Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-05-02
CHAPTER XXI.

comes straight into the center of the room. The glaring chandelier betrays the deadly pallor of his face, the cold gleam in his eyes. He has had sufficient time, during the troubled words that passed between his mother and Nadine, to under stand that the game has been played out and lost. He emight still deny, give oath on oath, put all to the touc.,, and defy actual discovery; but to what end? Who would believe him innocent among those with whom he cares to associate, even should the law absolve hfm? In the future the fate of the outcast, the leper. should be his. She would be the chief witness for the prosecutions-she; with her soft voice, her pure eyes! What chance would he have against her, even though judge and jury acquit him3 His world would believe in her. And it is this same voice that has betrayed him-the dearest voice on earth to him!
 He goes slowly up to the girl who has ruined him and lays his hand upon her shoulder. For the moment it seems he has forgotten that there is any one in the world but her.
 "You!-you heres" he says.
 There is immeasurable surprise but no anger in his tone; his glance dwells upon her ingeringly, tenderly as ever. He is lost in one of the old dreams. It is his last. g2
 ''Tell them," entreats Nadine eagerly, ''They have been imagining dreadful things. I told them you were returning to England soon, but I did not know it would be tonight. Paul, let them know at once-at once-how those stones came into your possession. '
 In her extreme anxiety, she lays her hand upon his arm. Duran makes move- ment toward her, but Massareene, by a gesture, stops him.
 "You still believe in me, then?' says Boyle, in Q curious tone tsYou have had faith all throughP You have never under stood?' t
 "I do not understand now,'' cries the girl pervous1y. "Oh what is this?' She shrinks from him and presses her hand against her heart. "Why do you not speak?" she cries again affrightedly. "One word will reassure me. Yet you are silent. How pale you are What hor- rible thing am to learn. Lady Valworth has called you her son. Oh surely that is''-
 ''Madness on the part of Lady Val worth, interruts he, with short laugh. ''To disown me would have been her wiser plan.''
 "What is this you say?' cries Nadine, in a low voice, faint, mortified. "You do not deny that you are Grant Boyle?"
 "No.n
 "You are not, then, Paul Annerleyr'
 "That's true.'
 Nadine staggers back from him, and presses her hands to her forehead as if in pain
 sAnd what of this, sira'' demands Sir Thomas, coming forward. He has lost all his pompousness, his magisterial air has deserted him. He looks old, distressed, shocked. Every now and then he glances back to where his wife is sitting, with her arms thrown upon tho table near her and her head lying hum. bled upon them. He has taken up the sapphire pendant, and holds it out to Granit Boyle upon shaking palm. "You-did you give this to Miss Roche?'
 ''Mtss Roche has said so'' The tone is contemptuous; the glance that accompanies it rather moro SO. "And-Lady valworth's diamond cross that this young lady wore last night?' Sir Thomas voice is even more tremu- lous now. He would gladly have spared "my lady" (as he always fondly calls her) this; but it is better the truth should be | at once known, if possible. "I gave that also to Miss Roche" There is 6 pause, startling because of the intensity of the silence that masks it. l It is broken at last by Granit. He bursts into laughter-light, reckless, defiant. "The game is up," he says, "Miss 1 Roche has forged the first link of the 1 chain of evidence against me; the rest 1 should be easily made. shall save you 1 all trouble by giving you the exact facts l gratis. I took the diamonds. I took also | the sapphires. Hal my pretty cousinl'' turning his handsome head to where Mil licent is standing, and laughing gayly. "As often as you acted with me in private theatricals, you little guessed how well l could sustain part, even difficult one, l if threw my whole will into it. must apologize to you for that handkerchief, l by tho way. I could have wished it were | finer one: but an actor must be perfect I o;oe, A~fal