A WOMAN'S HEART

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 160, 8 July 1899, Page 6

A WOMAN'S HEART

By MRS EFFIE ADELAIDE

OWLANDS.

CHAPTER XII

Despite the sorrowful channel into which her thoughts had drifted during her short moments of solitude, Justina found herself enjoying the dinner that followed very much. She had instantly taken a liking for the unexpected guest, and she was faintly surprised that Molly should have given such a poor description of one' who was so distinctly handsome and attractive as Lord Dunchester proved to be. Contrasted with Basil's big, stalwart form, he was perhaps not a very striking mau in stature or build, but his face was pre-eminently handsome, and his bright, laughing, merry manner was not only charming, but infectious too.

Justina had never seen Basil so gay before. She herself seemed to have a smile perpetually on her lips, while as to Molly, she gossiped aud wrangled, and even squabbled openly with the young man, with all the ease and assurance of an old friend.

Lord Dunchester was full of amazement and admiration for Mrs Seaton's unusual loveliness. He had never seen any one before who was so delicate, so fair, so sweet, so beautiful. He could hardly i eat his dinner for looking across at the white-robed figure on Sir Basil's right hand, and even in the midst of his merriest argument with Molly he found himself pausing to catch the sound of Justina's low voice that was doubly fascinating with that tone of weakness and weariness in it. After dinner Molly put her arm about Justina's waist, and together they walked into the sweet-smelling drawing-room, all aglow with a warm fire and soft - hued lamps scattered about. 'We must have a label printed and hung round your neck, Justina,' Molly said, lightly, 'and on that- label must be writ in letters large the single but ominous word "Dangerous." You have captured Lord Dunchester's heart, my dear.' 'Oh! Molly darling, please don't.' Justina's "voice was a mixture of amazement, amusement and concern.

'It is a very susceptible heart,' Molly said, gravely. She put Justina into a chair as she spoke, and stood contemplating her as she might have gazed at some picture or other delicate work of art; 'and as a rule I have no very great sympathy with its fluctuations; but to-night it is different. If he had not immediately fallen down and worshipped you I would never have forgiven him!'

'Molly, dear!' Justina put out her hand deprccatingly. A little colour was painted on her white cheeks. Her lips quivered slightly. 'I know you are only speaking in jest,' she said, after an almost imperceptible pause; 'but still- " Again she paused, then, bending forward a little, she went on speaking quickly and earnestly. 'You know, Molly, there is something that has never been spoken of between us yet —something that is not very easy for me to speak about, but that must nevertheless be said sooner or later. I—'

Molly knelt down before her and drew the two small hands into hers.

'Justina, darling, do forgive me if my silly nonsense has vexed you or upset you. You know, don't you, dear, I would far sooner cut out my chattering tongue than do or say anything to annoy you ?

Lord ■ Dunchester rose from the piano; he had rather a rueful air.

'Oh! I am sorry, because I have invited Lady Sartoris and her two girls to come and stay with me at my little place in about a fortnight's time." 'My dear Lord Dunchester, what have you been thinking about? Where on earth are you going to pack away three unfortunate females in that funny old box of a house?' 'Molly!' this from Sir Basil, reprovingly. 'Oh! there is more room than you think for, Miss Fothergill. You have seen all over my spacious abode, you know. Lady Sartoris ran down here for a day or two last autumn, don't you remember? You were away at the time, so you did not meet her. She said she liked it immensely, and, in fact, she really invited herself again this year. I hope you will be charitable to me, Miss Fothergill, and come over very often. I shall have to ask some other people —a man or two — shooting men, and then we _lu_U be very jolly, I hope.' Lord Dunchester smiled happily in anticipation of a success. 'I rai* against an awfully jolly chap the other day when I was in Paris; never knew such an amusing beggar in my life. By Jove!- there was nothing he did not know. Ho gave me any amount of tips, Basil, and they have every one come off right. I have had half a mind to invite him down here; he would keep us all alive; but I suppose it would not be quite the right thing, eh, Basil?' 'Acquaintances you pick up naphazard in Paris are not usually the right thing in any sense of the word Philip,' Sir Basil made answer to chis dryly enough, yet with half a smile on his face; it was impossible not to smile unconsciously when in direct contact with Lord Dunehester's genial, cheery nature.

'Well, I suppose you are right,' the young man observed. 'What a queer thing it is that nearly ail the people one ought to drop are fry far and away the best company to be. found anywhere. Now this chap St. Leger — a good name, by the way,' he remarked in parenthesis—'was about the most entertaining man I have ever known. He belongs to some of our best clubs, too, Basil, so there ought to be nothing against him, ought there?' 'Have you examined the members' lists to see if his name is among them?' queried Molly, placidly, from the hearthrug.

Lord Dunchester looked at her in indignation for a moment. ■1 say, what a cynic you are become, Miss Molly!' he exclaimed, a little ruffled.

Basil laughed, and threw oil on the troubled waters.

'Don't mind her, Philip; she's incorrigible —a regular little shrew—must have the last word.'

'Justina, defend me!' Molly cried, springing to her feet; but, at a glance at the white, tired face before her, her merriment and argumentative manner vanished. 'Gentlemen, we are about to depart. Justina, you are dead. Not another word, if you please. Are you my patient, or are yon not? Lord Dunchester, good night; I will promise to be as nice to you and your guests as 1 know how. Please open the door for vs —two vanishing ladies. If I allowed this creature to remain here another five minutes she would be a vanishing lady in real earnest!' So chattering on, Molly led Justina from the room and up the stairs.

The girl was indeed suddenly exhausted; her strength was feeble as yet, and she had passed through many moments of emotion that were not new, save that they had been more sharply defined ths.n they had been for many a day.

The last turn to the conversation, too, had distressed her"strangely. The description of Lord Dunchester's Paris acquaintance, Sir Basil's dry doubt, and Molly's openly insinuated suspicion of this unknown man. had recalled to her almost vividly the clever, attractive, unscrupulous personality of her husband.

She had absolutely no rhyme or reason for this effort of her imagination; for though the picture had traits of resemblance, it was not a portrait. But instinct or intuition seemed to have come to her suddenly without warning, linking the image of this strange man with the man who had so grossly dishonoured her, first by his robbery of her friend, and then by his shameful treatment of herself.

When at last she was alone in her bedroom , she took herself almost harshly to task for letting herself be so easily overcome by a fear — a terror which was not only quite unfounded, but raost unreasonable into the bargain; still she could not rid her mind of an uneasy sensation, a restless nervousness that seemed to make her fancied fear a real and true one. She lay praying far into the night, and at last sank into a deep slumber, calmed and soothed by the beauty of her faith and hope in her prayers. How little she knew how close akin was her imagination to the truth! CHAPTER XIII. Although Molly Pothergill had not seemed to notice anything changed in Justina's manner, she had been none the less keenly observant of it, and with a woman's intuition she had fathomed something that as yet had not even so much as sketched itself faintly in our heroine's mind. Molly knew that the struggle had commenced, that Avith a return of strength and health, feeble as it was, Justina was now forcing herself to look to the-future definitely and deliberately, that the proud spirit was determining eagerly and courageously to take up once again the heavy burden of labour, that the small, week feet were about to plant themselvs again on the hard, thorny road which had proved almost too much for the young creature before the events of the past two or three months, and would assuredly be none the easier to tread in the future, weakened as Justina was by illness and her trouble, which, though as yet unshared by Molly, was none the less a certainty in her eyes. Molly had always feit that when the moment came Justina would not hesitate in her actions. They had only known one another a very short time, but they had been thrown together very closely in that time, and Basil's sister had speedily learned to admire and love the beautiful qualities of Justina's mind and heart. She was herself absolutely in sympathy with these qualities; she told herself over and over again that were she placed as this other girl was, her line of action would be in-no whit different to that which Justina had adopted and would adopt. But though she did this it was not possible for Molly's warm, loving heart to rejoice at a state of things which, though comprehensible to her, was nevertheless so sad also.

The point in Justina's mental attitude which Molly had gauged even before it had made itself known to Justina herself, was the saddest of all the sad things for Basil Fothergill's sister to realise. As has been shown, it had not been long before the secret truth of her brother's great, noble heart had been revealed to her. The delicate blossom of love that had sprung up so quickly in his hopes and thoughts and dreams had been seen almost immediately by Molly's tender, sympathetic eyes, and had brought a pang of pain and a mist of tears as the knowledge came to her.

She had such a great, great love for this big, manly, gentle, good brother of hers, the thought of any suffering coming to him—and though Molly had never known love in its fullest sense, she had enough comprehension to be sure that the suffering would be great—was a real grief to her.

Often and often when she had been supposed to be lost in some merry thought or cheery occupation, Molly had been plunged deep in troubled thought and conjecture as to how matters would go with Basil in this the most supreme crisis of his life. There was no harsh thought in Molly's mind for the poor, frail, lonely young, creatui'e who was the cause of this sorrow to Basil; it needed no words to let Molly* know how innocent Justina was of the power she held over this man's heart, of the treasure she had won, of the pain Basil must endure through her.

Molly would have been cruel indeed to have doubted Justina's innocence in this respect, and, as we have just shown, such a thing was very, very ?ar from her thoughts. She knew very little about the story of Justina's • sorrow. Basil had, of course, given her a slight sketch of the girl's early history, and her hurried, most mistaken marriage. Of the cause of Rupert Seaton's desertion it is hardly necessary to say that Basil To therein never spoke —not even to his wellloved sister.

Seaton's dishonour was Justina's honour; no matter what might come, Basid would hold silence on the remembrance of the shame Rupert Seaton had put upon this girl wife. The fulness of that shame was indeed not known' to him; Justina had not spoken o_.e word to let him know the last, the worst, of the blow that had fallen on her. All that Basil knew in this matter was that Rupert had most assuredly absconded, that he had gone deliberately, deserting the girl in \%% hour of tribulation.

Molly, of course, knew as much as this; her knowledge had been gleaned through the loquacious landlady of those small lodgings, and it was from this same source that both Sir Basil and his • sister gathered some small idea of the amount of brain and manual labour Justina had performed in the past year. , There was nothing but pity, deep, tender, womanly pity in Molly Fothergill's breast at first for the poor, slender girl, who was nursed by her care and aid back into life from the very jaws of death itself. Then love followed on the pity, and this love grew stronger and stronger, even when Basil's secret had been revealed, and the realisation of what that secret must mean to him had come in all its fullness.

Molly felt almost unequal to judge calmly of the situation at times, Basil'was so dear to her; and the vague dreams of Basil's future, of his wife and the children that would j gather about his knees, had had a 1 sweetness that made the casting of them all away now a bitter thing to do; but Justina was growing slowly but surely scarcely less dear to her and the very thought of allowing this desolate young being to drift out of their lives—nay, out of their homewas something that Molly had not strength to consider calmly. That Justina must go, however, was a fact that became a necessity to Molly when the girl's heart had been laid open before Molly's eyes even as Basil's had been, and the secret that was just dawning there i had been whispered in Molly's ears. Those few words, spoken in such seeming carelessness, about Learn Greatorex and Basil had been the spell that had awakened (all unconsciously, as Molly was quick to see) a new emotion, a feeling that could be, and perhaps might be, full of divine joy in realisation, but which must be' productive of even greater sorrow and pain than even that 'which Justina had already endured.

(To be Continued.)