A WILFUL MAID.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 209, 2 September 1911, Page 20

A WILFUL MAID.

BT CHARLES GAKVTCE,

AUTHOR OF "Claire," "Elaine," "Her Bansom," "My Lady Pride," "A Woman's Soul," etc. CHAPTER XlL—(Continued.) Lord Cecil sits and stares for a moment as if thunder-struck. What has he said to cause this sudden storm of grief and passion': What—Like a hash of lightning the iruxh comes upon and as if indeed the consciousness had smitten him, he sits white and motionless,, staring at her with eyes that do not see her. but look beyond her into the vista of possibilities! It is only for a moment that he sits thus overwhelmed; then he rouses himscLf and bends over her. "Miss Oarrie —Carrie! Do not cry! Forgive me! forgive me4 Carrie, listen to me. Your sobs go to my very heart! Forgive me! Listen to me, Carrie! I was an idiot—a fool; but I did not do it wantonly! Carrie —" he takes her arm and presses it pleadingly—"Carrie, I love you!"

The words are so sudden that they startle even himself: the faint breeze seems to take them up and echo them; the nightingale sings them: the very horse's hoofs beat them out upon the road; and they sound Like a chord of music in Carrie's heart. "I love you!" lie says, swiftly, sweetly. hurriedly, his hand travelling from her arm to her waist, his lips close to her ear. "Ah. Carrie, forgive me! I did not know —I did not dare to believe the truth until this' moment. But it is the truth. I love you, dear Carrie —I love you very dear Jv!"

Her sobs cease; slowly, wonderfngly, she raises bex pale face and looks at him with startled, almost incredulous eyes, that gaze, wide open, wet and lustrous "as diamonds washed in dew." "You—love—me!" she says, in a little frightened, half-audible whisper. "Are — you—mocking me? Is—is this—a jest, Lord Cecil ?" and she lays her hand upon her bosom as if to still its panting. He winces and his face twitches. "A jest! It is no jest! Mocking you! Carrie; look at me' Do I look in jest or downright ea.rn.-ast?" She di>-s look at him. and as she looks, gazing long and eagerly, as a condemned man might scan the face of his judge, her eye* droop and grow heavy under the weight nf a sudden, overwhelming joy. Instinctively she rlraws a little away from him: hut the strong arm and hand held her tightly. "It is no jest," he says, in a low voice. "T love you dearly—yes. as deeply as a man can Inve. Carrie, will you—do you love me a little in return?" She raises her heavy eyes and looks away from him. Not because she does not know what to answer, but that she may linger over his words, may linger over the sweetest music that has ever fallen on her ears. '•Can you?" he pleads. "I do not deserve that you should bear with me, Carrie!* - he goes on humbly, with the humility which all strong men possess. "I have been a fool and blind not to have known my own heart before this - ! But I know it" now. I must have loved you the first night I saw you! Rut I struggled against it—l was mad. foolish, and blind! But I am sane and in full possession of my sight now. Carrie! Tell me—whisper to me—that vou love me, if it be onlv a little!" Onlv a little! "Heaven, if he but knew bow lull her heart was with love of him! If he could but know! With a maidenly jealousy she keeps her secret for a moment or two longer still: tempting him. wooing him to speak the sweet words once again. "Will you not speak to me!" he whispers, bending still closer, his hand upon her arm. "Do you still doubt me? Ah, 1 Carrie, that is cruel! Carrie, I love you —will you bf my wife?" Then she turns her head slowly, and looks at him. and in the beautiful eyes softened with passionate love, in the "exquisite face, rose-tinted with maiden shame and purity, jie reads his answer. "My darling!*' he murmurs, his heart giving a great leap. "My darling! You love me!"' and he takes her in his arms and presses her to his breast. With a little shiver of joy. so exquisite as almost to be pain, .-he nestles againt him and hides her burning face. For a minute there is silence, silence save for the language which the two hearts so near each other may whisper each into each. Above them sails the moon, tinting Carrie's head with soft silvery glamour; on the tree that rustles beside them sings the nightingale. All nature soeins to have taken up the harmony of three magic words and to sing softly— I love you!*' Half bewildered with joy and delight, Carrie hidPs her face, and lets the dream —if it be a dream —glide on. She feeis his kisses on her hair and od her cheek, hears his sweetly, softly murmured vows, and still finds it hard to believe that it is true; that it is true that he and she are alone in the early dawn, and that he is her lover. It is not until be drops the reins and gently, so gently, takes her face in his hands, and turns it upward to meet his lover's kiss, lips to lips, that she realises the truth and lets in sink into her soul. Yes, he loves her! CHAPTER Sm. Presently, with a long sigh of mystic happiness, she raises her head. Womanlike, she is the first to remember that all-important element m our lives—time. ''lsn't it a very long—quarter of an hour ':*' she says, shyly. Lord Cecil starts and laughs as he looks at his watch. •'I can't see. the light is confusing. Yes, I suppose we have been rather more than a quarter of an hour. But what does it matter, darling? It has been the most precious quarter of an hour in my lifer" She doesn't say "and mine." It seems too obvious to be neeessarv. •'The happiest." he says, looking down at her as she nestles against him, her face turned up to the sky toward the "waning stars" on which her eves rest with dreamy content "But I suppose I must turn this iU-osed a-nirpal round toward his stable. Where are your thoughts wandering now, my darling? I shall not offer you a penny for them, as I did this evening; they are my own for nothing now!"' "Yes." she says, simply, "my thoughts, my heart, myself, are all yours. How strange it sounds! A quarter of an hour ago you and I were miles, continents, worlds apart, and now " And she smiles softly. "Yes," he responds, musingly, wondering whether in all the kingdom of fair women there ever reigned one more fair than this wilful love of his. "Yes, and yet we were not so near, af >we hud but known it," he says. She looks a.t him with a sadden, gravity in her eyes. J*Xoa tiadr.not-kaaw; it ? n You did Jttot J

suspect that — thai yon loved me her face grows hot ma ffeuu» "until I cried-?" He Uiui to pot the question aside with a kiss, bat she will not be evaded. "Not tffl tfeenf" she says. "As to that," he said smilingly, "I never gave it a serious thought." "Ah!" with a spasm of pain. "I mean," he explains tenderly, "that I did not think it possible you could ever get over your dislike of me; and so—so " he 'blunders lather lamely. "And so it was I who first led you to think that you loved me?" she says, her lips twitching, the brows coming down over the dark eyes. "No, no! great Heaven, no!"* he answers vehemently. "Do not put it in that way! I mean that I never thought thai I had any chance —that —well, they all led me to believe that Fairfold — poor Fairfold. I pity him!"

Pbe makes a gesture of impatience. "Do not speak of him." she says. "Tonight Jet us talk of ourselves. Why should you pity him? Terhrtps—perhaps it was a lucky escape for him; his mother will tell him so"—with a short laugh —"she always hated me! No. don't pity hhn—perhaps it is you who are to be pßied." "I am content.' he says, looking at her with a passionate admiration and love in his eyes, and in the faint smile on his lips. "You have made such a woeful mistake," she says, half mocking, half serious. "I am just the sort of person least fitted to be the wife of such as you. lam as ignorant ns—a.s this horse. as obstinate as an owl. as wilful as a mule "

"I am con-tent." he says. "T would not have you altered by the faintest line. In my eyes even your imperfections, if you have any. are added charms!"

"H I have any! I have the worst temper of any girl in Devonshire. But you know that! Haven't we quarrelled ever since we met?"

He laughs, but does not reply. "Tou thought me mad for the first f?w days, did you not? Don't say *no!' 1 know, I feel that you did. Do you remember the first night that you came back to find your telegram?"

He is looking down at her with a smile of loving amusement, in his eyes, but at these words of hers his mind flies backto that night, to the few piquant words of his friend written on the pink paper, and further still, to Zenobia de Norvan. For a moment the smile dies out of his eyes, and his lips twitch. It is only for a moment, but she is swift to note the change, and her own smile dies out. "You do remember! How angry, how scornful you looked. Cecil"—swiftly as if she had found courage to speak his name —"Cecil, tell me. did you think that I had read that telegram?" "GTeat Heavens, no!"

She dxawß a little sigh, and then laughs. "What agony and misery of shame I suffered that night!" she says. "I thought that you suspected ine, and the thought drove me mad! I lay awake tossing to and fro, and trying to shut out the sight of your face. But it was just punishment, for I was curious about that telegram. Cecil! I teased Philippa into dreading that T should open and read it!" and she laughs softly. "Dear Flippa. how —how surprised she will he!" "Philippa is a dear giil!" he says warmlv.

"She is the dearest and best girl in the county, and if you had possessed a grain of common sense, sir, you would have chosen her instead of such a worthless creature as mvself! .... But,"

softly, shyly, "ah! how glad, how glad I am that you did not!" "You need not have feared.'' he says, with a smile; "though I did not know it it was you I wanted, and I should have chosen you if all the belles of Devonshire had been at hand to select from!" "How I like to hear you say that." she murmurs. "Cecil.love makes cowards of us all. Yes. as fully and surely as conscience. 1 could not bear to think, even ever so faintly and slightly, of anything having happened to come between us! I mean as to the past. As to the future " She shudders. "Why do you do thatf he a f Ja. "Atp vou cold, my darling?" and he gathers her closer to hi 9 side. "No," she says, with a soft, shy laugh. "I am hot, burning!" and she touches his cheek with her finger-tips. "Something, some foolish words of PhOippa's crossed my mind at the moment." "What were thev?" he asks.

"Oh, nothing some nonsense!" she says softly. "She was worrying me about —about Willie, and threatening me with dire punishment for my coldness. I was to suffer such untold pangs and pains for love's sake. Poor Philippa, she makes but a poor kind of prophet, does she not? You see how happy I aan! Ah, happier than I deserve!" and her lips quiver even while they smile. "Then what must I be!" he s»Ts in a low voice. "Deserve! If we men had our deserts! " He stops. . smiles.

"After all. life is worth IMng if one is content to live in the present, as I am to-night. I will not look into the future, even to please Phflippa!" "Why should yon not?" he says, "with half-playful gravity. "Is it so terrible a prospect —that of being my wife?" "N- —o," she says softly, the colonT deepening on her face, her eyes growing thoughtful. "Do you think I will not make it pleasant to yon?" he asks. "Indeed I will try.'* "It will be so strange," she says. "Ah, it all seems a dream, even now—now that I have learned to realise that you love me, Cecil." "Well?" he murmurs, bending down. (This (new mood, this sudden tenderness is so maddeningly delicious and unexpected that he is half dazed under its sweetness. "Well, my queen, my angel!" "I seem to have awakened to the knowledge that I am alive —awakened to it to-night for the first time. It is so strange a feeling. All the past seems unreal, as if I had read of it in a book and had nearly forgotten it! I wonder" —looking up at him dreamily, curiously —"if you know what I mean?" '1 think I do!" he says. "No," she says, with a little wistful sigh. "I can see by your eyes that you do not! I wonder why it is that I should feel it, and not- you. I know, yes I know! It is because my love for you is deeper than yours for me! What is it the man says in the book I found on your table? You see I am not ashamed to confess my misdeeds! 'Of two, the maid and he, one .loves, the other merely is beloved.' It is I who love, and you who are content to be beloved? If so, it is a bad bargain for me, is_,it not? But"—with a swift bewitching smile —"1 must be content! At least, I date my life from to-night; there |is no past for me. After all. it was | such a piteously trifling past! I can lose it without a sigh!" and she laughs. He laughs in harmony, but there is at the end of this laugh a half tone of discord. (Oontiroea OaHy.l '