A Perilous Game.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVII, Issue 35, 9 February 1906, Page 6

A Perilous Game.

By BERTHA M. CLAY.

(Author of "ThroTrn on the World/ "A Bitter Atonement," '-Beyond Pardon," "On Her Wedding Morn," "The Lost lady of tfaddoa," etc.)

I CHAPTEK XXIII. t IN THE SILENCE OF THE WOODS. Beaudesert threw himself at Mar--1 gherita's feet, drawing a long, silent ! breath. Was he deliberately testing jthe strength of his will? To what a fiery temptation he was subjecting himself! How he was courting defeat! Time, place, opportunity, all were hi?! The woman he loved ;so close, to him that her lightest roovei meDt went through him with a kind lof thrill; the faint, sweet perfume that hung about her -was in ttie air he I breathed, and she alone with him in leafy solitude! What should hinder him to kneel 1 beside her. worshipping in act as in heart—take her in his arms, kiss the lips that would yield to his, pour out the love that burned in all his vein?, claim her for his own? What should hinder him? Lilian's wrong, his terrible vow. This was no time for vengeance, if even he could have wreaked it now. Could he ever bring his lips to woo and to scorn in the same hour? Marcrherita's rich, soft voice broke the silence. £he spoke in a hushed way. because of the sweet solemnity of the wood?, and heca-use, of thr exqaisite tension of her own spirit. "Do you ever feel, when you arp in the woods, as if you were in a sort of dream—as if nothing was quite real, and you would wake up by and by. and all the trees would vanish V "S es,"' hr answered, «Mzing out into the green depth?: hut only really vividly conscious of the woman at whose feet he lay. body and spirit. "I thinkoften has that feeling with anything that gives exquisite pleasure. I suppose it is that one cannot fully rpalise intense enjoyment or happiness." "But that phase comes *Hth suffering, doesn't it?" said Marghrriia; '"and. the other.oopn p experiences even in childhood." "But even in childhood we have the instinct of suffering/* "Ah. yes. I know that." she said, quickly. -You ar? rignt ; and even in childhood tho.re is always pain in happiness—at least, r found it so. r * Always pain in happiness! Beaudesert Ret bis teeth, drawing his breath in slow, heaxv throb?, but silently. The stab was sharp ajid deep. \nd she could say =uch words to him— Lilian's brother!

not your rtrildhnod happy, then?" - he asked, when he -had mastered himself. He turned his faoe toward her. but did not raise bis eyes to b-ers. "Oh, yes.- she >aid. glad, to take the safer ground, "in a way. It was full of change, and I always loved movement and of scene. Mv father and T were always teaveiling;. My mother died when I was or&v two years old." 'Toor child!" Beaudesext said, tenderly. The tears rushed to the Italian's eyes. For a moment she could not speak; then she went on, bravely: •'My father never really got * over her death; he was always restless and sad. and seemed to have' no interest in anything." "Not even in yon ?" '•Oh! yes, Ln his way—for mv mothers sake. 1 think, more than for mv own." "Then there -was not much love in your life. Margherita ?" held her breath for an instant. ! HaJ, the men she knew in her BoheImaan life called her by her Christian jnaase. J t meant nothing from them. . but Ernest Beandesart never had done so nntil this roomrat: and from his bps the softly spoken syllables wore something tJum a name. In that simple atteranee there was tenderness , sympathy, passion. "Margberita." on I his tongne. a symbol, an offering j laid by his heart on hers. J She must have known, in that instant lit no look, or touch, or tone had told ! her before, that he loved ber j But, after that brief pause, 'she said j quietly, a little reservedly: "No, not much. Bat still, my childhood was the happiest part of my life." Beaudesert. taking her hand 'in his I laid it over his lips, holding it there, : pressing softest kisses on the velvet palm, and she did not stir: her heart almost ceased to beat in its ecstasy. J She was content to yield herself to thfe unspoken passion. She let her lover— for lover was, though : breathed no vows—keep her hand, when ;he moved it from his lips, clasped in J his. It was worth all pain, past and to eon-.e, to live through such minutes as these. She bad known so little love: She yearned for so ranch! Only to be loved as this man loved her, "though. ,in the PD d. be should tear himself 1 away from the thraldom, and her heart—only to feel his ciinginjr rlasp, the touch of his lips, and know that, in his heart, he gave ail—was not this "Joy enough to steal AJI fear from life, the future and the past?" Not a word wa.s spoken: they were silent as the silent woods around them. Neither could—perhaps neither darebreak through the spell that lay on them. Beaudesert's whole heing was in a tension which a bres.th, ;i movement, might snap; all the strength of his passion foujjlu against the stern purpose of his life; and. strange as it. niieht seem, it gave power to his will "to hold Margherita's haTid in his own; it was some comfort, some solace to hi 3 terrible longing, which mast bs denied, the longing to end it all. and gather her closely in his arms. If Margherita had tried to draw her hand away from him he must have yielded to the temptation, and flung everything to the winds but the passion that mastered him. From outside came the almost welcome breaking of the spell; steps and voices—Savile's and EveriTs. Margherita started, and flushed, making an involuntary movement then to free herself. Beaudesert, too, started; but for a moment his clasp tizhtened over the hand he held; he bent his head suddenJy and kissed it passionately. Then he dropped it, and rose. i "Coma," he Eaid, not looking at her, '

speaking w£th the quietness of selfsuppression: "shall we go forward and inert them?" "Were you looking for us? v asked Margherita. lightly, as Everill saw them, and ran up. "No; it was. by chance we came this way." This the Italian did not quite belipvp. Everil had seen the way they went, and knew pretty -well where they were likrly to he. "WTiat lovely ferns you have," she said. "Are tbey not? You left yours behind you. madame." J "That was Lord Ernesf's fault." said I Marp-herifca. smiling, and covertly J watching Everil. "He promised to send <■ mc some much better ones from Clare-le-Mont." "Did he? How nice!" said Everil; but her tone \va* forced, she dropped behind a few steps on pretence of arranging some of her ferns; she felt choking. It was true, then, what Savile had suggested. Everil heartily wished she had not come to-day;, there j was nothing but hpartache for her. i Ernest, who had heard Everil's ques- ; i.ion, and reply, noticed ! the former's forced tone and suddeii \ stoppage, and could not help divining the cause. He was pained, and even a little I vexed: it was foolish and childish of ! Rvie to he jealous of Madame St. Lys. i and hr could not belp it that his cousin j must, to some exdent. do him an injus- • tice; lie could not explain to her that it ! wa> renUy her mm fault he had not promised her gifts direct from himself. In the prespnee of great passions, small ones, fretting themselves like a moth dashinjr itseli against the glass, soem petty and irritating; and Ernest had not, in his mind, got over thinking of Evie as not very different from the child with long plaits, who used to come to him fb assist her with her sums. He did not seem, however, to observe that Kw was and in a. minute or two she rejoined the group, and present lv they went back to the hotel for tea. But Ernest BeaudfEert was forced to ask himself that night how much longer he could put off the end ? He had that day, in all but words, told Margherita St. Ifys that he loved her. How long <x»sd he continue a lover who was not a isnitor. yet breathed no hint of lass Ihfnri marriage? YVhilf *ho p«armitleil the position. pould he maintain it? For the prpsent he would—he must! The future must shape itselfCHAPTER XXIV. cross rraitKVTs. "Mr. Savile." ssad pretty Mrs meeting Austin in Piccadilly, "you axe the very person I want." "Lucky mc!" said he, smiling, as they shook hands. She laughed merrily, and went on: "1 am making up a party for a few days at my place at Maidenhead for the end of .July. Do you think Lord Ernest would join us if I asked him and he is disengaged?" "I don't see how he cauld resist, Mrs Fenton. And why should he ?" "Oh! There might be meta.l more attractive elsewhere," said she. significantly. "Madame de St. Lys, for instance.' , ""Vou can but ask him/ said Sa-vile. "Well, 1 will. You, too. of course.;' she added- "Itemember. I shall expect you on the twenty-sixth." "1 shall be delighted." "Thanks. We have Mrs Gray and Tessi , " , Danvers —uo great attractions to you. I know: but Tessie will be I>i some of the follows—Folkard, for eKajnple." "Foikard?" repeated Austin Savile, quickly. "Is he of the parry?" "No—not exactly. I haven't asked him yet. But why?" "It wouldn't, do. I am afm.iH.'' said Raville. "to ask him and Beandfiseri together." "Indeed! Why not? Or is it a secret?" "A secret not known to me.'" said Savile; "but none of the Bdendales speak to Foikard. He used to know ibom slight ly at one tiire." "Dear mc! Anything; against Mr. Folkarri":" said Mrs Fenton, looking a little blank- "The Kdendale* are- not people to cut a man for nothing." "I can't say it amounts to cutting." said Savile. unwilling to imply evil of a man of whom, indeed, he kn«rw nothing specific; "and 1 know it is not anything that disentitles Foikard to be eonsdared a gentleman, because, if Beaudesert comes across him he salutes him—but no more. It is that sort of '■strained relation' which makes it awkward for men to meet under the same, roof." "I understand. - "' said Mrs Fenton, j dyins tt. know the truth. '"Thanks for toiling mc: eontrr»teinps of 1 hat sort are ■ too dreadful to be. eonte.mplat-'d. I shail certainly try first for Lord Ernest—for. lof course. I should prefer him, and so j would e\-pryone else. I am so grateful to you for introducing him! 1 tell my husband I am hopelessly in love with him:" "Difl you tell Beau that also?" asked Savil?. laugh ing"l shall some day," replied she, laughinp. too. "Are you shocked?" "Not a bit," He did not think there was any danfrcr. Ernest was tlip last man to en<r3£r» iin an illicit amour, even if he were j heart fr< f ; and Mrs Fenton was, with all hf-r flirting, rr-allj" a devoted wife. "'Well, then, you ought to ho. 1 shall try for Miss Dane. too. 1 met her two i-veninsps a^o —a charming girl. CJuite an acquisition." "I hope you will succeed." said Savile, smiling, though his pleasure at the prospect was a little damped by the conjunction of Ernest Beaudese.rt in the same ; house party with Everil. j He—Austin—might have had a chancn to make sonic headway with her, but ; with the powerful counter-attraction of i her cousin, there would be little hope. His sfna? of honour would not. however, • allow him to give a hint il) Ernest. j It wouJd be like betraj-ing Mrs Fenton's confidence, for Ernest" would be certain to re-fuse an invitation that mighi in any way interfere with his | friend's happiness; and, after all. either he or Ereril might Lave a previous enga^crnenL Saviie and Mrs Fenton chatted for a little logger, and then they parted and went their several waysBut Mrs Fenton revolved in her head as she went the chances of getting MargTerita St. Lys to join her party. It would decidedly give eclat to the gathering to have the famous and briffiant beauty at Giasslzads. Sic wished, she had aefced Sevile for ca mtrwfeistiaa. She did. aot qcite ca»j

to ask Beaadesert — it would look so | like holding out a bait to him and to ' j Madame St. Lys, and might offend both j I —certainly the latter. j J ''But I'll manage it somehow," ] thought the little lady, who rarely a!- ---! lowed herself to be baffled. "I most ' know some people who know her. The J worst of ii is she is almost certain to be ' I engaged already. I ought to have j thought of my party earlier in the sea- i J son." I .It was almost the end of. June —de- | cidedly late for making up July gatherj ings. As luck would have it. she met Ernest I Beaudesert at an at home that after- j I noon, and then and there proffered an invitation. He would be delighted, he answered. ; He mu?t look up his engagements, and i jif he were free, would accept the invita- j tion. So Mr? Fenton departed and despatch- [ a letter to Everil Dane, and later called ' upon a friend who knew Madame St. \ Lys, in order to obtain an introduc- ! tion. Mrs Fenton. in all innocence, was j setting about bringing some cross our- ' rents into her circle at Grasslands. Certainly, she knew that Tessie Dan- I vers ''set her cap" at. Lord Ernest— everyone knew that; but this would only afford ■■sport." The idea of the i silly little flirt imagining she had a chance with Ernest Beaudesert was on- I ly matter for ridicule. Beaudesert went, from the at home j where Mra Fenton met him to Eden- j dale House, having promised to dine ! with his brother and sister-in-law that I evening. He could change his dress there, for he had a suite of rooms in the j house. He found Everil in the drawing- ; room with Freda. '•Well met, Evie." said he. smiling, as I he stooped and kissed her forehead. ! Phe would almost rather he omitted \ the kiss, it was so fraternal. "I met that jolly Mrs Fenton this afternoon," Ernest adedd, stretching himself at Freda's feet, arid leaning bis : curly head back on her knee, "and >lie > asked mc to go down to Grasslands for a few days—a week, if I could—from ' the twenty-sixth of July." j "Are you going?" said Freda, with caressing fingers on his head. This j loved brother was clearer to her than ever, because of all he had suffered and suffered still. "Can you?" she added. ••[ fancy so." said Beaude.sert, taking j out a memorandum nook. "Let's see— i August ."?rd is Edendale-no need to • note that down. [ am free from the i twenty-eighth day of July to the third of August, so I can accept. "You won't let u= interfere with you Ernest *" '"How can you help it, my dear? It is I my own inclination interferes—not rou. Are you going to stay to dinner. Evie?"' "I wasn't asked/" replied she. laugh- i ing: "besides " "•Oh. your rlrc-.=. i< smart enough,'' said Ernest; "and if 1 a.-k you. that's enough—isn't it, Freda?" "Of course, you impudent fellow; and | Evi« know, she doesn't need an invita- ' tion. eve-n from your high mightiness." ' "But my dress." said F.veri). -Shall I run home and change it?" •'N'onsensp; only three or four <nti- j mates are coming, and one of them wouldn't notice whether you wore a frock or a potato-sack." "One of Edendalc's savant??' , asked Ernest. "Yes; Sir John Hilton." '•Poor old duffer!" said Ernest, composedly. "Mc tried to teach mc once the difference between a mushroom and a toadstool; but I don't think, as a re- ! •suit, he would have eared to have r gather mushrooms for his dinner." So Everil stayed to dinner, and sat next to Ernest, and was. in a measure happy; but still she was full of feverish unrest, and all sorts of wild ideas were coursing through her brain of appealinto Margherita to give him up. as if the Italian's will were the only factor to be. 1 re.-koned with; as if Ernest would let a woman -give him up" whose heart he had won, and whom he was determined to make his wife; Ernest escorted his cousin home, and -n route she mentioned incidentals that she was going to call on Madame >t. Lys the following afternoon. "She gave mc a general invitation t<> call on her, you know." Everil said, "and I haven't called yet." fTie thought, with a sharp pang, that Ernest was not likely to call when he cnew Margherita would have some one else with her. nor was he; but he livined part of Everil's motive in giv ng him the information, though he*did lot divine all. He said. "'Are you going to call?" or some such remark, and bade, his cousin idieu, and turned away from the door with a shade on his brow. He was vexed and pained. He felt as if, in ,ome way, he was wronging his cousin; ' yet what was he to do?' He must -.bove all things, be careful to keep from her the faintest suspicion that he guessed her secret. And Everil's cheek glowed, her eyes -parkled, as she read a" letter she found iwaiting her—Mrs Fenton's invitation, i For a few days at least she would be with Ernest without that hateful Italian to draw him away. ,| (To tre continued daily.) <