WITH LOVE'S AID

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 169, 16 July 1908, Page 8

WITH LOVE'S AID

OE, WON AT LAST.

By WENONA GLLMAN i.ut_or of "Evelyn, the Actress," ".For Love Alone," "The Trials of au Actres3," "Stella, the Star."

.... CHAPTER XXXII. DOROTHY SPEAKS. Dorothy had dismounted and was bending over the fallen man when the villagers, headed by Cameron, came up. He leaped from his horse and was by the side of his fiancee in a bound. "Dorodiy:" „c gasped. "For the love of Heaven, what have you done?" She looked up at him unflinchingly, apparently not in the least alarmed by what had taken place, and answered more quietly than he had heard her speak that day: "I have shot him in the leg, I think. At least, that is what I intended to do, and I have rarely ever failed with a pistol The jewel-cases are all in his pockets, except this one, of which I had just relieved him when you came up." '"Dorothy!" he exclaimed again, more aghast than ever, "how could you—how is it possible? Dearest, you have been the bravest little woman in all the world! I called you a coward once, but I apologise most humbly. What shall I say to you? How can I thank you?" "I am going home," she said quietly. '""When you have taken this man to the village, will you call upon mc? There is much that I have to say to you." The voice was so quiet, so emotionless, that he glanced toward her, some of the old foreboding returning to him. He turned to a constable who had accompanied him. "You saw as much of this as I. Will it be necessary that I should accompany you now? I shall want to see Miss Oriswold home, for though sho ha 3 acted tbe part of a heroine, we may safely count upon it that she will become the woman before she has reached Ingle Nook. I will return to the village when I know lna<, »„e is safe." "We'll take care of the man," answered the constable, looking at Miss Griswold admiringly, notwithstanding that she was drenched to the skin, her flimsy gown falling about her almost like tights upon the slender, graceful limbs, while her wet hair lay against her back. "Thank you!" returned Cameron. "It will be necessary that Miss Griswold should see a doctor after this drenching. Would you object to stopping by and asking " "1 shall not require his services," Dorothy interrupted almost coldly. "I have been wet many times before without suffering any ill result." Cameron took the slender waist in his ' hands and was about to lift her to the ' back of her horse, when he discovered i;s saddleless condition. i He looked at her again in amazement. I She turned away wearily. i "There was no time for a saddle." she said, half apologetically. "Lift mc up, please." Aari he did as he was bidden, placing hea _srefully upon the horse's back. "I ydght have given you mine," he said, t-ith curious softness. "?*•> thank you!" she replied. "I am : much more accustomed to it than you ! are." ! She did not speak again until they rode slowly up to the stable, in front j of which Adam was still standing in spite | of Madam Delpre's injunction to him to | follow her. She slid down from the horse without waiting for assistance, and in her stocking feet made her way to the house, followed by Cameron. Madam Delpre came forward when they reached the piazza. "My dear Dorothy," she began, then paused as she saw Cameron. "Go on!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Don't hesitate because Mr. Cameron is here. There are to be no more secrets now. The end oi all that has come!" She was about to throw herself into a chair, but Cameron caught her by the arm. "Dorothy!" he exclaimed. "What is the matter with you? Go up-stairs, please, and.change your clothing. I will wait until you come." "Bui: " "Do as I bid you! I have some authority, surely." She looked up at him. For the first time there was an expression of regret in her eyes, au expression of gratitude. Her lip even trembled. She went without a word, while Madam Delpre followed. No one heard the conversation that passed between her and Dorothy, but the latter returned within fifteen minutes to Cameron, who was walking up and down the piazza with his hands folded behind him. He entered the drawing-room with her before he would permit her to speak, then he turned to her, exclaiming hoarsely— "You spoke of—secrets just now, Dorothy. I don't want you to feel, dear, that there is anything—you are—compelled to tell! I don't want you to feel that Ido not—trust you, and " She looked up, the hopelessness of her expression striking him like a blow, and yet there was a smile upon the lips that still trembled, a smile that was infinitely sadder than tears. "Are you afraid to hear, Kenneth?" she asked sorrowfully. "Ah! dear, I wish with all my heart that I could spare you. As for myself, I have suffered so much that I feel deadened now. The misery of it all has stunned mc, but my duty is clear and I have found the courage to tell you at last. It ought to have been told at first, Kenneth, and then all the sorrow, the shame the disgrace of it would have been spared you. I don't want to screen myself—t don't want to put upon another the blame that rightfully belongs to mc, but I never knew what it was to be ashamed until I was made to feel it by the foolish advice of a woman of your ■world." "I don't understand— -what you are saying. Dorothy," he stammered. "No, I know you do not," she continued, her sweet voice sounding like a •muffled bell. "I am not what you have believed mc, Kenneth! Rudolph tried to persuade mc to tell you, but"—chokingly —"I could not. I had been made to feel ashamed of my past—so deadly ashamed that I dared not tell and I loved you! One day I asked you what you would do if you knew mc to have been lowly born and you answered that you would have loved mc, but that you ■would never have made mc your wife. Remember I loved you, Kenneth, and I had not the courage to tell you after ft

"Had not the—courage to tell me— what?" he gasped. '"The truth," she answered, bending j toward him. "Oh, I know that I am . not speaking coherently, Kenneth, but j neither could you if you were giving up everything under heaven that made life worth the living to you. Do you think Ido not know what you will do? You j will turn from mc with loathing. You | will take back the love you have given . mc. You will suffer, but you will do it, Kenneth!" j Her eyes were strained and haggard. Unconsciously she was pleading with him. "For God's sake don't keep mc in this horrible suspense, Dorothy." "No, I won't, and yet I feel in some horrible way that the terrible truth ought to be broken to you. You came ; upon mc so suddenly to-day, dear, after •—after I had —had shot that man that— ' that you must have seen me —standing I upon the back ox unat horse " "Yes!" he cried huskily. "Yes, 1 saw." j "And it told you nothing? Nothing at all? Where did I learn to ride like •".hat, Kenneth.- n cere aid I learn to shoot, so that I could select my own place for wounding a man? For fifteen years I was connected with a circus! My former guardian was Para, the animaltamer. My present guardian, Rudolph, my almost brother, was one of the most celebrated acrobats in the country! Philip Hastings, the man who has caused and brought home to mc the first sin of my life, was a bareback rider in the same company. I have no name of my own. I was a little foundling who was giyen to ! Para and to Rudolph in a storm, and it | was Rudolph's name that Para gave to mc. The money that I possess came from I Para also. And now you know the j truth, but not the entire truth. I have permitted that man Hastings to rob you ! rather than that you should discover a : disgrace that would drive you from mc! ! I have permitted him to rob your friends I and' mine. I have given him the rings ! from my fingers aud the diamonds from my corsage. He has stripped mc of everything, and I havo let him do it rather than that you should know! " " And yet you tell mc now," said Cameron? " desperately. " Yes, rather than let him pile my soul with this additional crime! Do you know why I told you to take such care of the jewels you would have given mc? Because he heard you offer them to mc, and he swore that he would have them. iHe heard you give mc the combination of ! your safe, and in the drawing room he I told mc that he had heard. I fainted, j and he robbed you. Had you not told mc, jhe might have made his escape with the jewels." " I wish he had! " cried Cameron miserably. " I wish that I had obeyed Griswold's injunction. I wish you had never told mc! " " Why, Kenneth, why? " she cried with suppressed passion. " Wouldi you rather have made mc your wife without knowing? Would you rather have had mc and have discovered later? Oh, Kenneth, if you love mc so well, what need is v the:e ! that we should part? I was never in a circus-ring in my life, dear. True, I trav- | cllecl with the company, but Para and | Rudolph kept mc from that. I have never committed a sin, in so far as 1 know, save the sins that I have committed to conceal this shameful truth from you. Keuneth, I love you! Don't let this stain upon my life, for which 1 was not responsible, stand between us! Don't shut mc out of your heart! Don't make mc suffer for having spoken the truth! " He staggered to his feet, his face awful in its ghastliness. " Take into my nome the follower of a circus?" he cried despairingly. " Give my name into the keeping of a nameless woman, the former consort of thieves and gamblers? Open my ancestral halls to creatures that would shame mc before all the world?" No, Dorothy. Dearly as I lovo you, you have asked too much! If it were to break my heart I could not do that! Perhaps I am cruel, but you must sec that it is just. Dorothy, Dorothy, I almost wish that you •had kept this hideous thing to yourself! I almost wish that you had permitted Hastings to escape, no matter what the cost to mc! I love you with all my soul; but I told you the truth when I spoke to you so unknowingly before, that, however dearly I might love you, I could not make you my wife. Oh, Dorothy, it seems so horribly cruel to speak to you like that! Forgive mc!" He knelt at her feet beside her chair, but she arose without touching him. One might almost have thought the smile upon her lips was one of pity. "I have nothing to forgive, Kenneth," she said gently. "You are quite right. I do see that it is only just. I shall not try to move you from your decree. Goodbye. Kenneth! I wish I could make you understand how frightfully I am punished for the sorrow I have caused you. Good-bye, dear!" (To be continued daily.)