "Anyone who is kind to you, what- ever his faults may be, always holds a place in my heart. But I feel so troubled over this mat- ter to-night, dear. A year ago there was not a happier and more contented Mill in England; we all worked in unison with on another. We weren't afraid to do our best, and now the men do as little as they possibly can do. And why is it? Simply because on everyone of them is the feeling that the tyrant demon is keeping watch over them. That something is dragging out every ounce of their strength and grinding them down so as to make them powerless. But to-morrow night there will be some plain speaking. They have called upon me to champion their cause. Only this morning we have sent in to Sir Donald Barclay a petition signed by two thousand of us eetting out our grievances. We have not asked for higher wages. We haven't asked for less hours, we have simply said that we want to be treated like Englishmen. At the present moment we are doing the work which another five hundred men should do. We don't mind that so much. If it had been in the old days we should never have grumbled, but we cannot stand by and see five hundred homes without bread win- ners. I only wish Sir Donald Barclay really knew the true state of affairs. Still, we can't do any more than warn him. We have sent in a petition and he has taken no notice of it. If the Mill strikes to-morrow night he will have him- self and Mr. Herbert Blake to thank." "But there won't be any rioting, Steve, will there? I once read in a book about a strike that took place somewhere and it was awful. The men lost all control over themselves, and it was almost like a civil war before they had finished—they forgot everything." t A look of sorrow passed over the young man s face, and he clutched more tightly on to her arm as thought he wanted her to help him. "I shall do my best, my little girl," he said, I am not going to desert them in their hour of need. They want a leader, and so long as they follow me they won't regret it. I only fear that perhaps they might get beyond control. I shall do my best to prevent violence, but if they once take the law into their own hands I am afraid England will shake from end to end." (To be continued.)

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