THE DUKE'S SECRET.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 146, 22 June 1899, Page 6

THE DUKE'S SECRET.

(By BERTHA M. CLAY.)

&Trthor of 'Thrown on the World' 'Wife in Name Only,' 'Her Martyrdom,' 'Beyond Pardon,' 'A True Magdalen,' 'Dora Thome,' 'A Mad Love,' 'A Golden Heart,' 'A Broken ."Wedding Ring,' 'Thorns and Orange Blossoms.'

CHAPTER LXVIII

A NOBLE NATURE AND A NOBLE LOO VIC. How impatiently she bad waited through the hows of the day, Uow long they had seemed to Jut: yet as they passed she eon Id come to no decision as to what she should do. She never thought that events would lake this turn.' She had never had the faintest intention of going back to the duke. When she left England it was forever, she believed, and she did her honest best to forget even the name of the man whom she had loved so much, and who had caused her so much unhappiness. In the new world no one knew anything- of her; she would never be pained or tortured by hearing his name, by hearing any allusion to him. She had left" it all behind, even as she had left the white cliffs of England behind her. She alone knew how many years it bad taken her to beat down lu>v love, to trample it under her feet, to live without it, to lose the sting of its sorrow and shame. She had done hard battle with time, because she loved him so well; and he crushed that love out of her heart; he had crushed much more •with it; much of her faith in human nature, of her kindness of heart. One cannot kill a. great, love without destroying the best part of one's nature with it.

Then when she believed her love to be dead Naomi looked her life in the face. She could never marry. True, if she chose to appeal to the law she mig-ht do so, perhaps with a chance of success, but that she would never do. That was not what she wanted. She had had quite enough of love, lovers and marriage. She wanted no more.

Looking at her life as it lay before her she saw what it would be like, and embraced it. She would have everything- th«t money could bxiy — magnificence, wealth, luxury, grandeur,- were all spread before her. She could have, anything- and everythingher heart desired. She could have dresses and jewels fit for a queen. She could travel. She could see the greatest wonders of the world, but she could call no man husband. She could have no child of her own. She would be able to help the poor, the Kick, the miserable. She could make the widows sing- for joy. She could shield the orphan and the friendless. She could do anything- except love or marry. She took her life as it was, accepted her fate and made the best of it.

She was far too noble a woman to hv content with the pleasures of the "world. No one knew the amount of good she, did in her quiet, graceful unobtrusive manner. There was no great ceremony. She built no church, she founded no great public buildings, but she saved many a family from jitter ruin and destitution.

In that far off American city where she had dwelt so long the very hearts of the people blessed her. There were hundreds who owed the happiness of their lives to her, and the blessing- of the people is the highest crown innn or woman can wear.

Then came her uncle's natural deBire to travel, to return to his native land, where his heart really was. It was a great pleasure to her to see the wonders of the world, its fair cities and places. The more she travelled the more, her mind opened, the deeper became the forgetiiilness of the past which had so dark a background for het

When Hardress Glynton spoke of going to England fora few rninntes she faltered. She knew that she had to express but one idea, utter one word, and he would cheerfully renounce that wish. But why should it be? She might live in London fifty years and never see those she dreaded to see. They lived in one world, she quite in another. They need never meet.

But when Brook House was finished jshe saw her mistake. They were received in the very first circles. Dukes and duchesses held out friendly hands to them. Peers and princesses were pleased to see them. It was not only the vast wealth of the millionaire, but the marvellous beauty of the supposed daughter that brought, them so prominently into notice. She who had thought never to hear his name again found herself now living- among- his friends and acquaintances, visited the. same houses he visited, going to the same entertainments, arid she saw that the time must come when she must meet him. It did not matter. How should it? Her love was all dead. She could meet him without agitation, without the awakening1 of the old love that was so surely dead, so surely slain and buried out of eight. Yet as the days passed on ami she heard him spoken of her opinion of him changed.

'A woman hater,' they called him, ttiis gallant young lover of hers, whose face she remembered so full of love and tenderness, whose eyes had drunk in her fair young, beauty as twilight drinks in dew.

A woman hater! He must have changed marvellously since then. She heard him spoken of constantly as one who shunned the society of ladies, who went alone on his way through life, who never asked for the smile of any woman, or for a. gracious word. She heard that in spite of his brilliant position, his wealth, his rank, he was always melancholy, always sad.

And then as she was drawn more and more into the whirlpool of fashionable life she heard more of the duchess, of her bitter disappointment because her son seemed averse to marriage; of Lady Everleigh's vain triumph over her; and then for the

first time she realised what his sufferings had been. She never thought of that part of it before. She had pip- \ hired him always as guy, happy, sue-; cessful. To think of him as lonely, ■ melancholy, with, blighted, ruined life ' had not occurred to her. Now she i realized his part in the matter. i lie was one of the first peers in i England, the descendant of a grand old race. His name and title dear id his, heart, and he was alone, lie j could ask no woman to share his heart. , to share his title, to brighten his i home; he must pass through life with a bitter secret eating away his heart; love of wife or child could never be his —never! He was condemned to a life such as ! no man could endure—married, yet with no wife—title, fortune, estates, honours, all to pass to a man whom liis mother hated, to the son of a woman who triumphed so basely over her. Then, when she tmderstood what he had to suffer, she wished to .see. ; him. When she was going to a party or a ball she dressed herself with the greatest-care; it might come any evening, this event on which she had begun to dream and muse. It did come: she stood face to face with him, and he did not know her. His eyes looked into hers with the careless glance of a stranger. Her heart for a few minutes seemed to have ceased beating, and then she remembered—the love of other days was crushed and buried out of sight. She saw also that what people said of him was quite true —he looked melancholy; there was always a veil of! sadness over his face, there was no ring in his laughter, no ring in his voice. He looked like a man who suffered, like a man with a story; aw' she alone knew what the story wa She might have relented to him bis! For the duchess: whenever .Vaomi sawthat stately and beautiful lady her. whole soul rose in hot rebellion j against her. And her dislike to the | haughty woman hardened her heart against that woman's son. Then she began to notice that the Fair young1 Lady Valentine was jeaions oE her. it was only human nature, then, that she should enter the lists against her, She had meant no harm; she had never intended the duke should have the faintest idea of her identity. At the end of the season she was going away, and might never see either of them again; but in the meantime she must give Lady Valentine a lesson. All this abruptly ended when the duke claimed her as his wife. It was an emergency she had not prepared for, had not, anticipated, lie, claimed her by every right, human and divine; she was his by the law of ileaven as well as by the law of man. She could no longer hold his sin before her, for he had repented of it; he had asked her forgiveness; he had humiliated himself before her; he had explained much of what had seemed to her incomprehensible. Xow what was she to say to him when he came? Lady Valentine's womanly, noble words had touched the inmost core of her heart; she thought of them over and over again as she stood there debating within herself the grand question of her life; what would she sayto him when he came? 'That girl has a nobler nature than mine,' said the beautiful, thoughtful woman to herself; 'a nobler nature; and she loves him with a nobler love.' What should she say to him? Should' she go back to him, take her place as his wife, make herself known to the world as the Duchess of Castlemayne? Her heart beat high, at the thought. She saw how brilliant was the life that lay before her. . She saw how happy she could make him, how different his life would be for him. How proud and pleased the duchess would beam! there crept into her heart, noble and generous as it was, a slight degree of feminine satisfaction that her grace would be dowager duchess; and much as she had wished for the title, Naomi knew she would not like hearing it. There is something in the word 'dowager' not always pleasant to those who still retain their beauty and desire to please. He would be here soon; what should she say to him—yes or no? Should she be Duchess of Castlemayne or remain Miss Glynton until the end of her life? Did she wish to charm him that she dressed with such elegance and care; that she wore diamonds in her hair and on her white breast: that she wore a white lace trimmed with white lilies that should remind him of a wed din g-dress ? That told more than anything else what she meant to say. (To be Continued.)