A SOUL'S DEVOTION

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 218, 12 September 1907, Page 6

A SOUL'S DEVOTION

By CHARLES GARVICE Author of "Lorrie, or Hollow Gold," " The Marquis." " Elame," etc

CHAPTER XIV.— (Continued.) Lady Letchford rises hastily, and com ing over to her, puts her hand on hei shoulder. "My dear," she says, with stiff gentleness, "I beg your pardon—l am so sorrj to have spoken so—so plainly; but whai could I do? As a mother, I could, not see my son rushing to ruin and dragging another hither also, without speaking I did not mean to insult you. No! t Bui I would do the same again if it were necessary. But I see it is not. You understand, do you not, how impossible this thing is? Quite, quite impossible.' Motionless and silent, crushed and heartwrung, May sits like a statue. ■ Lady Letchford waits, and looks at her, and sighs, and is about to murmui a kind word of consolation, and gratitude but some imp will not permit her to let well enough alone, but impels her tc add, as she thinks, the top stone to the edifice. "Mj' dear," she says, "I shall always feel grateful to you for listening to mc so patiently, and sacrificing yourself to my son's welfare. I am very grateful, very grateful, indeed. I can't utter the usual commonplace truisms about speedy forge-fulness, but you will let mc saythat I hope, that I confidently believe, this—this little incident in your life will soon pass away. You have known each other so sbcrt a time that it is impossible the feeling that has sprung up can have a very strong root. And I do hope you will forgive mc. I think I ought tc tell you that I have not spoken of mj son's future on mere speculation. Until you came across his path I had strong hopes—and these hopes will now fiourist —that I shall see him married to a young lady whose position in life will b? of the greatest assistance to him. 1 am sure if you knew more of my young relative, Miss Vavasour, you would lik« and esteem her." The youDg girl she is torturing sc complacently sits writhing under hei hand, still silent, but tbe eyes, whicl she cannot see, have grown harder and fiercer, and the lips, tightly shut toge ther, are white and quivering. "But. we must not be selfish," goes oi the proud, patronising voice, "we musl not forget the services you have render ed us. 1 trust that though any tie oi r lationship between us is impossible, w« suail be friends, great.friends. And, whe knows, we may be fortunate enough tc find a more suitable and happier matel for you than my son could possibly have prov " She gets no further, for with a sud d.nne)_3 that causes her ladyship tc finish up as if she had trodden oi. t chance nail, May rises to her full height and, with, crimson face and flashing eyes with her soft, witching beauty transform ed into the loveliness of a Medea, con fronts her. "Stop!" she says, not loudly, but lo* and pantingly, with her small hand press cd to her heaving bosom. "Stop! Yov. shall not—you shall not —say anothei word. How dare you insult mc? Was it not enough that you had gained youi end, that you had robbed mc of the onlj great happiness I have ever known' Was it not enough that you should hu miliate mc in the dust before your proud miserable, worldly plots and schemes' . Was it not enough that I was in th< dust under your feet? No! You coulc not be content, you must —you musl '. trample on mc!" Panting,, she is perforce compelled tc pause for breath, but she will not lei , the white and trembling woman speal yet. "No," she says; "I have listened tc ■ you, I have listened patiently to everj cruel, scornful word. - Now you shal listen to mc. You came to plead for youson's happiness; you say that I shal ruin him and make him miserable. Whal have you ever done to make him happy' t. Was he happy bsfore we—we met? ] I would believe his word against yours And now, not content with dividing us you insult mc by thrusting another gir' . in my face. I am to give him up tc Miss Rose Vavasour. I will not do it— I will not do it! You say you love him ' You forgot, when you heaped insnl! upon insult on mc, that it was possible I too, loved him. I do love him! and J will not give him up. No! I would hay. done it for his sake, and I might have ' done it even for yours, bnt"—and a 7 gleam of honest scorn flashes, like light--1 ning, in the bright hazel eyes—" not for Miss .Vavasour's!" For a moment her ladyship is too overwhelmed to retort. With her mouth wide open—like the most vulgar of mortals—she stares in speechless astonishment at the passionate outburst, then > she arouses her numbed faculties, and her thin face grows hard and set, her ■ eyes flash, not warmly, as do May's, but like cold stoel, and she speaks: "So, this is your decision, 'you will not give him up,' as you so appropriately term it. You have ensnared a good parti, and you mean to keep it. Well, I can scarcely be justified in expressing : surprise, much less disappointment. 1 ■ might have known that the interview ' would end in this way. You will not ! give him up. You intend to be mistress ' of the Wold, in the face of the world, and his own mother. Take care! You • have not yet gained your end. I would advise you to hasten the conclusion. Persuade him to marry you, and learn for | yourself, by bitter experience, how inevitably misery follows on such a union. Marriage!" she echoes, her face flushing with the insolence of furiou3, passionate ' pride—''it is well for you that Heron considers such an elaborate ceremony necessary." ; ..At this, the.eruelest insult that one woman can deal out to another, May stares, at first not comprehending; then. . as -the full meaning of the words break upon her. she puts up both hands and, shrinks away from the furious face with a.faint cry of dismay. As she does, the door opens and Heron strides c in. He stops a moment, looking from ;■ the stern, threatening face and form, of d his mother to the shrinking, abashed l - girl; then, taking it all in at a glance, d- he steps forward, and drawing the gracei" ful figure into his arms, looks over the '" lies upon his breast at his c mothSr—looks at her as he has nevei "- looked yet. s "What is the meaning of this?" he >- asks, his eyes glowing from under his >, dark bFOws, a red spot of anger on each '• tanned cheek. d "Let her tell you I" says Lady Letche ford, raising a denunciatory finger. "I o came here to save you from disgrace and her from miseiy, and—this is the result!" Heron lays his hand upon the • soft S brown hair and smooths it soothingly. "Hush, my darling," he says, for the heart that beats so close to him is .robbing wildly, and the bosom heaves with ' stifled sobs. "Hush! Mother, you had no right to do this. What have you

said? Surely' you know mc too -well to think that I should go back from my word—my pledged word—even though its results were unwelcome. You have done wrong. Your brougham is at the door. May, darling, excuse mc a moment -while I take my mother to the carriage!" "No!" gasps the old lady; "do not come near mc. You have chosen between that girl and mc. You have deserted mc. I will go alone." "Oh, no. Go—go!" murmurs May, and she draws away from him. Heron forces her gently on to a couch, and advances to his mother. "Come " he says, simply, but his word is full of stern command, and he draws her hand within his arm. With bent head the old lady goes to the door, but her venom is not yet fully expended. With a sudden gesture, she turns Mid looks at the sitting girl. '•"Remember," she says, fiercely, "you have won the day, but it is not yet ended. I shall live to see you repent—repent!" "Silence!" says Heron, aud he draws her away. At the door they come point-blank on Mr. Dalton. "Not going, your ladyship?" he says, ■with unctuous politeness. "Surely you will stay to luncheon?" Then, as her ladyship raises her eyes and flashes * , withering glance of scorn and contempt, he stops short and stares from one to the other with wide mouth and apprehensive eyes; but something in Sir Heron's face re-assures him, and with a feeble smile he goes to May and pats her on the hack encouragingly. "Tvt —tut!" he says. "Been cutting up rough. Don't like the match. Never mind, deaT! She'll come around, safe as eggs, and if she don't Ah, here you are. Sir Heron! Was Afraid you were going to desert us. May, my "dear, here's Sir Heron. Come —come!" "I think, if you will be so kind as to leave May to mc for a little while," says Heron. "Eh —certainly. Yes, of course. But mind, I expect you to stay to lunch!" Then, with a knowing -wink, as he closes the door: "The old lady been cutting up rough, eh? Never mind." "My darling, that's sensible adv;.?c," says Heron. "For Heaven's sake, don*t mind. Great Heaven, I had no idea my ! mother could take to high tragedy in this way. May, go into a passion— abuse her—me—anybody—but don't cry! Child, every sob goes through rce." "I—l am not crying," she says, at last—raising her face with its wet eyes and quivering lips. "I would not cry for ihe world." "Do not," he says, pressing her to him. "What can I say except to beg your forgiveness for subjecting you to the—this outrage. Will you ever forgive mc, I wonder?" "Yes." she says, with sudden gayety and a Httle -willful smile. "It is always the injured party who forgives, the other never does. She will never cease to hate mc, and I shall make her hate mc worse than ever if you stay. Go now," and she draws her arm from around his neck. But he takes it and keep, it there. "No," he says, "my mother and I are best apart ior a few hours. Besides, I mean to spend the day with you, if you will have mc. Perhaps you'll soon "tire of having a man tied to your apron strings." "Do you mean it?" she says, a swift smile of delight chasing the grief from her face. ''Really?" "Really!" he replies. "Go now, darling, and get rid of those tear traces, while I talk to Carrie. Do you know I'm half-inclined to think that it's Carrie I'm in love with, after all?" May looks around as she leaves the ' room. "Don't tempt her!" she says, laughing. Heron is as good as his word. Fot i the remainder of that day May holds her i lover in thrall. At luncheon and dinner i his eyes scarcely leave her face; they ramble through the . woods side by side, wandering ; neither knows nor cares whither. They , go on the water _» the »ant, and ti _y ; sit in the conservatory, where Heron up- . sets the equilibrium of the insect world : with the fumes of an immense regalia, t and May, under the pretence of wat«r- ---• m_ wi'chcs srd ..-.'ens to him. With a delicacy which does him infinite credit, Papa Dalton takes himself . off no one knows or cares where, and i Carrie is careful to efface herself gener- . ;'.lly T' ny ha. c it all to themselves, these ! (wo lovers, and the day which began so I stormily passes off in a glorious flood • of sunlight, which May will r_memb.r in ; coming years, if all else fades from her. AndT at last they stand on the steps, [ He on _ .inn around her waist, her head . lying peacefully on his breast, so rapt [ and peacefully that she does not move j even when Carrie runs out to remind , Sir Heron of an engagement he has made l for the morrow. "Mind, you said the dog-cart, Sir ; Heron!" she calls, in her sweet treble; . "and only _we three!" "The dog-cart it shall be, Miss Carrie," [ he calls back, with an emphasis. "GoodI night, Miss Carrie Dalton." "Good-night, Heron!' laughs Carrie, . who has been teased all day for addres- . sing him by his title, and the two are left alone. _, , "To-morrow!" he says musingly; "I . wish it were here, May, we will have l another happy day." . "Shall we?" she says. "Do you think it is possible to have two such days run- , ning? Isn't there a proverb'about the j impossibility of two happy days coming together until two Fridays fall in a I week?" s "What a superstitious child it is!" he 0 murmurs, stroking her cheek c ly. "Wi"'ll prove that proverb to br hu?li a to-morrow. Good-night, my darling— -, my ilnriiri*::" ,[ ''Good-night." she murmurs, j 'J-ir-y Jo not part then, o: course; ; love-re never fin at the first, and not ~ often at the second goori night; but at c l»st he lets her go, and xtrides away. g and is swallowed up in the dark n : ght. ■r May stands watching, listening to his retreating footsteps, the rapt look on her c face which love alone has the power to is paint; then, with a long' sigh, half oi h pleasure, half of pain, she turns to go in. i- As she does so, something light and 1 white seems to shoot out of the shrubs d at her side, and, striking her on the ;- bosom, falls to the ground. With a start she looks around, then !t stoops and picks up a folded piece of paper which lies at her feet, c With a sodden quiver of excitement, h half dread, half hope, she steps into the h light and unfolds the paper, d It is a note of a few lines only, writu ten in a man*e hand; at the first gfcmce

she recognises it; and hastily clasps-her hand to her mouth to suppress the cry which rises to her lips. It is only a few lines:

"Meet mc in the piece of woods by the river to-morrow at sunset. Don't tell a living soul that-1 am here. lam in danger." -That is all, but it is enough to send her faint and trembling to the wall; then, moved by a sudden thought, she darts to the door. As she does so, Carrie comes out of the drawing-room, calling to her:

"May, are you there?" With a swift movement she thrusts the piece of paper into the bosom of her dress, closes the door, and stands with her back to it, as if to guard it. "Are you there, May? Has Heron gone? Why, what's the matter? What are you looking like that for? Oh, May, what is it?" and she runs to her.

"Hush!" says May, staring apprehensively behind "Hush! Do not speak so loud. Matter—nothing is the matter. I—l—am cold. Come in." "But " "Come in at once!" she breaks in. "I —I—am overexcited—yes, that's the word!" and, with a quivering laugh, she puts her arm around Carrie's waist, and with affected, but very effective playfulness, drags her out of the hall. (To be continued daily.)

At the Premier Joinery Works on Thursday last Mr. E. Cutlfbertsou, the secretary was the recipient of a handsome presentation in the shape of a black marble timepiece and a silver teapot. The gift was from his fellow employees, and th. occasion was Mr. Cuthliertson's approaching marriage. In making the presentation the managing director, Mr. Walker referred in felicitous terms to the good relations which had always existed, and expressed the hope that they would continue. In happy vein he concluded by wishing Mr. Oulhbertson and his bride elect all happiness and prosperity.