LOVE THE CONQUEROR.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIX, Issue 148, 25 June 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

LOVE THE CONQUEROR.

j;Y 3-FFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of 'At a Great Cost,' 'A conqueror of Fate,' 'Little Kit,' etc.

. CHAPTER XVII

Owen wore his most business-like manner when he sought Consuelo the following day. Prepared as he " hacl been to find the girl changed again, jie had not anticipated seeing her so HI, The oppressive burden of. her jaectal trouble seemed to have wasted jer to a lamentable extent; yet she had never worn a more lovely or lovable air. _ " 'Well, we are a nice pair of cripples, you and I!' was Owen's greeting, made vrt'ffi his rare smile, as he entered the small lodging-room, moving painfully enough- and leaning on his stick. Consuelo's faa e had flushed into sudden- colour at sight of him, but her o\vn need of him, her desire to question, melted into the background as she saw then how serious his accident had been. She was moved, too, at sight of him by quite another flood of feeling, and., agitated as she was, she could not but realise that he brought ier a sense of comfort and pleasure wholly indescribable- ' Are" you fit to travel?' she asked. She pushed a chair forward aud took his stick from him as she spoke. Owen shrugged his shoulders. 'Were I my own patient, I should sß y emphatically not; but as it is, I tliink I am infinitely better here than anywhere else. Now let me look at y,ju. What do you mean by losing your colour and turning yourself into a skeleton?' Consuelo leaned forward c agerly. She had 'drawn a chair close to the fire.. 'Mr Tudor, you will tell me all I ;want to know?' she said. 'That is a very comprehensive question,' was Owen's answer. He spoke as lightly as possible, but it cost him a great effort. Renunciation of his love had seemed almost easy when he had been apart from her, but now that they were face to face again, and he felt the indefinable sweetness of her presence, his purpose went from him a little. His unselfishness assumed the proportion of a sacrifice. 'I want you to help me,' Consuelo said, looking at him with eager, wistful eyes. T —l know,' she added, more hurriedly, 'you can reproach rae by reminding me how greatly you have already helped me, ancl how little I seemed to have appreciated this; but, perhaps, if you could know all I have felt you would forgive me.' 'What need is there to talk of forgiveness?' Owen broke in, in his sharpest way. I believe, by this time, 1 understand you a little, I am sorry the necessity arose to take you from the work I was instrumental in giving you, but I do not blame you for anything you have done.' Consuelo looked at him still with wistful eyes. Though he repudiated all idea of vexation, she noted, nevertheless, an element in his voice that .vasnew to her, and which she at once construed to mean a certain annoyance. She seemed to feel, also, that there was some difference in him altogether; perhaps it was his longabsence that had built up a sort of constraint in his manner with her; in any case, he was changed, and the realisation of this gave. Consuelo a lorrowful feeling. yi think,' she said, half coldly, 'I think I acted for the best. At least, if I did wrong, it was not intentional.' Owen looked at her an instant in Eilence. His brows were knit. 'You came into constant contact with Cosmo Greatorex, I suppose?' was what he asked when he spoke. 'He was there every day; I do not think he failed to come one day to inquire for Lady Greatorex and sit with Ellaline.' * • Owen's brows remained knit. Cosmos actions in connection with this girl and poor Dick's family gave him much food for thought. There was something to be discovered —what, he knew not; but be had not studied Cosmo Greatorex's character so closely for nothing. 'Aad he was disgreeable with you?' Was his next query. Consuelo flushed hotly. 'Sir Cosmos manner was a source of much trouble to me at first. I felt, without in the least understanding Ivhy, that he resented my presence, and it made me very uncomfortable— evenuahappy. Then came my cousin's letter, and, of course, after I had that, all was clear to me.' 'I don't see the value of this "of course,"' Owen said, irritably. He was passing through a phase of feeling that was new to him, and in order to control himself and seem quite at his ease he adopted his sharpest manner. . Consuelo's lips trembled. 'Ah! then you are vexed with me,' she said. Owen turned his eyes steadily from h« eyes and looked into the heart of the fire. I am vexed with circumstances,' he answered. 'Sir Cosmo, no doubt, has been actuated by the best motives in ?v. cc*'Il g' to my arrangements, but if jni. objection was so strong, I was -v* proper person to approach.' Consuelo rose and moved to the Window; her whole frame seemed to }mV and tremble. It was I Avho spoke to Sir Cosmo, ?<rt he to me,'" she said. She stood a nd looked out of the window a moent, and then she turned back hurriedly. 'Oh, help me! help me!' she said, in a choked sort of way. Clear away this darkness a little. •^lp me to think—to know—to remember!' Owen's face was swept by a quick succession of expressions. There were tears in Consuelo's eyes, and she o,d not see him very distinctly, "either would she have understood the leaning of those unspoken feelings evf« if she had seen them. • )ou are distressing yourself very heedlessly,' the man said, quietly, as ler agitated voice died down into a whisper. 'Why not content yourself witp knowing that you are now well agam, and with care (your own care, Jnmd) you will b e as sti — .«• you .nave ever been?' Would you be content. ,SUelo, passionately. Sh ;„ : v c.t "■V his manner; his wor i,w. ' ,'.¥ We into activity. 'Mr ■.■in*.'. ■■■ '•pn» coldly, 'I have the y ; ... _ <__■. _fj?n> a__d you know it, . *_iv._ •;- • Margaret I learn that th r , ~■■■■ J? 1 weeks after that v. ■_ • 77':. >be home in which m !r .Ik- .-< y°iihadany common ie ,'■_>... o--3 indeed, any kno-.-•-.■ ■:.,:. of ny thereabouts, and tha-: j,o. I, .'-..;• -os heard of me till you br; -^ .. b._ek Z [the home one day i S._£l _,tbcv o 7,".that I -was comph.,-;■ :_ r.v.r, vis. .a% this I can feool.eet' siJ ha., hae

passed. It—it is the other time that must be accounted -for, and upon which I ask you to throw such light as you can.'

Owen winced. How much he would have given to be spared this—to see her spared!

'I know very little,' he said, still in | that same quiet, almost hard voice. I He was temporising. He wanted even now to spare her all in his power. Should he speak off the accident? Tha. was the question that pressed most heavily on his mind.' Would open speaking clear away this veil that clouded her memory, or would it only add another weight'to the burden of trouble that held her now iv sway? The sight of her white face so shadowed by care and oppression was an anguish to him. He suffered as much as she in this moment. Consuelo had her two hands pressed close together. 'Yes. I know, in a sense, you can tell me very little,' she said, 'but this much you can tell me—where. I was at the time that, you found me, ancl what was my condition?' Owen drew a deep breath- it sounded like a sigh. It was useless for him to fight fate any longer. She. asked him for the truth, and he could not withhold this truth from her. By the strongest moral right she could command that he should help her by every means in his power to unravel this mystery of the past. 'I found you,' he said, rising slowly from his chair and leaning for support on the mantelpiece—his face was half a.verted—-'in a very sad condition. I Avas on my way home from , where I had gone with one of my colleagues to attend a very serious case/and on our journey back to town we found the line blocked and everything in a great confusion. A railway accident had occurred just outside one of the smallest stations; there had been a collision, and one of the trains had been partially wrecked. There was, unhappily, a full complement of passengers in this train, and you were one of them.? Consuelo stood motionless before him, her two clasped hands pressed now on her heart. As she did not speak. Owen went on with the stQry. He told her all he knew,' with holding nothing from her, and when he had said all, he turned and looked at her. She was whiter, if possible, than she had been before, and her lips were tightly set. In this moment of extreme agitation she wore almost, an aged air, the force of her trouble robbing her of all that made her usually so graceful and beautiful. There was a long- silence after Owen had finished his recital. He could hear her breathing rapidly. It was the breathing of one frightened; it gave him sharp pain to hear. Reaching for his stick, he moved forward to where she stood and touched her hand. 'And now you know all I have to tell you, will you not promise me. to be brave, to let your -poor brain and mind rest a while? Believe me, you may seriously injure yourself if you persist in probing into this matter.' Consuelo drew her hand from his, ancl sat down nervously in a chair. 'I —I —will pray—l—may be brave,' she said. She pressed her cold hands over her eyes and was silent for a long moment; then she looked upward. 'Do you think it will ever come back to me?' she asked, 'or shall I never, never know? What was I doing in that train? Where was I going? What circumstances had led me tliere ? I never heard of these places of which you speak. It was not a train to Linkport; had it been, I should not have to trouble far to know why I was in it; but this train was going into the middle of England. What had I to do in such a part?' She broke off speaking again, and then his goodness seemed to come to her with a rush. She realised in that swjft moment all the tender care and thought that this man had lavished upon her. She stretched out both her hands to him. 'My friend ' she said, with tears in her voice, 'my true friend, how can I thank you for all you have done? It was God's mercy that led you to me that day! What other would have done for me what you have done? And I have been so sharp with you today—so selfish!' Owen bent his head and kissed those small, trembling hands, and then he resumed a professional manner. 'Now, there must be no more agitation. This you must promise me.' Leave the past alone. If it be or-1 dained that you are to have this me-il mory restored to you, the thing will come to pass in its own good time. All the seeking in the world will not: bring it to you. We have other j things to think of now—the future, i not the past.' Consuelo bent her head. The touch ,of his lips lingered on her hands, ancl 'the thrill that touch had brought was still in her heart. '1 never thanked you for your beautiful flowers; they reached me on Christmas morning. How good of you to have thought of me!' '1 was sure you loved flowers, and as I was sending some to Ellaline, I sent to you also.' He wore his usual brisk manner. Danger lurked in the merest suggestion of sentiment. If she spoke like this, and he eucouraged her, he would never accomplish the task he had set himself. 'Have you formed any plans of your own?' he asked, abruptly. Consuelo's sensitive spirit drew back instantly from him. She hardly knew what she had expected; yet his manner chilled her. Her heart an instant before had overflowed with unchecked tenderness for one so good and kind; now it was as though he had been offered that tenderness and had rejected it. Even the mere suggestion of such a thing stung the girl. She called upon all her '..elf-con-trol to come to her aid, and by a strong effort she answered him ly'My mind has been full of all sorts and kinds of plans, but —' She paused, then, with aforced smile, she explained further: 'My future is less easy to arrange even than it was. I have now to face tbe fact that most people will view me in the same light a.s Sir Cosmo Greatorex, which means . . shall not be acceptable to ive, on the whole, a poor op'tn-i-.u. the world, yet I scarcely think ;> jo far as you,' Owen said, dryly. ).',■:, .as casting about in his mind as _.7 7 ny he could best introduce the j-.'.'ib' _et of Rennie. He had a curious 7> ng to feel that this was a matter 1- i led. Once he could know defin;.f . ■;. that she was a promised wife ;«, another man, he told himself, he .'Jd be at rest. "There may be a I--.•••. like Cosmo Greatorex, but the |i i"Ss of people are decidedly less con- ! fcei lptible.' Consuelo did not answerjhim at first.

She was, tracing- imaginary lines on the table.

•I might go out tv Bertha,' she said, alter a long pause, 'but his could not be at once.'

'You need a home,' Owen said, suddenly. Something swept him on into plain speech. 'Nurse Margaret was only saying this last night. You are not fit for. work—no woman is fit for the slavery of earning daily bread, and you less than most. You need a home, Miss Featherstone, aud if you will forgive me for venturing to touch on so delicate a matter, J think you are wrong not to accept without any further hesitation the home this good man has offered you. You wonder how I know that any home has been offered to you? I am no magician, but I read Mr Rennie's heart pretty clearly the very first time I met him, and he sp'bke of yon. The rest I know from himself.'

'lie has written to you'?* Consuelo said. She spoke in her proudest way. 'Yes, he has written to me,' Owen replied. 'For some reason or other he regards me in the light of one. who may be counted upon to act and think for your best. I am honoured that Mr Ronnie should imagine I have the right to so much consideration.'

Consuelo remained silent. If even she could have found it necessary to speak, she did not know what to say.' His quiet, matter-of-fact words put her at a disadvantage; moreover, she felt dimly that she had counted on a very different counsel from him in this matter of Ronnie. She had, in truth, as Henry had written to Owen, refused to discuss the subject further till this good friend of hers had come back to London. Consuelo's feelings toward the man who sought her so earnestly were kind, and even warm in a sense, but she had, nevertheless, shrunk from the suggestion of marriage. It had been Rennie's extreme delicacy of thought and his eager,.desire to take from her all the wearing difficulties of her present, life that had touched Consuelo themost. In particular, the fact that he ignored altogether the matter of those vanished weeks and resolutely refused to see any importance attached to this curious spelLof blankness that had fallen en her mind, had given him a more distinct place in Consuelo's thoughts than he ever would have had under ordinary circumstances. Coining so swiftly on the top of the objection Cosmo Greatorex had apparently found attached to Iter on account of! this mental oblivion, Rennie's chivalrous and tender concern on the subject had appealed strongly io the girl. He had, indeed, supplied the one element of comfort in these days since she had left Ellaline, and had been waiting for Owen Tudor's return. Had she yielded to her own inclination, she would have begged him never to broach the question of marriage, hut to let her count always on his friendship; but Consuelo had hesitated to do this, not merely because of hurting him, but because iv her weak, lonely state she did not feel she ought to cut herself adrift from this solution of her life's problem, at all events, until she had seen Owen again, and had found that he considered that a life of hard and honourable work was open to her. And now she had seen Owen, and though he had not completely shut this hope from her, he had dulled it very considerably.

His words about Rennie stung her a little. She felt a.s if she had been cruel to the younger man, and in this moment many things Sarah had told her in their last meeting came back to her memory. It was palpably evident Henry Rennie -was a good, simple-hearted, charitable man, the kind of man her dead father would have revered, and .Consuelo felt inexpressibly touched that such a man as this should love her. Ami yet she had a craving to live her life alone. She had no desire for money, or what money,' could give, save, indeed, only as far as she could help others; and though she was touched keenly by Mr Rennie's simple declaration of love and by his eager pleading to her to become his -wife, she knew only too well that her heart was barren of all those feelings that should have formed the proper response to his love. Respect, gratitude, and perhaps admiration she could give Henry Rennie, but more than this she could not give.

She spoke at last, breaking the silence with an effort.

I 'I am glad,' she said, 'Mr Rennie ' should have gauged so clearly the I place you hold in my thoughts, Mr I Tudor. I owe you more than 1 can I ever repay, and" I feel it a duty and |an honour to let you counsel and i direct me.' She paused again for an instant, then she looked at him bravely; there was colour in her white cheeks now. 'I see,' she said, with a shade less steadiness in her voice, 'that you think my future a precarious oiie, left as it stands; and I see, too, you hold it wise for me to accept this new life proposed to me. I —I have only one hesitation now in my mmd —one doubt.' Owen's heart beat with an unconscious thrill of strange, sweet hope. He could, not control it; never, in truth, had he been Jess master of himself than he was this day. 'What is this doubt?' he asked her, quietly. Her eyes were stilt fixed on him. ":. ■ 'Am I right to marry this man, or any other man, with that blank time unexplained — unaccounted *for? Should I not —' Owen rose abruptly to his feet. 'My child,' he said, hurriedly, 'will you be content to rest absolutely by my advice?' Consuelo rose too; she bent her head in assent. 'All you counsel me to do, *I will do,' she said. She did not know if, but her eyes were filling with tears, and her voice Avith the sound of j them.Owen paused once again. It was only for a moment he. wavered; only for "a moment he shut away the memory of Henry Rennie's plea for his help; only for one moment, and then his duty, or what seemed to him in his noble unselfishness his duty, came back to him.

Rennie had known and had loved her longer than he; Rennie was the fit man to love her, to woo her, to wed her; and she—she was the fit wife for such a.man as Rennie, the fit mistress of a beautiful home, the one Avoman out of all he knew to Avhom money Avould mean blessing, not vanity. 'He avus middle-aged uoav, a struggling and a poor man. Love and youth Avere not for him; he must set self utterly to one side—he must renounce her now and forever!

'My counsel is soon given, but it is not given lightly. You Avill marry this man, and God will send you the blessing of peace and „ happiness, I pray, for many and many a year to come.'

He rested his hand one instant on

her boAved head,, and- then. sloAvly, painfully, even as though he Avere tlie old man he called himself, he Avent aAvay and left her alone.

CHAPTER XVIII,

The nervous strain Avas lifted frqm Cosmo Greatorex; his poor, selfish grasping heart taught itself to rejoice and rejoice freely. The news of Rennie's success with the girl he called his enemy came at the last as a great surprise. For in the. days following on Consuelo's separation from Ellaline, though Rennie had come to town, and had seen her constantly, there had been no sign given that the young man's hopes avoulcl be crowned with success as he ardently desired them to be.

Sir Cosmo could, in fact, have shaken Consuelo with the greatest pleasure in the Avorld. Henry Rennie hacl not confided in him. Cosmo had drawn the confidence from the other, and he had set his teeth when he heard of Consuelo's determnation to leave the question of her future, unsettled until Owen Tudor's return. ■

He never felt safe when he remembered the power Tudor had obtained over the girl; he dreaded all the time that the secret he held Avould become in some Avay known to Owen. He had hoped, as avc know, to get matters thoroughly settled between Rennie and Consuelo before Owen Tudor's return, and he had half prepared himself for failure when he heard that the girl steadily refused to act Avithout Oweu's counsel.

The news, therefore, that Mr Tudor's word had acted for and not against him came as a tremendous surprise. In fact, had he not* been given this information by Henry Rennie himself, he would hardly have credited it. But there A\-as no room for doubt; Henry's radiant face was sufficient in itself to proclaim that happiness had come to him.

'We. shall be married immediately,' the young man said. 'Mr Tudor agrees Avith me that change of scene and air are just what my poor darling needs most. I shall take her abroad.'

Sir Cosmo said ad the suitable, kind things he could; he Avas a past master in such empty stringing together of Avords. Rennie Avas happily ignorant of the part, this man had played in making Consuelo's misery of the last few Aveeks greater than it would have been. Though a trifle pompous, Cosmos words Avere honest enough to Rennie.

'You have acquainted your mother and sister?' he asked, us Rennie Avas leaving him.

Henry shook his head; he seemed lo have no doubt in his mind as to the welcome Consuelo Avould receive from his mother, though he had a faint, uneasy recollection of Isabel's former dislike to the girl he loved. He meant, however, to take no notice of that.

'Bell is a little bitter with all the world,' he said to himself; 'but, of course, she. cannot have anything to say against my wife.'

Re wrote, in fact, that very day to his mother, who was still on a visit, and he Avroto to Mrs Bellairs.

The letter to Breightworth produced the effect of a bomb. Isabel was at first stunned with amazement, and then she let her passions have full swing. She Avept unrestrainedly for nearly an hour, and then she felt a little" better, and she sat down to think how she could best interrupt and prevent this marriage. Her thoughts ended in a.resolution. She would go to London, and her first visit should be, not to Henry, but to Cosmo Greatorex.

'He must help me in this; he must —he. shall!' she said, feverishly, to herself. She dispatched a telegram to Sir Cosmo:

. 'Am coming to toAvn this afternoon. Pray call and see me. at the Grosvenor Hotel. .Am in trouble, and wish to consult you.'

She drove herself to the neighbouring post office aud dispatched it. The wheels of her carriage splashed mud on the figure of a humble woman who Avas toiling along the heavy road to the station. Sarah Drcwitt looked after the brougham in Avhich Mrs Bellairs sat with v look of sudden doubt on her comely face.

'1 fear there'll be trouble for my dear lass from that quarter. Were this fine, stuck-up lady away, I could have nothing but joy in my heart for the marriage Avhat brings poor Miss Consuelo back to her old home, as it Avere, and gives her such a good man to fake care of her. I've scarce yet realised that my dear is going to come back to me and to be happy. Heaven grant I shall believe it Avhen I see her to-day and hold her in my arms aud hcar'her tell me the story herself.'

For Consuelo had sent her faithful friend a feAv words. They said much and they said little, but they Aye re enough "to carry Sarah from her humble home up to the lodging Avhere her beloved young mistress avus, if even she. had not had a kind letter from Reuuic asking her to do this at once.

•And there I'll stay till my dear goes to her husband's care,' Sarah said to herself. And she was on her road to fulfil this task when Isabel Bellairs drove past her. '■'■'"'•" "'" 'Cosmo must help me,' was what Isabel said over and over again to herself. And in London, Cosmo, readin"- her telegram, told himself that it,"would need some quick strategy on his part to meet and control Isabel in her present mood! CHAPTER XIX. A curious sort of dream-like existence fell upon Consuelo in those clays folloAving on her last interview with OAven, and her resolve to adopt his counsel and promise herself as Avife to Henry Rennie. Nothing seemed very clear or very real to the girl. She re- ; maimed on' in the humble, shabby lodgings that ' Nurse: Margaret had chosen for her (with a careful though,., for the girl's pocket., and in a dim sort of way she felt at each moment that something was changed, some great difference was being worked about her. Henry Rennie Avould have heaped luxuries around and upon her, but she seemed to care for nothing But flowers and fruit. She had stored away in her modest box some withered blossoms that had reached belaud Consuelo drew far more sweetness and fragrance from these dried aud crumbling things than from all the rich living roses and other costly flowers Avith which Rennie filled her room. Not that she was not grateful to the young man for his goodness. As every turn she had some fresh evidence of Rennie's tender consideration and his love. If Consuelo shrank Avithin herself from the offering of this love, he was not conscious of it. /Re kneAv she did not love him yet; . she had made no secret about that, but he built on the hope of the future. He .felt it .was. more than possible that

Consuelo would.be drawn to him by degrees, as she began to lose that chilled independence that had been born of her desolation. _ He had every reason to know she was grateful, and never more so than when he told her all he had done for her good old Sarah.

1 'Sarah must be with you and take care of you,' he had insisted, 'till —' The sentence finished in a happy smile. Henry was, in truth, really happy for the first time in his life. He hardly recognized himself. There was not a cloud on the horizon. Not even the silence of Isabel bad had power to chill him with a doubt as yet. His mother had written him a kind letter, and. inclosed a few .prim words for Consuelo. Rennie.felt that bis mother, though not demonstrative in her congratulations, was certainly sincere. Odds and ends of friends and old acquaintances had. written to him kindly, and among these was a little letter that Rennie carried-to Consuelo.

'Will you see Miss Charlesworth?' he asked, and Consuelo assented. Flavia Charlesworth had written, a pretty, girlish note of congratulation, and there was something in his note —Consuelo could not have explained what exactly—that touched her.

'If Miss Charlesworth cares to come,' she told him, 'I shall be very pleased to see her.'

Other visitors had already been— Margaret Greatorex. and her sister, who brought some violets and a host of loving messages from. Ellaline. 'Lili i.s so excited about your marriage,' Margaret told Consuelo. 'She teases Uncle Owen's life out of him to know all that is happening. He says he knows nothing, but Lili will hot believe him.'' M never see Mr Tudor now,' Consuelo said, with a faint smile; 'he is very busy, 1 suppose. At tiny rate he never comes.' 'Oh, well, if he docs not come, it is not because he does not think about you,' Margaret Greatorex hastened to say; 'he has you constantly in his thoughts.' 'He i.s always kind,' Consuelo said. She avus glad when the Greatorex girls came to see her, and yet she was sorry, too, for they chattered, naturally, all the time about Owen Tudor; and Consuelo had made the strange discovery of late that even the mention of Owen Tudor's name was hurtful to her. She had a curious sort of resentful yearning upon her whenever he came into her thoughts. He was,' of course, very busy; bis long absence had thrown any amount of arrears of work on his hands; still there were surely some moments when he might have come to see her, and he never cumc. Ay, the only explanation for this, Consuelo told herself he was relieve*! to be rid of the responsibility he had assumed in connection with her. 'From the first,' she said lo herself, 'he never really considered me fit to have charge of my own life, and'— with a sharp, bitter sigh, a.s her everpresent trouble recurred to her more keenly than usual—'and truly he is right. There are women who are strong enough lo fight and work, but I have no place among these. 1 belong to the helpless class, to the weak,, the dependent. Who but some kind, good-hearted creature such as Henry would be burdened with a woman who cannot even claim power to hold her memory?'

Between herself ami Ronnie the .subject of the past was a closed subject. It was IJennie wlio refused to ha.v.v the matter discussed.

'The day will conic when all will be clear; till then rest comfort,' he pleaded with her.

And Consuelo accepted the silence imposed. Not even when the cards of Sir Cosmo Greatorex were left at her door did site let the. bitterness and contempt this man awakened in her sweep out of the silence.

Nor did she discuss the matter with Sarah. She was- conscious of a real joy when she felt Sarah's arms about her, and Rennie had Hie delight of seeing what an inexpressible comfort the old servant gave to the girl. He had, too, the satisfaction of knowing that Sarah was his staunch friend, Kind that nothing but. kind words would come from her lips where he was concerned.

Sarah was in truth happy at last about her child. She loved to talk of the future. /

To think you will be. back once more in the old place! How the folic will rejoice! And just to think of all the good you can do, my dear! Mr Rennie has an open hand and heart, and with you to help him, Linkport poor will have cause to be glad!'

This was the one side of the picture that gave Consuelo satisfaction. The question of her marriage, of her life with Henry Rennie, was always one untouched by her in her thoughts, save only when she conjured up the remembrance of all the work that lay waiting for her in the old familiar places; all those pet schemes of her father which lack of means and physical strength had been unable to carry out .

Henry gave her news daily of all that was being arranged, and Consuelo listened, as a, rule, in silence; but one day, when he was speaking of his mother and sister, she was awakened to a certain knowledge that had not come to her till now.

'My mother leaves for her new home in the noi'th nt Easter time. Isabel will stay on -with us for a while. You will love little. 'Peddle,' Henry hacl said, hurrying his words as he spoke, of his sister; 'he is such a dear little chap, with a heart of gold. He is teaching himself your name as "Aunt Consuelo," and is most eager for you to be at Breightworth.' A touch of colour had dawned in Consuelo's cheeks. She recollected all at once that not a word, not a sign, had come to her from Mrs Bellairs. She spoke hurriedly and gently, and yet with pride. 'I fear your sister does not approve of our engagement.' Rennie coloured hotly. 'My darling, what has put such an idea into your head,' he. said, eagerly. His answer was evasive, but comprehensive to Cpnsuelo. 'I. do not think it is a strange idea,' she answered him, in her sweet, low voice.' Probably, if I were your sister, f should feel as Mrs Bellairs feels toward me. Don't misunderstand me,' she. added, quickly. 'I am not grumbling at your sister's silence; on the contrary, it is perfectly intelligible to me.' 'Oli!' Henry Rennie exclaimed, all the hurt and irritation Isabel's antagonistic attitude had caused him breaking into open anger. 'I do beg of you not to let Isabel or the thought of: her trouble you. She is, as my mother says, a difficult nature, a.n embittered woman, and she acts differently from most people. Her own life was marred in the beginning, and I fear this makes her look on all the world with envious eyes. Her only feeling about my marriage, I am sure

(and this I say regretfully), is one of personal annoyance; She has been afraid that she Avill lose her home Avhen I marry, and—

He came to a sudden stop and there aa^s silence in the -little room—a long silence which he broke.

'Consuelo, you will not«let the question of Isabel trouble you?' he said, eagerly.

He came and stood in front of her, his kind young face full of shadow. 'I have never kiiOAvn happiness till now,' he told her, 'and am I to set aside my happiness because mv sister has a bad temper and a jealous disposition? Isabel never studies me in making her life; I shall not study her. She has ruled me quite long enough. After all, I am master of BreightAvorth, and I shall use my power.' Consuelo heard him with a slightly pained expression. It was her firstmeeting Avith the weakness that lay so definitely in his nature. His anger Avas not the anger of a man Avho Avas strong enough to hold to his words. Her heart sank a little.

'Let there not be any quarrel, I beg,' she said, to him,, earnestly, 'between your sister and.yourself. As I have just said, I repeat, Mrs Bellairs' feelings are quite intelligible to me. lour marriage, Henry, dear, is— scarcely a brilliant one. She smiled faintly ; then, in a low voice, she added: Tt is, happily, not too late for reflection—for-—'

But Rennie had heard enough. He broke into a passion of pleading, and he Avas so simple in his eloquence, yet so much in earnest, that Consueio's heart was touched even' against herself. It could not but give her gratification in a sense to realize that she was so much to on e creature as she was to Henry, and. though she did not love him, yet she cared for him as she must have cared for any one who had been so unchangingly food to her, so loyal in his friendship^and affection.

let she sighed deeply that day after h e had gone. Isabel Bellairs' enmity to her Avas as vet a vague thought, nor would she have troubled about this very much had her mind been freed from other care. Proud as she was naturally, she had not up to now begun to look into this question of Rennie's sister, but from this moment she felt an uneasiness when Isabel flashed back to her memory. She had never liked Mrs Bellairs; in fact, Isabel was particularly unpopular all about and around Breightworth, and she had known in the other days that Mrs Bellairs had not liked her. From Flavin CharlesAvorth, who came to see her frequently, and evinced a desire to be friends with her, Consuelo heard constant mention of Mrs Bellairs. Flavia apparently found Isabel pleasant, but she also found faults.

"You can't think how sharply Isabel snubs poor .Mr Rennie at times. It used to make me so angry,' the pretty girl had said on the occasion of her last visit. 'But of course you will alter all that! I am glad Mr Rennie will have some one to fight his battles for him.' k

Consuelo had more than a passing liking for Flavia Charlesworth. She was fond ot girls, and Flavia Avas a thorough girl. The hours .Miss Charlesworth spent Avith her Avere pleasant ones. M transpired that Flavia was on a visit to an aunt, a sister of her dead father, 'a cripple, and always ill, but such a dear, sweet thing—every one loves her,' the girl told Consuelo. 'Do come and see us often.' And Consuelo agreed, always ascertaining first that Lady Charlesworth approved of this.

Flavia was a transparent little soul

'Oh, mother Avould be delighted to meet you, too, if she Avere in foAvn, but sin; has gone to Monte Carlo. She always leaves me Avith Aunt Edith when she goes to Monte Carlo. 1 have written lots of things about you to mother, and in her last letter she said she would be glad to be of any use to you in arranging- your trousseau.'

Consuelo had flushed at this. Flavia, perhaps more than any one else, seemed to bring the improbability and impossibility of her present position before her.

'Lady Charlesworth is very kind,' she had answered; 'but I shall have no trousseau. Henry, you see, is going to marry a pauper.' Flavia, had flung her arms about Consuelo and hugged her.

'Oh, don't call yourself horrid names. You are so lovely and so SAveet; you are a queen!'

Consue.lo had smiled at the time, but, smiles never lingered Avith her very Jong, and she Avas far indeed from smiling on this evening as she sat recalling the conversation with Rennie about his sister. . Once or twice she pressed her hand to her eyes and broAvs. Heavy thought always brought back a recurrence of the pain she had suffered in her head after the accident; and at such times Consuelo felt she must abandon all mental questionings if she Avould preserve her health of body and brain. At such times, too, she longed for Owen Tudor—for a Avord in his clear, strong voice, a touch from his firm, kind hand.

Many days had gone now since her engagement to Bennie, and still OAven had never come, and Consuelo's pride would not Jet her turn to him. And yet she had need of some one to whom she could turn, especially after this night, Avhen fresh doubts and difficulties seemed to have sprung up in her path, against all her efforts to be strong, to be courageous and to carry out all that she had undertaken to do, and that assumed to her the light of a duty. She Avas but .young, and her spirit Avould falter. She had no Avish to question, no wish to look back, and yet all around her were circumstances Avhich urged her to both these things. Without Owen Tudor's counsel she never Avould have spoken the Avords that had made Henry Rennie so happy. She did not regret that she should have so spoken Avhen she remembered Rennie and his devotion, but she longed sometimes for freedom —freedom not: merely from her promise given, .but from that haunting shadow which had the power to darken all her life, no matter how bravely she might try to defy it.

11' only she. could have turned to some one Avho, like her father, had made it his life's task to minister comfort: to others! She went Sunday after Sunday to church,and sometimes a voice of a preacher or the Avords he spoke came to her in the guise of a helpful friend. Yet she had not the courage to press herself forward; she did not know lioaa' to approach a stranger Avith the story of her mental, cares and vague fears. Her father bad known feAv of the clergy; he had never bad a curate. His Avhole life had been one of singlehanded toil. There Avas, therefcVe, no one in this big world of London to Avhom Consuelo could turn as a friend, save to Owen Tudor, and he, she iioav taught herself daily, had already forgotten his former interest, and put her aside as amatter settled and done with.

And so the, : days . drifted .on, aiad

Consuelo fought with her unhappiness, and tried to find peace' in the tender love and constant care that surrounded her; and the more she tried the harder the task grew, ancl the more Henry- Rennie breathed out his love for her, the more her aAvakened woman's heart turned in an unconscious rush of passion to the remembrance of one whom she never saw, one Avho, to outward eyes, had been hard, practical, utterly Avithout sentiment, yet Avho lived with Cons:_elo as the swetest, dearest ■ thinglife had given her since her father went. And every night she Avept sad tears over some poor, faded flo Avers, and as she kissed them she seemed to feel her heart wing itself utterly and forever to that one from Avhom these flowers had come! (To be Continued.)