IN CUPID'S CHAINS.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 113, 12 May 1908, Page 6

IN CUPID'S CHAINS.

BY CHARLE (Author of "The Marquis/

CHAPTER SXW. There could be no doubt as to Lord Norman's popularity. It is very easy to become popular and generally welcome if you happeD to be young, handsome, and possessed of a large income. And in addition to these qualifications Lord Norman was the heir to an ancient and historic title, which might become his at any moment.

To use a phrase which became a catch-word in the neighbourhood, Lord Norman "woke up the country."

The Chase was transformed from a quiet, not to say gloomy mansion, whose threshold visitors rarely crossed, into a bright and pleasant house filled with, guests.

Many of the rooms had been refurnished under Lord Norman's direction; the staff of servants had been increased; modern luxuries, of which the earl knew nothing, and to which, if he had known of them, he would have been indifferent, were introduced. One of the old staterooms had been transformed, a# if by magic, into a superb billiard and smok-ing-room. The stables, as has been said, were rebuilding, men working by night and day; and every available place was crammed with horses —hunters, hacks, and carriage horses. The game was now closely and rigidly preserved, and Lord Norman announced to his present party that if they, would repeat their visit next year he -would have really something for them io shoot.

The dinner-parties were so frequent that even the famous chef, whom Lord Norman had engaged, at a princely sallary, expressed himself satisfied. The village folk gathered round the gate of a morning to stare at the shooting and riding parties as they emerged laughing and talking gayly; and if one or two of the staider members of the local aristocracy—people like the Landons and Ferndales —ventured to remark that surely gaiety was rather discordant in the house in which the master lay stricken, as -was the earh such comment was drowned in the blaze of popular approval.

For Lord Norman "was voted by the men "a deuced good fellow," and. by the ladies "a most delightful man."

Aβ to the people on the estate, they were one and all enthusiastic in his praise, as is their habit toward a man who flings his money about with an open and indiscriminate hand.

Meanwhile, the earl kept to his own apartments', and whatever may have been passing through his mind was powerless to express it. Sometimes, -when a burst ox laughter, or the strains of a song penetrated to his seclusion, his distorted face would become more knitted., his half blinded eyes would flash, and he would mutter hoarsely; but not a word was intelligible, and no one could tell whether he was pleased or indignant.

And yet, though he had filled the house ■with company, it could not be said that Lord Norman was undutiful or neglectful of his uncle. Every morning after breakfast he never failed to pay the stricken man a visit, shook him by the hand, and spoke a few kind words to him, and sometimes sat beside him for a quarter of an hour. Ihiring this daily visit the earl would sit forward, clutching the arms of his chair with quivering hands, and with gleaming eyes fixed on the young man's face; but he never attempted to speak while Lord Norman was present, though the moment Lord Norman had left the room he would fall back and croak out the harsh, meaningless sounds which had now taken the place of language with him.

Very often Fletcher would spend hours in the quiet, half-darkened room, and the two old men, master and servant, would sit silent and motionless. Then Fletcher would rise, sigh, and go out, and the earl would "watch him "with twitching lips and eyes, in "which gleamed a tender •wistfulness, like that in the eyes of a dying hound.

' Notwithstanding Ms popularity, it was generally conceded that Lord Norman had his peculiarities. There .were times when, quite suddenly, and without apparent cause, the handsome face would grow dark and moody—times -when the servants were not at all anxious to approach him.

They called these strange and apparently causeless moods his '""black tits,'" and they a]] knew when they-were coming on; for at their approach Lord Norman was in the habit of retiring to the private den he had made of the room behind the library. No one ever entered that room, excepting a servant for the purpose of cleaning it, and Lord Norman kept the keys of the costly and elaborate locks in his own pocket. In this room he kept his guns and his private account books, a cellarette —always well supplied -with wines and spirits and cigars—and a small iron safe by one of the best makers, which contained, strange to say, nothing more valuable than a-leather-bound volume, labelled "Diary," a thin flat packet, and a girl's pockethandkerchief; treasures of apparently no great -worth, but evidently considered of great value by their o"wner, who every night opened the safe and examined them.

But the "black fits" did not last long, and did not detract from his popularity, and the local gentry declared that' Lord Norman had rendered one of the gloomy months, when it is spent in "the country, into one of the most enjoyable.

There was always something going on at the Chase. It was either a shooting party, which the ladies -were asked to join at lunch-time, or a hunt breakfast, or a large dinner, and of all these functions the young viscount was the acknowledged leader. He rode straight, and shot well—indeed, there was no man in the county who could sit a horse or bring down a snipe with greater skill. He had charming manners, a voice -which

the ladies declared to be "quite professional," and he danced to perfection. No ■wonder that the women eyed him wistfully, this handsome, popular young man, heir to a peerage, vast lands, and untold wealth; and less -wonder that they regarded Lady Sybil Delamoor -with envious glances; for it "was soon made plain whithei Lord Norman's heart had fled.

Lady Delamoor and the fair Sybil were irequent visitors at the Chase, and Lord Norman was almost as frequently at Delamoor Grange; and though he had as yet made no formal proposal for Sybil's hand, it -was apparent to all that he was only biding his time.

His dark eyes would rest upon the "fair wonder of her face" with burning admiration, and that look which is so eloquent of the heart's hunger; but sometimes, even as he gazed, a strange change would come to his expression—a sudden gloom and doubt, and he would turn his eyes away slowly, reluctantly.

S GARVSCE

" "Lome, or Hollow Gold.").

Lady Delamoor once cought this swift change from fervent admiration to doubt and gloom, and spoke of it to Sybil. "I don't quite understand Lord Norman," she said, in her serenely placid fashion.

"No, mamma?" murmured Lady Sybil, quite as serenely, and a great deal more languidly.

"I feel convinced that he likes you, Sybil but at times I am puzzled, by a singularity in his manner toward you."

Lady Sybil leaned back in a chair drawn quite in front of the fire, and gazed with half-dosed eyes through the screen of antique stained glass. "I think I know what you. mean, mamma," she said. "It puzzles mc sometimes, but I don't think it matters." "You don't think it matters?" said her mother. "No," drawled Lady Sybil. "I am quite content to possess my soul in patience, mamma." And one day her patience was rewarded. She was sitting by the drawing-room fire just before dinner, neither reading nor working, but just lying back, with her small, white, perfectly shaped hands resting in her lap—a picture, a poem, typical of indolent grace and loveliness. She had been sitting so for fully an hour, thinking—scarcely thinking, but dreaming,—not of Lord Norman, but of Chesney Chase, the Chesney diamonds, the Chesney coronet, quiet serenely calm, and, as she had said, possessed of her soul in patience, and was waiting with a perfect appetite for the dinner-bell, when she heard the sound of a horseman coming up the drive. She did not turn her head, even when the sounds ceased, and in their place she heard a man's firm ! tread on the gravel walk outside the window, and a tap on the window itself, but called out in her deliriously modulated voice: "Come in."

The window opened, and Lord Norman entered. He had been hunting, and was in scarlet, and his well-made clothes were splashed with mud and water. But Lady Sybil scarcely glanced' at them; his face absorbed all her attention. It was pale and set, and the dark eyes gleamed with the intensity of a set purpose.

"I am not fit to come in," he said, standing just on the threshold of the window.

She held out her right hand, and smiled languidly.

"Gome in, please; the carpet is an old one. Have you had a good run?" He dropped his cap and whip, and stood beside her, holding her hand. "Yes," he said. "I think so." "You think so?" she said, with a faint smile, opening her blue eyes upon him. "Yes. I haven't paid much attention to the run. I know we have been going like the deuce for the last three-quarters of an hour; but I left them just before they killed."

"And you the master!" she said. He had just taken up the mastership of the hounds.

"Yes, I, the master," he said, looking down at the exquisitely fair face.

"Do you want to see mamma?" she asked. "Will you sit down ?"

He let his hand fall on the back of the chair, so that it nearly touched her light golden hair.

"No; I want to see you," he said, abruptly, almost fiercely. "Lady Sybil, I have come to tell you that I love you." Any other woman would- have been started by this sudden avowal; but not Lady Sybil: she had studied her part. Her head drooped and swayed from him slightly.

"I love you!" he said, and his usually musical voice grew almost harsh. "I have loved you since—since the night I came back. I think of you all day; dream of you all night. I love you. Will you be my wife?"

His hand slid down till it touched the golden hair, and the fingers twitched convulsively. Lady Sybil looked demurely into the fire for a moment, then she turned her eyes up to him.

"And have you left the hounds to tell mc this?" she murmured.

"Yes," he said, "I have. I have been haunted all day by your face—your voice. It is a wonder that I have not broken my neck. One of my horses is staked—" "Oh!" she breathed. "How could you! What should I have done ?" He bent still lower. "Then —then you care for me—you love mc, Sybil?" he said, meekly. She hung her head lake a modest, wellbred young lady of the very latest type. "Yes —I love you, Lord Norman," she faltered.

He dropped on his knees beside the chair and put his arms round her. "You—love mc!" he breathed. "Sybil! My darling!"

She let her head sink on to his shoulder, and his passionate kisses rained on her face and hair.

'"'My dearest!" lie breathed. '*What can I say? Oh. my dearest!"

She was silent a moment, then she murmured:—

"And—and you have loved mc all these weeks! It seems so strange! Do you remember, years ago, when you were a boy, you said that you would never marry mc?"

He started slightly, and for a moment his grasp of her relaxed; then he laughed shortly.

"I was an unHeked cub—a block of a schoolboy," he said. "Surely you do not keep that up against mc, Sybil?"

"Oh, no, no!" she said, with a smile. "If I remember it, it is only to add to my triumph—dear Norman." She whispered the last words with a sweetness that thrilled him through and through. ■

"Forget them," he said. "Forget the past altogether. Love mc, the man, Sybil; forget the boy."

"Yes!" she murmured. Then, after a pause: "And you have loved mc all these weeks, Norman? Why—why did you not " z

"Why," he said, "because"—his face darkened, and he drew back slightly, then he caught her to him, and looked down in her face —"because I loved you so madly that I doubted you." "Doubted mc?" Tes; I was afraid that—that I can't tell you. Sybil, are you sure that you love me—me, Norman Lechmere, the man. not fhe viscount and the future earl ?" She raised her eyes to his. ""What a strange question!" she murmured, with sweet wonder in her blue eyes. "Is it?" he said, "Then what they say of women—that they love wealth and rank, and will wed anybody to secure them, is not true?" "I see!" she said, in her soft, low voice. K Ah! you wronged mc, Norman. It is you—the man—l love. What are all else to mc?" ' He pressed her to him, and looked down passionately arto hex face.

"Is that true?" lie said, huskily. "Is that true ?If I were"—he paused, and his face darkened—"if I were poor, without rank, a mere commoner, would you still have loved mc? Think! Suppose—it is nonsense, of course —but suppose that I were not my uncle's heir, the next Earl of Chesney—suppose I were a mere nobody, poor and needy, with my way to make in the world, would you still love mc, Sybil?" "Yes, yes," she murmured, letting her head sink upon his breast. "But what nonsense you talk, dear Norman."

''Yes, it is nonsense," he assented, hoarsely. "But, God bless you, my darling, my very o-vvn! Whatever happens 1 am sure of you!"

Ho strained her to him and kissed her passionately; then he left her, almost as suddenlj- as he had entered.

Lady Delamoor came in—she had, indeed, partly opened the door some minutes ago, but had discreetly retreated. "'Has Lord Norman gone?" she asked.

"Yes, mamma," replied Lady Sybil, with a faint flush.

"Yes." She smoothed her hair, ruffled by her lover's passionate caresses. "'He has asked mc to be his wife, mamma." Lady Delamoor bent down and kissed her. "ily dear child! I knew it would come!" "So did I, mamma," said Lady Sybil, demurely. "And —and you have said 'yes,' and sent him away happy, dear child?" "I said 'yea,' and I think he has gone away quite happy. He talked terrible nonsense, mamma." "Nonsense?" said Lady Delamoor. "Yes," with a soft laugh. "I can't repeat it —it was very foolish; but I suppose all men are foolish when they are proposing." She paused a moment. "Do you remember the day he refused to marry mc. mamma?" "Yes," said Lady Delamoor. "But you are not thinking of that—not bearing a grudge, Sybil?" "N—o. But it makes my triumph all the greater, mamma, does it not?" vras tii-e soft, liquid response. (To he. continued daily.) A cheering cordial thnt restores mental vigor—WOLFE'S SCHNAPPS.