NORINE'S REVENGE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIII, Issue 117, 18 May 1892, Page 7

NORINE'S REVENGE.

BY MRS MAY AGNUS FLEMING.

CHAPTER VI. BEFORE THE WEDDItiG. (PUB sober March twilight lay low on the Lwy earth when the sleigh whirled up to the door. The red firelight shone through j hß windows, and they could see Aunt Hetty bustling aboub the kitchen. Neither . A soo ken for a time, bub now Norine tamed to him as she lightly sprang out. • Say nothing of this bo-nighb,'she eaid, t^rifidlv • 'wait until to-morrow.1 She was gone before he coald an. and he drove round to the Mhl'e Uncle Reuben was there, and Jr Gilbert remained with him until Ann* Hetty's voice was heard calling fhem to supper. The lawyer was standing ■n the doorway, watching the solemn stars nmeout agreab sileub gravity on his face. S ob, so happy, too-so deeply, unubter*Vha°aupper table was spread, lamp-lighb beamed, firelight glowed and Aunt Hetty Waited thorn impatiently, lest her warm milk biscuits and sugared 'flap-jacks nhonld grow cold. j florine stood leaning aeainsb bhe mantel, looking'dreamily into the red fire. How ™la she was, how strangely grave and thoughtful. Yet nob unhappy, surely, for ha elanced up in her lover's face with a lick blush and smile, and talked to him Rhvlvthroughoubsuppar. Later still, she Slaved and sang for him tho songs and y e 3he liked best played a game of euchre with him, and if sho thoughb of Laurence Thorr.dvke, who had taught her 'thegamo, Rich, '.d Gilbert did not know it. < She will learn to love me,'he thought. •My pretty, dark-eyed darling. I will love 'her so much, I will so gratify her in everything, I will be so devoted in all ways, that sha cannot help it. Please Heaven, hor hie ihall be a happy one with mo.' Norine retired early. Her long drive had made her tired and sleepy, she said ; bub she did nob go to sleep. ■ JJoon and stars shone crystal clear, pearly bright. She blew out her lamp, wrappod a shawl aboub her, and sab down by the window. Weirdly still lay everything—ivory light—ebony shadows—no gourd but the rattling of the skeleton brees In the wintry nighb wind. No living thing fcras visible far or ne-ir. There was only the star-gemmed sky above, the still, white world below. She could read her heart in the holy hush of bhe night, and look into the life that was dawning for her, by its Bolemn light. Richard Gilbert's wife ! How (strange and unreal that seemed. She liked jbim very much, as she mighb have liked an iindulgenb elder brother, but love him?— !no! She might have deluded herself into 'thinking bo had Laurence Thorndyko's Bplendid image never dazzled her. She knew better now; thekaowledge had come .tipon her all ab once, transforming her from a child to a woman, and her heart had awakened from its childish sleep for ever. 'If I had never meb him,' sho bhoughb, *I might have been a happy wife; bub now ! $owl love him wibh all my heart, and will jnntil my dying day.' . j She covered her face with her hands, iilone a3 she was. Alas for Richard Gilierfc! Congratulating himself ab that very .iiomenb on having won for hi 3 very own.^ fche fairest, the sweetest, the truosb of her Bex.

f Aliss Bourdon sab mournfully musing ;there until long past bedtime, long pasb midnight. Moonlight and starlight paled ■presently, the prospect grew gloomy, the air.bitterly cold, and shivering and miserable, the girl crept away to bed. j Even then she could nob sleep—her , nerves were all unstrung and on edge. iKhe lay broad, awake, trying to |lma»ine wha,b her life would bo- like 'as Mr Gilbert's wife. The fairy world ;of her dreams and her books would open to 'her. Costly dresses and jewels, a fine 'house in New York, her carriage and I servants, summer travel, and winter balls— i all this he had promised her. And there, iin the midst of ib all, once again she would / meet Laurence Thorndyke. Ib would be I part of the romance—she as the wife, he as j the husband of another; and the-weak (little heart fluttering under the-bed clothes j gavo a great bound. Then Bhe remembered i that) ib would be wicked to wish to see him }>-a sin to be happy in hi 3 presence; but do j what she would, the hope of meeting him again, was at the bottom of her willingness jto become the lawyer's wife. j When Norino descended to breakfast : next morning, she found Mr Gilbert stand- . ing in the open doorway, looking oub ab i the froaty sunshine. He came forward to ! meebiher, his face suddenly radiant. | 'laave been waiting to waylay you,' he !said, smiling. 'I wanb you to let me tell I your uncle to-day.: |; 'You are in a hurry,' Norino answered, (tather impatiently. - jj. 'Yes, my darling. Why should I not be? And I return to New York early • fiexb week. You say yes—do you nob, Norine?'

She smiled, and gave him her hand. She bad said 'yes' to a mare important proposition ; he had been very good to her, : why should she not please him ? :) 'Do, aa you like, Mr Gilbert. Tell my jtonde if you choose.' jr. 'And if he consents, Norine, as I think I he will, when shall I tell him our marriage Ila to take place ? I want it to be soon, my i dearest girl, very soon, for I don'b feel as though I could live much longer without ; you. Come, my libtla wife, name an early (day.' ■ 'Oh, I can't! I don'b know when. Next I; fcummersome time.' ' That is indefinite,' ho laughed. * Allow toe to be definite. Say early next May.' 'No, no, no ! that is too soon—greatly wo soon ! I couldn't be ready.' 'Then when ? I won't be selfish, but you ttusb be merciful, mademoiselle, and not seep me in suspense too long.' ' She laughed— something like her old gay :i 'Patience, monsieur; patience stands chief among the virtues. WillJunedo — •the lnßt ?' | -The first, Norine.' f, £ unb Hetty was coming through the i toll. Norine darted away. h i c 'fc as you wil*' Don'b you want me | M help you with breakfast, auntie ?' Mr Gilbert smilingly looked after his "nghb little prize, so soon to be his bright) | "™c wife, then turned to Aunt Hetty. ! ~-. '"here is your brother this morning, «m Kent? I wish to speak to him.' B Jn the rtablo, I think. Shall Igo and | "Not at all. I will go myself.' 'H, i wa^e<^ away, humming a tune, in j, we happiness of his heart. Ah ! shone I «er winter sun ?o brightly before—looked iwerthe work-a-day world so paradisiacal BM now.! The earth and all fchoreon were '. reformed aa with an enchanter's wand to | mis middle-aged legal gentleman in love. !lrw S R?ub6n» b"sy among his cattle, I'wwed n p j n 30m0 Eur p r i 3o a (, sight of his P«y visitor, - | -j..'Don't lob me interfere with your work, j *p> the lawyer said. c You can attend to & ? rfflßS and listen' too' I ™usb. leave the 2'r to-morrow ; my business has ta; to° locg neglected, and I have somej s ß™B? f imP°rtancß.t6 bell you before I g=. ■ I hope—l believo you will nob

The eyes of the two men mot. There was a peculiar smile on the lawyer's face, a happy light in his eyes, and Reuben Kenb's countenance grew suddenly bright wibh intelligence. 1 Is ib aboub Norry ?' A smile and a nod answered him. 'Then I reckon I.can guess. You have asked her to marry you f 'Exactly. Bub how, in ihe name of everything wonderful, have you found ib oub?' Uncle Reuben's eyes twinkled shrewdly. •I ain'b a lawyer, Mr Gilberb, bub I can see as far into a mile-sbone as any obher man. Do you think I s'posed ib was to see me and Joe and Hebby you came to Kent Hill so often ? No. sir ! I see you had a hankering after our libble girl from the first.'

Mr Gilbert actually blushed. And he had guarded his precious secreb so carefully, he had thoughb. • Well, Mr Kent, I trust I have your approval ?' Reuben Kent stretched oub his big, brown paw, and grasped the lawyer's white hand. ' I give her to you with all my heart, Bir. I'd rather see her your wife than the wife of Che President. I've been hoping this long time ib would come to this. She's a good girl, as good as she's pretty, and I know she'll mako you a good wife.' Nob one word of bhe honour done bhem or her by the wealthy lawyer's offer —not one thoughb of ib. In Reuben Kent's eyes, no king or kaiser on the wide earbh would have been too good for his beautiful Norine. ' And when is ib to be, sir ?' he asked. • The wedding ?' smiled Mr Gilbert. ' The firsb week of Juno. If I possibly can, I will run down here oi«co or twice between this and then, but I am doubtful of its being possible. I have neglected business somewhat of late and ib has accumulated. You will tell your brother and sister, Kent V They walked back to the house together to breakfast. Norine saw in her uncle's face that he had been told, and blushed beautifully. How very, very near and real ib seemed to bring it, this telling Uncle Reuben. Mr Gilbert took her oub for a walk after breakfast, and Uncle Reuben availed himself of the opportunity to inform his sister and brother. They were no more surprised than he had beeu, and equally pleased, bub Aunt Hetty cried quietly, woman-fashion, for all that. ' We will miss her so much,' ehe said ; ' bhe old house will seem like a tomb withouo her. He is a good man, a rich man, and a gentleman—l oughb to rejoice for her sake, bub it does seem hard ab firsb to give her up for good.' '. These things will happen, Hetty,' said Uncle Reuben, philosophically, bub sighing, boo ; ' ibs nater. We ought to think of nothing bub the Lord's goodneßS in giving her such a man as Mr Gilbert for a husband.'

So ib was settled. When Norine came back from her walk, Aunb Hetty kissed her, shook hands with the lawyer, and the betrothal was quietly over. There was no scene, and no tear 3, but the good wishes for both were none the less heartfelt for that. The day after to-morrow came. Mr Gilberb went, and the preparations for the wedding began. Norine's 'setting oub' was to be on a scale of unprecedented magnificence. Uncle Reuben had money, and did not grudge spending ib. Aunt Hobty took her into town, and a whole day was spenb shopping—the big family carryall went home in the evening filled to repletion with dry goods. A seamstress and a dressmaker were engaged, both to come out on the following day, and Norine, in the pleasant bustle and hurry, actually forgot Laurence Thorndyko for eight oonsecubive hours. The two seamstresses came to Kenc Hill tho following morning; and great- and mighby were the measuring and cutting that ensued. The 'keeping room' was given up to them and the bride-elect; and all day lone, and for many days after, their busy needles flew. Bsfore the end of tho week ifc was known far and wide thab pretty NorryKent, as-she was called there, had made a great conquesb, and was about to be married to one of the richesb lawyers in New York. Mr Gilbert's letters canoe like clockwork every week, and Norine'a replies wonb dutifully the .day after. They were not much like love-letters on either side, particularly on hers, bub Mr Gilbert's were deeply and tenderly affectionate, better than all the rhapsodies ever writben. His presents, too, and such presents !—poured ilk in a ceaseless stream. Jewellery thab half turned the pretty bride's head with it? dazzling splendour, laces thab fairy fingers alone could have woven, pretty, costly bijouterie of all kinds. 'How good he is—how good be is!' Norine thought, in a burst of gratitude. ' I ought to love him—l will love him—who could help it ?—in time; and I will make him as happy as ever I can.' . She might have kept her word ; it would surely have been no impossible task to learn to love Richard Gilbert. She meant ib in all sincerity; his generosity had already kindled a deeper feeling than mere gratitude in her heart. The dazzle of Laurence Thorndyke's image was slowly bub surely dimming, and she could sing blithely once more as she bent over her work, or tripped aboub the rooms. Who could be unhappy in white silk and lustrous pearls, orange blossoms and Mechlin lace, with rich rings a-sparklo on every finger, and glittering bracelets clasping the lovely arms ? The colour came back to Miss Bourdon's cheek, the eirlish brightness to her lovely Canadian eyes—once more her gay girl's laugh rang out; once more the tripping French ballads made melody through the old grey rooms. You gee she was nob quite eighteen, poor child, and co much is possible for young persons of eighteen. • The weeks flew by — busy dreams; March passed, April passed. Tho \vedding day was drawing very near. May came, mellow with sweeb spring blossoms and sunshine, and the first was over. The firsb Thursday in Juno was to be the day of days nob quite a fortnight off now. The world had woke up for her wedding, Norine thought; snow and dreariness were gone—spring, in Eden-like freshness and bloom, was with them. All day long the birds sang in the sunlight; 1 the garden was gay with odorous grasses and blossoms. In three days more the bridegroom would bo here to claim his bride, to leave no more till he boro her away by his side. Yes, ib was a new Eden, Kent Hill in its springtide resurrection ; but, as once before, the sorDenb was close ab hand.

CHAPTER VII. THK GATHERING STORM. The laab week came—the last night of the last week. A radiant moonlight night. Over the blue misty hill-tops the silver eickle sailed, and at the garden-gate stood the pretty bride-elect, alone, gazing: with eyes of dreamy darkness at the mystic, ivory light. No sound bub the ' sounds of bhe silence' broke her reverie, the twitter of a bird in its nest, the light flutter of the cool wind, the slipping of a aaake in the iinderbush. Green and silvery spread the wide fields of Kent Hill; dark, cool,, and perfumy the pine woods, long and white bhe dusty hieh-road—over all the sparkling stars— and crystal moon. Leaning on the gate, her heart in her eyes, stood Norine Bourdon. A trifle thinner and paler than of old—very pale in the cold, white moonrays, but; very fair and s.weefc the miqnonne face. Something almost pathetic in the pallid beauty of the I night* touched b«r: tho greab dark eyea

looked with wistful eadness up to tho starry sky. She stood thero thinking of tho now life to begin in a few days now—tho life that seemed to recede and grow moro and more unreal the nearer it came. Its novelty and brightness blinded her no more—distance had lenb enchantment to the view— to-night she only knew sho was about to marry a man she did nob love. The pasb rose before her. Laurence Thorndyke's smiling, cynical, handeome face floated before her like a vision—her girl's fancy returned with ten-fold sweetness and power. If he were only to be the bridegroom Thursday next! A passionate longing to see him once more, to hear his voice, filled her whole soul with unutterable desiro. In the moonlight she stretched forth her arms involuntarily—in the silonce she spoke, a hearb-sob in every word : 'My darling!' aha cried. 'Oh, my darling, come back.' The restless leaves fluttered around her, the wind touched her face and swept sighing by. She leanod wearily ngainsb tho gate, full of untold love, and longing and passionate pain. • Laurence !' she whispered, ' Laurence! Laurence ! If I could only see you onco more—only once—if -I know you had nob quite forgotten ma—if I could only bid you good-bye before wo part for evor, I think everything would be easy after fcliat.' Had tho thoughb evoked his phantom ? Who was bhab coming along tho silent road ? A tall, slender figure, wearing a loose, light ovorcoit, straneely, bewildoringly familiar. What negligent, grncofnl walk, that haughty uplifted carriage of the head—surely, surely, she knew both. She leaned forward in breathless expectation—her lips apart, her eyes alight. Nearer and nearer he oame, and bho face she had longed to see, had prayed bo soo, looked down upon her onco "With tho old enbrancing smile. Laurence Thorndyko ? She leaned against the gate still in breathless hush—pale, panting. She could not speak, so intense was her surprise, and the voice for whose sound she had hungered and thirsted with her whole foolish, romantic heart sounded in the nighb silence: 1 Norine !' She made no answer ; in her übter astonishment and swifb i,oy she could only stand and gaze, pale, speechless. 4 Norine, I have come back again. Have you, no word of welcome for your old friend ?'

Still she did nob sp6ak—still she stood looking as though she could never look enough—only trembling a little now. •I have startled you,1 he said, very gently, 'coming so unexpectedly upon you like a ghost in the moonlight. Bub I am no spirit, Norine—shako hands.' He leaned across the closed gate, and took both her hands in his warm, cordial clasp. They were like ice. Her eyes were fixed almost wildly upon his face—her lips were trembling like the lips of a child about to cry. ' Won't you speak then, Norino ? Have I startled you so much as that? I did nob expecb to see you or anyono at this hour, but I had to come. Do you hoar, Norine? I had to come. And now that we have meb—Norine, Norino, won't you say you are glad to see me again ?' She drew away her hands suddenly— covered her face and broko into a passion of tears, Perhap9 sho had grown hysterical ; her heart had been full before ho came, and ib needed only this shock to brim over. He opened the gate abruptly and took her in his arms. • Speak to me, Norino !My own—my dearest, don'b cry so. Look up, and say you are not sorry I have come !' Sho looked up ab him —forgetful of Richard Gilberb and her wedding-day-forgetful of loyalty and truth, only knowing how passionately she loved this man. • I thought you had forgotten mo,' she said. ' I thought I should never see you again !, And, oh,' clinging to him, • I have been so miserable—so miserable !' 1 And yeb you are to be married, Norine !' Ab that reproachful cry she suddenly remombered the New York lawyer, and all the duties of her life. She drew herself resolutoly. in spite of his resistance, from his encircling arms and stood free—trembling and white. ' You are going to be married to Richard Gilbert, Norine ?' •Yes,' she said, faltering: 'and you— you are going to be married, too ?' 'I?' in astonishment; ' I married ! Who can have told you that ?' ' Mr Gilberb.' 'Then ib is the first time I have ever known him—lawyer though he bo—to tell a falsehood. No, Norine, I am nob going to be married.' She caught her breath in the shock, the joy of the words. ' Not going to be married ! Nob going . Oh, Mr Thorndyke, don'b deceive me—don't !' «latn nob deceiving you, Norine—why should I? There is bub one whom I love ; if she will be my wife I will marry—not unless. Can you not guess who ib is, Norine ? Can you nob guess whab I have come from New York to say before ib is too labe? I only heard of your projected marriage last week—heard it then by merestliccident. Ah, Norine lif yon knew what a shock that announcement was. Ever since 1 left here I have baen trying to school mye.elf to forget you, but in vain. I never knew how utterly in vain until I heard you wero the promised wife of Richard Gilberb. I could stay away no longer—l folb I must toll you or die. It may seem like presumption— like madness, my coming at the eleventh hour and you the promised bride of auother man ; but, my love—my love, I had to come. Even if you refused me T\itb scorn, I felt I musb come and hear my doom from your lips. They have urged me bo marry another, an heiress she is, and a ward of my uncle's—he even threatens to disinherit me if I do nob. But I will be disinherited—l will brave poverty and face the future boldly, so that the girl I love is by my side. They say she is beautiful, and will nob say no if 1 ask ; but whab is that to mo, since I love only you ? Norine ! Norine ! toll me I have not loved in vain.' He had poured all this out passionately, impetuously. She was clasped in his arms again, while he benb over her to catch her reply. $ ♦ Tell me you love me, Norine ! You don'b, you can't caro for this elderly lawyer—old enough to be your father. Norme —look up, ray own ! Speak, and tell me you care only for me !' ' Only for you—only for you !' she cried, in a sorb of trance of joy. ' Oh, Laurence ! I love you with all my heart!' There was a sound as she said ib—the house door opening. In the moonlight Aunt Hetty's spare, small figure appeared in the doorway—in the silence her pleasant voice called: ' Norine ! Novine ! come in oub of the dew, dear child.' Some giant hemlockß crew near the gate Laurence Thorndyko drew her with him into their black shadow, and stood perfectly still. Brilliant as tho moonlight was, Aunt Hetty might brash against them and nob see them in the leafy gloom. ' I musb go,' whispered Norine ; ' she will be here in a momenb in search of me. Laurence, let me go.' 'But firsb—l must see you again. No one knows I am here—noonemuatknow. When does Gilbert arrive ?' 'To-morrow,'she answered with a sudden shiver. He held h*,r close. ' My darling, don'fc fear—you are mine now, mine only ! Mino you shall remain !' His eyes glittered strangely in the gloom as he said it. 'We cannot meet to-morrow, but.we musb meet to-morrow night.' 'No,' she faltered, 'no—no. It would be wrong—dishonourable. And I dare nob

—wo woftld be discovered.' 4 No—not if you do as I dirocb. . What bimo do you all retiro ? Half-past ten 2' • Mostly.' • Then at eleven, or half-past, the coast is sure to bo clear. Ab eleven to-morrow nighb I will bo here, just outside the gate, and you must steal oub and meet me.' ' Oh, Laurence !' ' You rnusb—you will if you love me. Are you nob my wife, or going to be in a few days, which amounbs to the same thing. Will Gilberb atop here V •1 don't know. Yes, I suppose so.' 1 Well, even if he does ib will nob matbar. You can steal oub unheard and unobserved, can you nob ?' i Yes—no. I don'b know. Laurence! Laurence, I am of raid.' 'Of whab? Of whom? Nob of mo, Norine ?' Sho shivered alibblo, bub clung to him closer, 'It seems so strange—so bold—so wrong. I ought nob—ib is wicked—l don't know whab to do.' 'Then you don'b care for me ab all, Norine ?' Ho knew how to movo her. The reproachful cry wenb to hor hoarb. She pub her arms around his neck, and hid her face on his shoulder. Care for him ! He doubted that! ' You will come,' he said, thab exulbanb gleam in his eyes again, ' my loyal little girl ! I havo a thousand things bo say to you, and wo can talk uninterruptedly then. When was your wedding to bo V ' Next Thursday. • And this is Sunday nighb. To-morrow afternoon Gilbert will bo here. You see how little timo wo havo to spare, Norine. You musb meet mo, for on Thursday you shall be my wife, nob his !'

Her heart thrillod wibh ecstasy txb his words. His wife—bis ! Could ib bo that, after all fcho pain, tho bitter disappointment of the past, this coveted bliss was to be hers ? • Norry J Norry !' more loudly this timo, called the voice of AuDt Hotby, still in the doorway, where on earth is tho Child ?' ' Lob me go—let rao go !' Norine criod, in terror ; she will be hero directly.' ' You will meet mo to-morrow night, my love—my brido ?' • Yas—yes—yes—! Only lob mo go.' Ho hold her in one long embrace, then she was freo. Retreating into the shadow of tho dense trees, ho watched her glide out into the moonlit path, and up to the gate. Ho heard her ascond tho Bteps, and then Aunb Hetty's voico camo to him again. 'Goodness gracious, child! where have you been? Do you want to get your death, out in your bare head and the dew falling liko rain?' Ho could not catch Norine'a fainb reply. A second more, and again Mies llosber Kenb was shrilly to bo heard : ' Land of hope! Whatever ails you, Norry ? You are whiter than the dead. Oh, I know how it will bo after bo-nighb— you'll bo laid up for a week.' He hoard tho house door close. Thon ho was alono with tho rustling trees, and the bright, countless stars. As he stopped oub into the crystal radiance, his face shone with oxultant delight—alas, for Norine, neb with happy love. ' I liDow ib ! I know ib !' he said to himself in his triumph ; ' 1 know I could take her from him nt> tho very church door. Now, Richard Gilborb! whose turn is fib last—who holds the winning trump in the gumo ? You have battled, and foiled, and ■ watched mo many a timo, notably in the caso of Lucy Weat—when ib camo to old Darcy's ears through you, and ho was within a hair's breadth of disinheriting me. Every dog has his day. Yours is over— mino has come ! The wheel has revolved, and Laurenco Thorndyko, gambler, trickster, libortino, as you paint him—is at the top ! You have nob spared mo in the pasb, my good Gilbert; look to youraolf now, for, by all the gods, I'll nob spare you !' (To he. Continued.)