THE SIN OF JASPER STANDISH.

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LII, Issue 8630, 10 July 1924, Page 7

THE SIN OF JASPER STANDISH.

(All Rights Reservedo

• ❖ A STORY OF BRuKION* HP A RTS, A VIVID PIOTPIiP. OF IRISH IJFK AND A HK/.RTLKS.S VILLIAN.

BY “R ITA,” Author of "Teg ; Th” Rake,” “The Mystery of the Dark House,” “A Daughter of the People,” <hc . <& c * PART T>“Oh ! Lyle.’’ said at last a voice, broken and husky with strong feeling, “how I have missed you ; how 1 have wanted you ? I wonder if in nil this time you have given a thought to me.” Where had her anger vanished ? Where had those doubts at his unexplained departure, that hurt pride, that professed indifference all gone ? They melted as snow melts before the warmth of summer suns. The wood dove’s coo was echoed by another. “We two” it seemed to say, and the echo of devotion gave back again “We two.” .“Won’t you speak?” pleaded Derrick’s voice. “Are you angry with me ?’’ He was very close to her, and he half released the little hand that was now one tremor of agitation. Then she found voice. “Angry ? no—of course not.” “Are you a little bit glad that I have come back ?” Instinctive coquetry, the defensive weapon with which feminine things love to protect their self-betraying weakness, would have framed a ‘No’ on the trembling lips ; but something truer, deeper, more compelling forced ‘Yes’ —so faintly that it was little wonder if a lover’s triumph leaped to those devouring eyes. “Gh ! Lyle, do you mean it ? —for I love you. My God ! how I love you ! All these endless weeks I have counted the hours till I could get hack ; till I could say—sweetheart, you know what I would say.” She shook like a leaf in autumn’s storms, but his arms drew her to the warm shelter of his breast. “I know,” she sobbed. “Oh ! is it true, is it true ?” “As true as the heavens above ; as that you are here, where I scarcely dared dream you ever would be,” She looked up. No rose so crimson as her flushing cheeks, no star so radiant as her sweet shy eyes. His lips silenced the answer that her parted lips were so glad to speak. A passionate exultation thrilled him at the touen of these pure girlish ones. “Oh ! I am too happy,” he cried, suddenly. “It doesn’t seem possible that you should care ; should love me. Is it so ? You do ? Ray you do ! ”

“Clod knows I do.” “My sweet !’’ He caught her to hi€ breast once more. For the first time in his troubled stormy life Derrick Mallory knew teet he hr,d touched the acme of pure happiness ; that ' neither life nor death could part him from the memory of this one most perfect moment. Arm in arm they paced that mossgrown path beneath the trees, heedless of time, of everything save just the rapture of this newborn joy, the bliss of being together. There was so much to say, to confess to marvel at. Less for him perhaps than for her ; seeing that love to a girl’s awakening nature has in it an element of spirituality, untouched by man’s grosser sensibilities. They found meaning and reason for that strange attraction which had drawn them to one another from the first hour of meeting ; they confessed mutual doubt and anxiety. Then the voices took a deeper note, and something of solemnity breathed through the passion of each heart, passion that they vowed should siirvive all earthly changes, should link them still in memory whatever ill or disaster befel, should bridge even the chasm of eternity, and claim soul for soul in that dim future which stretches before all mortal life and mortal love. No chill of warning, no touch of ill :a;ne to them. Hope achieved royal heights, on which each saw the other throned. Their love revelled in vague demands and assurances, in prophecies of happiness that knew no boundary. The wonder of it was like a halo about their heads. Lyle saw no mere ordinary mortal in her lover. Ke had been the first to look into that enchanted garden where fancy had roamed and imagination revelled. He stood to her as the reality of those vague and beautiful dreams, the dearer, the more heroic, the more wonderful because of some faint shadow of past trouble, at whose banishment be hinted, and of the exact nature of which she did not question yet. And he, looking down at the lovely

face, lovelier still in'thTsofr radiaace of this new-found joy, felt as men feel but once ; that he was re-baptised in the fresh pure current of a pure love, on whose radiant waters his soul floated Edenwards. He was awed by a happiness so intense. The more so because it had seemed almost unattainable so brief ft time before. The distant woods were reddening to sunset, the air had taken the faint chill of departing day, the terrier had uttered many remonstrances at this monotonous promenade, with its interludes of prolonged halts, when Lyle suddenly remembered home duties and expected guests. “It must he late,’’ she said. “And Nora is coming—did I tell you ? No. Oh ! I am expecting her to-night. Ah ! how seltish I am ! In my joy I forgot all her heavy lrouble.” “Take your joy, dearest, while you ean. I am sure she would not begrudge it.” “I know that. But, Derrick, I must go borne now. And that reminds me. How did you chance upon this spot ? Where does that wood lead to ?” “To Aunt Belle’s plantation. Did you not know ? The house is about a half-mile further on. It was a grand discovery, my darling. Some good angel surely led my feci, there to-day. I only arrived this morning, and felt too restless to stay in the house. I dared not call on you so soon —and that reminds me, sweetheart. Why is your father so prejudiced against me ?” “He thinks you were wild and reckless. That you had to part villi s‘our inheritance to pay ■your debts.” “The latter part is true enough. But it wa n t my fault. As for being wild—drew shyly you said it. s.vccl:.h*;art !) I think I have a very fair record if my character has to stand at the bar of his judgment. I supjose he’s rot prejudiced against my na. locality ?* Powers above, Lyle. I’ve forgotten something.” The consternation in his tone alarmed her. “What is it ? Oh, Derrick, nothing jvreng —nothing you’ve done ?” A curipus dusky flash came Into bis lace. His voice was low and hurried. “Wrong ? No. But, Lyle, have you thought ? I’m a Catholic. Sir Anthony has rather a prejudice against my faith.” The girl turned very pale. “I know. Ob ! Derrick, won’t there be trouble about it ? Your priests can’t bear marriages with Protestants, and you are right about my father. He is prejudiced. The first thing he asked when I was so friendly with Nora was about her religion. But the Callaghans are Protestants, you know.” ■ “Yes, dear. And I am not. What will he say ?” Their footsteps slackened. The first shadow of trouble had swept over their promised land. They looked into each other’s eyes and read a new meaning in the tenderness —a something pleading, hopeful, yet touched with fear. “There must be a way out of it,” said Derrick at last. “Must ?—why, there shall. We can’t part—you and I—for sake of any px*ejudice in the minds of others. It’s impossible—now. Why, you’ve grown into, my life, child ; taken root too deep for me to pluck you out whatever chanced. 1 felt you were mine the first hour my eyes met yours.'V; Bo jjfou remember ?” ’ . Another interlude, the sweeter for that first shadow bn the .sunshine of assurance ; then they , went on. in the gathering gloom, silent and halfafraid. “I must sec him !” said Derrick at last. “He loves you too well to make you unhappy. I must persuade him that the obstacle is not insurmountable. All things give way to firmness and determination. Can yoii be firm, Lyle ?” “Try me,” she said softly. “I would not .disobey ray father, Derrick but I could never be false to you, never marry any other man. When he sees that I mean it I am sure he will yield.’’ “You know him better than I do. Ah ! dearest, our bit of untroubled happiness was very brief, wasn’t it ?’ She shivered suddenly. “As long as we love each other, If » can never be very sad—to me,” che said, but she felt, even as she uaid it, that an invisible sorrow hovered in the air. Its brooding wings [ell with the brooding night ; they rested above her head and shadowed her path.

C HAPTBR XV. Before the bright fire in her bedroom Lyle Orcheton stood dressed for dinner. With the glorious prerogative of youth she was absolutely independent of the line clothes, toilet accessories, faint, powder, curling-tongs. Happiness bad dowered her to-night with a now and more subtle beautv. The pure tints of her skin, the coils of her burnished hair, enhanced the simpli.ily of her soft black gown, worn in compliment to Nora’s heavy mourning. It was cut square at the neck, and the beautifully-moulded throat rose above it in smooth and unadorned perfection.