A Fair Coquette.

Bush Advocate, Volume XXIV, Issue 19, 12 April 1912, Page 3

A Fair Coquette.

i Continued.). '•You wi!! know better soon," he replied, . , " io», j»>a - voj o you to !ior arms, ;md holiest Mark lirace treated you like his own." Her face- Hushed crimson, her lips curled with scorn, her eyes flashed light. "1 look very much like a foundling, do 1 not ? Earle Moray, take your absurd stories elsewhere. She held up one white. hand. ''That looks like the hand of a foundling, does it not!-' Shame on you for trying to humiliate me! It is a pure invention. Ido not believe one word til it and I never shall." •"You have only heard the commencement,'* I"-' replied, coolly.

"Remember i never used the Avord ''foundling' to you you used it to yourself. It is not probable that I should do .so whni 1 know ii-hnsr (linnjiiicr i/ou are." '"Ah! Do you know-' May 1 ask what honorable parentage you, have? assigned to mer This grows amusing. Remember, before you say another won!, that i distinctly refuse to believe von."

"You will chumro your mind," ho said, quietly. "I have not' the loast doubt that L am horo to toll you the simple truth, ;nid Ito take you back to your father." The impulse was strong upon her to say that she could not go, but she refrained, thinking it quite as wise and politic to hear first to what she was to return. "You must not ask me how I know your history," said iOarle, "but it suffices that I know it. Let me toll you also, it did not surprise me so very much. I always thought, myself, that you wore, as, you say, 'of a different kind.' "

lie saw the color creep slowly over her face and a new light dawn in her eyes. ''You will, henceforward, occupy a very different position, Doris," he said, 'gravely; "your place will be henceforth among the nobility." "Ah ! that's better," she said in a low voico. But lie could see that, she trembled with impatience. She had clasped her hands so tightly that: the .rings she wore made great dents in the tender flesh ; still she would not betray liei; impatience. ''Your father is a nobleman, a Avei\,lthy British peer Earl Linleigh -■-and you are his only child." She grew white, even to -the lips, and her breath came in quick gasps, , ■ ■■■ "Karl of Linleigh?" she 'repeated. "Are you not sure you are not mistaken, Karle?" "There is no" mistake, Doris; your 'name and title is now Lady Doris Studleigh. Do yon iike it? Does it sound well?" She drew her breat with a. deep, heavy sigh.

"I cannot believe it, Earle," slie said, "it seems quite impossible that it should be true. it is what i used to dream when a child, but I never thought the dream would be realised. ,1 .cannot believe it, Earle." It was significant enough tlr.it she refused to believe him when she fancied that he wished to lower her iu the social scale; but she never expressed the slightest doubt ol his truth now, nor did even the faintest doubt occur to her. After the first emotion of surpr.se had passed she looked at him again. "!\ly mother:''" she said ''you have told me nothing about her. Who is she?"

".I have nothing to toll," lit' said; "1 have nothing to say about her. I was commissioned simply to toll yon this. .1 may add that your' lather's marriage was a private one. that he was' Tor many years in India, aiulis now returning home to take possession of his estates." "A private marriage!" she said, slowly. "I hope he has not married beneath him." '"There is no ■ doubt but that the whole story of his marriage .will be told to you," said Earle. > "And now, Doris, listen to me you must return with me; I cannot go without you. T promised that , you should go back with me, and it is imperative. The'marriage, will not be declared until you roach home." "It is so sudden," 'she said. "Yes, but you surely cannot hesitate, Doris. Remember not only what awaits you—your, golden future -but remember, also, it is your own parents who summon you."

"You do not quite Karle. I have no hesitation in going. Of course J shall go, but T want time to think." "If you fear the people you are staying with will not be willing for you to go, it is ii great mistake; they could not possibly make any objection. I will see them for. you if you like."' She raised her head in; quick alarm. "No, L would rather not, it is not needful. Give me 311st ten minutes, to decide. You are.ju.st; give me ten'minutes'in silence t,o think." : T-l e- remained mute and motion less by her side. 1 The Arno rippled musically at her leet; birds sang.above her head.

"Tell me again/' she said, "whnfr „ will my-rank mid title be?" "You, be the .Lady -Dori.s' i-Studloigh; daugli|cr ; , Af^/tho;

"AncLniy fortune?" slio infcemrp- , -f .. i ' ''Of bur,- jiotb 1:1.7;: bn': ! should sjiv it nui.st be jiir«?e. 'i on v.a .piuu.ibl/ Lj .. v.caiw.y .x'.. v.,..,.'' "And th'-v* is r. waiting for mo in the grand world?" "Most certainly," lie replied. "Now, then, let 1110 think, Earle, T am nil bewilderment and confusion. Let me arrange my ideas, then I will explain them to you." He did not know why she sat so silent, while quiver after quiver of pain passed over her face---why her hands wore so tightly clasped : but ' she in that hour was reaping the reward of her folly. What had she done? Had .she, by her wicked sin, by her intrn.-e self-love, her eagerness for pleasure and luxury, her little esteem for virtue, her frivolous views of vice

liiul she by all those forfeited that glorious birth-right which was lien-;' Had sho lost all chance of this grand position which would fill the greatest desire of .her heart? Jt was this most terrible fear that blanched her face and made her hands ble. that caused her to sit like one over whom a terrible blight had fallen. In her passionate desire for change and luxury, for pleasure and she had never even thought of her own degradation ; it was a view of the subject that she had not yet taken ; she had only thought of the lighter side. ■ Now it seemed to look her in the face with all its natural deformity. She shrunk abashed and frightened horrorstricken—now that she saw her en- j ormity in its full colors. ,

Still, it was not the sin that distressed Jier; jtliat was nothing to her. It was the idea that through it she v might'lose the glorious future awaiting her; if this luid not happened, she would never have regretted'her fault. If it were known if this proud nobleman knew 'thaishe had passed as the .wife of a maij to whom she was not married, would he ever receive her as his daughter? No; she knew enough of the world to be quite sure of that. Even Mark Brace would not do it. If he had—the faintest possible idea of what her life had b/'en since they parted, would he receive Jier, and think her a suitable companion for Mattie? No; she knew that he would not; he would have forgiven any sin save that. A disgraceful.sin like, hers lie .considered beyond pa rdon. If Mark Brace, with- his kindly, simple heart, could not pardon 'her;' was it posible that Earl Linl-'ieh would? No! The only hone that remained to her was to keen her past life, with its terrible blunder, a dead secret- there was no other resource. Could she do that? It was just possible. . Only yesterday she had been railing against her life, declaring that it was all a disappointment, that she saw 110 one, and was getting tired of it; now she felt thankful that it was so, that she had seen but few strange faces, and most of these had been Italian ones. So that if she could keep her secret, .she trusted 110 one would recognise i'n Lady Doris Studleigh the person who had been known as MrsConyers. (To bo continued.')