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I "TWO MEN FROM KIMBERLEY,"

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I "TWO MEN FROM KIMBERLEY," By H. BARTON BAKER, Author of "Robert Miner, Anarchist," "Stafford, a Romance," &e. I CHAPTER II-Continued. I I What Denver Found at Sandlands Ij Hall. I Through the blind night, beaten by the bitter snowflakes, now over hills bare and open, now down into valleys where the snow was drifting into thick masses, and dripping from the scanty foliage of overhanging trees that made a white canopy above him, past wayside cottages, the dimly-lit windows of which gave the only sign of human life, he pursued his -way. As he passed through the village of Langton the church clock struck nine. What longing I looks he cast upon the red blinds of a roadside inn, that told of a ruddy fire blazing within. He was wet, weary, hungry, thirsty, cold; a I few pence would medicine most of those ilk, and he was destitute of 0". "I hope the infernal villain will -endure all that I endure now, and more, curse himt" Denver muttered, as after lingering for a moment or two he moved on again, but with slackened energy. He was soon plodding over the wind-swept expanse of Busthall Common, I and after a while the lights of Tunbridge Wells I were seen twinkling in the valley beyond. I When at length he reached the Pairtilee he felt as though he could go no further, yet the roughest part of the walk, through woods and lanes, was yet to be done. Be dropped down into one of the snow-covered seats in a state I of collapse. I All the way along he had been thinking of j I his meeting with Weston and what followed. 1 He remembered now that he had let his j I tongue run much too freely about his personal I affairs. He was angry with himself, very angry. But the man did not seem much inter- I ested; he asked few questions, and made very few remarks. Yet the more he thought about I what he had seen of Weston the more puzzled was he that he should rob and attempt to murder a man who offered such little tempta- tion as he, Denver, did. Spite of the cold, he fell into a doze upon ¡ I the seat, and was awakened by a bull's-eye lantern upon his face. Rather a cold bed, isn't it, my man? It was the sharp voice of a policeman. Denver started up shivering-" I was taking I i a little rest," he said. What's the time, con- [ stable ? I "Half-past ten; time you was at home," aziswered the constable suspiciously. Quite," answered Denver, moving on. That fellow used to touch his hat to me," he muttered. I wonder what the mashers, ¡ some of my old pals would say to me now. What a change has come o'er the spirit of ¡ my uream," he laughed, as he surveyed his deplorable figure by the light of a gas-lamp. "What will the governor say to me? and Agatha, and Lilian? How can I present my- I self before them in such a pickle? I don't believe they'll credit my train adventure. But for that I could have taken a fly from I here to the Hall; they'll think I got drunk jwith the mnnpv. or something of the sort. 1 My overcoat was not of Bomimtree-t type, but now it's torn, by my fall, I suppose, and I look as if I'd been dragged through a dirty river. Well, on I must go; there's no alterna- tive; I've nowhere to put my head, and I should be dead of cold by the morning, and look worse even than I do now. I feel like a lump of ice, ae though I could refrigerate an i oven." He was soon out of the town again and in the darkness and loneliness of the country. The enow, with the exception of straggling flakes, had ceased, but the ground was covered by it as with a carpet, and the moon was struggling to cast a pale light through- the filmy sky. Presently he plunged into r thick woods. He used to know every path in them, but the darkness and enow confused him. More than once he lost his way, and was on the point of casting himself upon the eoddened ground and giving up the struggle. At length, emerging out of the thicket, he found himself in the open, and recognised that he was close upon the Hall. A little further on he entered a steep lane which was rendered quite dark by a bramble-covered acclivity on the one side and a row of oaks that still retained much of their leafage, on the other. From the time he had left behind him the gas-lamps of Tunbridge Wells, he had not encountered a living being, bit as he came within view of the end of the lane, which was closed by a white gate, upon which the pallid moonlight was sleeping, he saw standing behind it a woman. But as his eyes fell upon her she vanished, so suddenly that he almost thought it must be an illusion. He hurried on, and passed through the gate, which closed behind him with a clang. He was now walking across a park-like lawn, in the midst of which stood an old grey Tudor mansion, that had been erected in the days when Sussex was the iron county of England, and the mines of Staffordshire still slumbered beneath the earth. This was Sandlands Hall. It seemed to be in utter darkness. He could not see any sign of the female figure which he fancied that he had seen at the gate. It must have been an illusion of the moonlight ani the treee. Even now at the last moment, as he remem- bered the austere man he was about to intrude upon, his courage failed him. Would it not be better to areep into an out- house among the straw and rest there until the morning, than wake up the household? i But he was so wet, so chill, and exhausted for want of sustenance, that in a few hours, if his wants were unrelieved, he might be prostrated by illness. He stood looking at the grew walls and lightless windows, ghostly under the sickly moon, when through the death-like silence the Hall clock began to toll midnight, and from one of the barns an owl sent forth its weird cry upon the dumbness of the night, like the call of an evil spirit summoning its fellows to a hellish revel; and it was answered by a distant hoot. Such sounds were familiar enough to one reared in the country, yet they filled Denver with a nameless horror. The house was entered by a deep stone porch and a massive nail-bound oaken door, upon which hung a heavy iron knocker. As Denver stepped into the porch, the head of a man rose cautiously behind the hedge that faced it and enclosed the lawn on that side in eager watch. With trembling fingers Denver was lifting the knocker, when to his surprise, he saw that the door was ajar. Again the ill-omened bird of night sent forth her dismal wail, fill- ing the young man with a provision of impend- ing horror. For some seconds he had not nerve enough to push back the heavy portal. It opened upon a large hall, stone flagged, and oak wainscoted. There were a-partments on either side of it; the door of that which s used as the dining-room was only half closed, and there was a light within. Again that paralysing fear, held Denver eta-nding upon the threshold. Like the hall, the walls were of da?k polished oak, great beams crossed the ceiling, at one end was a deep mullioned oriel window; upon the bear*. wnderoee? the grauft carmd &M-, place, some wood still smouldered with ft sullen glow. Upon a waiting table at the side, a. shaded lamp burned low, and all the extremeties of the spacious apartment were dim. Denver cast a fearsome glance around it until it-rested upon an overturned writing cha.ir close to the table on which the lamp stood. It had fallen back upon something that lay stretched upon the carpet. He dared not realise what that something was. As he tremblingly crept up to it a cry of horror burst from his lips. I: was the body of a man, and the ghastly* upturned face, upon which was stamped the agony of violent death, was that of Mr. Grice- son. For a few seconds the dreadful spectacle htid him motionless, speechless, until he rushed to the bell rope and pulled it violently, and uttered choked cries that grew louder and louder, of Surder Then he knelt down beside the body and, raised, the head upon his knee; it was soaked in blood, and still with almost unconscioar reiteration he shouted that most terrib18 of cries: "Murder, murder I" CHAPTER III. Under Suspicion Several minutes elapsed; it seemed to Den- ver an interminable time; then there waa « swift rwh of light footsteps and & young lady in a linen wrapper, as though she had just jumped out of bed, carrying a lamp in her hand, her red hair floating about her white face, hurried into the room, crying," What is the matter, who is it?" "Agatha!" exclaimed Denver-" my God. look here!" A scream of terror broke from the lady's lips, the lamp fell from her hand, and she ran into the hall, where she was met by & man-servant and two women-servants, half- dressed, who had been roused by the bell, but she staggered and fell in a dead faint into the man's arms. Passing her to one of the women the man hurried into the dining-room, still ignorant of what had happened. He was greeted by Denver with the cry of- Dixon, Dixon, look here, your master- murdered." The man stood aghast, staring at him,; scarcely noting his words in his amazement at this sudden appearance of a long absent- one. Master Hubert, good Lord, can it be you?" "Yes, yes, I'm no ghost, look here, here is- a dreadful sight Oh, my poor master, my poor dear mas- ter cried Dixon, dropping down upon his knees besides the dead. Horror paralysed the whole household; Denver was the first to recover some presence of mind, and he despatched a man on horse- back to Tunbridge Wells to give information to the police and bring back a doctor, though there was no ftopc that the unfortunate gentleman had not passed beyond all medi- cal aid. No one of the household could throw any light upon the horrible orime. The servants retired to rest as usual at ten o'clock. Dixon, the butler, was quite certain that he had' left every door and window securely fastened before he went to bed, and no one- had heard the slightest sound until they Q. were awakened by Denver's frantic pulling a4, the bell and his frantic cry of Murder!" Miss Agatha was with him when I went upstairs; you know he always &at up very late reading-" Where then is Miss Lilian ?" Denver burst out suddenly. The butler looked aghast, then troubled. She is not here—has not been here for more than three years." Where is she ? I can't talk of that now, sir. Perhapa1 Miss Agatha can tell you," replied Ducon confusedly. Where is Miss Agatha ? "She's been in violent hysterics, but she's coming round, and has been asking about you, sir. I'll go and see if she can receive you. And Dixon, evidently glad to escape the young man's questioning, hurried out of the room. "Lilian not here—not these three years!" exelaimed Denver; and for a few moments even the ghastly tragedy was merged into this new trouble. A maid servant brought him word that Miss Griceson would see him. He was conducted to a tasteful ly-fitted-up boudoir, the modernity of which offered a. striking contrast to the old-fashioned furni- ture and appointments of the rest of the. mansion. The lady was reclining in a chaise longue, wrapped in shawls, beside a bright fire. The shaded lamp behind her left her in shadow, but he could perceive how utterly prostrated she was. Agatha's complexion, always colourless, though not unhealthily so, was now of leprous whiteness, and its ghastly pallor was heightened by the masses of dark red hair. which hung dishevelled about it, and des- cended almost to the green-grey eyes, that; looked dull and heavy; even the usual bright, vermilion of her lips was faded to a pale pink, She stretched out. beautiful white hand. exclaiming: "I could not come to you—I' cannot realise anything-my dear, deax-. uncle murdered." She burst into sobs, and hid her face in heq handkerchief.* "Agatha, dear," he said, taking a 8ea.8 beside her, "it is a most awful business, but you must try to compose yourself, the police will be here soon, and you must try eml remember any circumstance that can throw a light upon the perpetration of this awful deed. "I know nothing; I left my uncle at half- past ten reading at the table—that is all I know. But where did you come from so sud- denly?" she asked. "How did you get into the house-when I saw you I thought it was an apparition." She uttered a scream of terror and cowered down in her wraps, her eyes fixed fearfully upon the back of her hand, which was stained. with bloody finger-prints. "His blood-my uncle's blood—my God, how did it come there!" she cried. Denver looked at his own fingers. There was dried blood on them, her hand was hot and moist; he had clasped it and stained it. "It was in helping to raise the body-I am so sorry, I did not notice it; let me wipe it away." He took a handkerchief from his pocket, but Agatha would not let him touch her, and gazed at him with a curious look in her eyes. "Where is Lilian?" he asked. Miss Griceson started back as if an adder # had stung her, and a faint tinge of colour mounted to her face. "That is a name that must not be spoken within these walls," she answered acridly. What do you mean?" he asfted aghast. "She disgraced our name—her father far- bade her the house—she is dead to us." "Good God-" "Not another word about her—I orbid it. do you hear. I forbid it. How can you tsak of her—of anything, how can you think ot anything at each an awful moment aa tins." p\> te oamunuou

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