Ladysmith news-budget. [volume] (Ladysmith, Rusk County, Wis.) 1907-1927, 1909-10-07
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~ Through a Worrlan's ~
IA Heart. W
hAN BY Sidney Warwick. a46
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Heart.
BY Sidney Warwick.


She had given no sign of having seen
him-probably, as he realized now, in
her half-delirious state she had hard
ly been conscious of the face peering
from it's hiding-place, that must nege
theless have unconsciously imprinted
itself on her mind; and though Bon
holt Hume had avoided her since, he
have seen him.
Would her story be believed?
In his room at the hotel that night,
lying awake almost till dawn, unable
to sleep, he had debated that ques.
ton: would her story be listened to?
Surely her long silence would help
to discredit this wild story-and Mat
thew Bland, who knew so much, who,
if he spoke, could put rope about
his neck, would be safe out of the
country, out of reach. If only that
revolver had not been identified as
his; that would strengthen Olive Van
stones story, of course, Though he
had strenuously denied knowledge OF
how it had come to be in the river,
had denied having seen the weapon
for months, he was far from sure that
the police believed him. He had won
dered for days if he were not being
kept under surveillance.
What was he to do? That recurring
question beat again and again across
his mind, through those long night
hours when sleep would not come.
Now he decided upon instant flight
now he determined to brave it out,
since with Bland out of reach of ques-
lions there was only an hysterical
woman's word. Was not his word as
good as hers?
Not until the dawn was breaking
did sleep come to the tortured man,
broken, troubled sleep of an hour or
two. When he rose, looking horribly
ill and haggard, Bonholt Hume was
still in the grip of indecision. Fear
was at his elbow like tangible pres
ence, whispering panic-counsels of
flight.
But he had little money about him,
and flight would bring suspicion to a
head; there would be an instant hue
and cry.
At last he decided that he must re.
turn home and put bold front on it
Matthew Bland would be already on
the sea; this wol--An's uncorroborated
story was not proof. Her very adj
mission that she was on the scene of
the crime would look suspicious. He
must return to Wildfell for the pres.
ent, at any rate; this would give him
the opportunity of getting money, to
tice. For the present, even if there
was suspicion, he told himself there
could be no proof.
1t was late in the day when Bonholt
Hume reached the Old Hall. He had
not gone to Fellsgarth Station-his
nerve had failed him; he had driven in
a cab from station five miles distant
AS the servant opened the door he
put a question to her, trying to con.
troll his voice.
HAS anyone called whilst I've been
away?"
Eyes, sir; the police-superintende
from Fellsgarth. He asked when you
would be returning. No one else, sir.
There are some letters on the library
table"
Why had the superintendent called
The words had sent stab of fear
through the guilty man, whose nerves
were on the rack. He walked unstead-
lily into the library and dropped heavi.
ly into a chair.
Presently he rose and walked over
to mirror on the wall, as the thought
came suddenly to him that the servant
had stared curiously at him as she
opened the door. In the gathering
dusk of the room the white, haunted
face looked back at him from the
glass-a changed, very different face
from the cherubic, benevolent coun-
tenance that had been so well-known
and popular in the village. The sight
of his reflection in the glass startled
him.
He crossed the room and dropped
into his chair again.
Why had the superintendent called
Outside the long, open French win
dows the dusk was closing in over the
wooded grounds; shadows were creep
ing out from the corners of the room.
He had always hated this house in
the dusk since Philips death; had al.
ways had the lamps lighted early. He
struck a match with impatient, nerve,
less fingers, crossing over to the great
brass standard lamp. AS the match
famed up his eyes fell on the pile of
letters that had come for him during
his absence from home, which he had
forgotten. And on the top of the heap
was telegram.
A telegram! The match dropped
from his fingers and went out. He
snatched up the telegram and tore
itsopen as he crossed over to the win
dow to read it by the fading light--too
impatient to wait until he had lighted
a lamp.
1t was a telegram that must have
come before nine o'clock that morning
an unsigne letter from Matthew
Bland. Terror seemed to leap out
from those brief sentences and clutch
him by the throat as he stared at that
guarded message which limited so ter
rible significance:
ITO warn you whilst / have the op-
portunity. Suspect I am being fol-
lowed. May be stopped before 1 go
on board"