PARTED AT THE ALTAR.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 5169, 14 March 1888, Page 4

PARTED AT THE ALTAR.

(BY LAURA JEAN LIBUEY.]

CHAPTER XXIX

" I WILL TELL YOU WHY I RISKED MY LIVE

TOE YOUBS —I LOVE YOU."

In an instant the greatest excitement prevailed. Was the young nmn mad, to risk his life so recklessly among tho wild, dashing breakers? they asked themselves, breathlessly.

They strained their eyes and hold their breath. It certainly looked as though two lives would be lost instead of one. Prayers went up from women's hearts ; men muttered, hoarsely, " God strengthen his arm !" and through the moments that followed they watched with bated breath, tho intense silence broken only by the loud, hoarse murmurs of the breakers.

Frederick Thornton was young and strong, and an expert swimmer, but the odds were fearfully against him. He struck but bravely for the shining mark that was drifting ont so swiftly to sea. "Courage! courage!" lib shouted to her again. " I will save you or die with you !" Doris heard him, and the words inspired her with new life. Sho held out her white arms to Mm with a wild, piteous cry, then a hujre wave dashed, over her, completely concealing her. The mad water, hissing, boiling, and churning around him, seemed to laugh in wild glee at his efforts to cheat them of their prey. Down, down he struck after her, swiiter than arrow flight, drenched, choked, blinded t>v wave and spray, and an instant later he turned and struck boldly for the shore, holding the form of Doris in his arms. But reaching the shore was no easy task. The great waves beat him back, and his herculean efforts seemed to prove futile, as, sure as fate, he realised they were drifting out to sea.

He saw the life-boat that was put out, but could it reach them ? Could his strength last that long 't He was strong and sinewy yet it was no light task t:> hold that heavy burden with, his left arm, striking boldly out with the right. All this occurred to the girl who clung to him in pale bravery. '•Leave me, Frederick," she gasped, piteously. "It will be all you am <lo to save yourself.'' " You think I am roward enough for that ?" he cried out, Tith :i sharp accent of pain. '* You think I would wave myself aud let you perish r" "And she answered, simply : 41 Why not!' It is all you can do. The lifeboat can never reach us." •'l'll never leave you while I have life! You would be swept down in a minute. We will live or die together :" he cried, holding her fast, and buttling heroically with the mad waves. "Go! —leave me to my fate!" she panted, wildly. " Go—for my sake, Frederick--because I—-love—you !" With those words who fell back in his aims in a dead faint. Perhaps it wsis tho.<o words that imbued him with new life, :uid buoyed him up until the lifeboat readied them. Five minutes later, midst lusty cheers am". glad cries of women, Frederick Thornton laid Doris down on the white sand innong

the motley throng that hud assembled there. From that hour handsome Frederick Thornton was tho hern and idol of the belles of Newport. It was a week before Doris w.issufticiently recovered to venture down to the purlor to thank him fur saving ln.-r life.

It was evening: the clmndeliur.-i were lighted, throwing a soft, mellow lightover the marble hulls am! vast parlors, and out upon the stretch of bench beyond, lying so white Ln the clear, bright: starlight.

Doris saw him out on the verandah, pacing to and fro, smoking a cigar. Silently she crossed she verandah aad stood before him, like a vision in her clinging dress of soft, fleecy white. " I am curse to tlia::l; you for what you have done for me, Mr Thornton," she saitl, with an unconscious flutter in her voice, extending both her hands. " i thank you s> much words will not express my indebtedness. Why did you do it. ': It wight have cost you your own life. Oh, why did you do so much for me, Mr Thornton ':"

He took both her trembling hands.

"We will walk down ou the beach together, aud I will tell you why," he answered.

How smooth the treacherous, smiling sea looked under the brilliant starlight. How clear the silver moon looked, coyly hiding her sweet face behind the B ;>ft, white clouds, like a blushing bridi; behind her white veil. What a glamor there was over land and sea as they walked silently along under the mellow moonbeams, listening to the musical murmur of the sighing waves.

Suddenly Frederick Thornton stood still, looking down into the lovely face, his hand involuntarily closing and holding prisoner the little trembling one that lay on his arm.

•' Yon asked me why I risked my life to Rtvs yours. I will answer you now. It was becauso I love you with all the strength of my heart, with all the strength of my soul. Without you, life would be a blank; with you, it would be a paradise. I love you with tho mightiest love man ever felt for woman—a love that would brave all the dangers of earth and «ea to win you. You told me out on tho water that you—" The sentence never was finished. Doris turned upon him like a flash.

" Your loir .''' she panted. " Heaven helps the woman who believes in it. It is, as false and cruel as death itself. Hush ! Not another word. I will not hear it. Never speak to me again. I would put the whole world between us if I could. In daring to speak to me of love, you have cancelled the debt of gratitude I owed you." Before Frederick Thornton could find his voice to reply, she had lied. Ho found himself standing alone, lost in a maze of bewilderment on the beach.

"Am I mad, or do I dream !-" he cried, hoarsely. "'My love—an insult! What can she mean I'"

Then suddenly a strange light seemed to break in upon him. Ho was Banker Thornton's sou, and heir to a million at his father's death ; but in his own right at present he had but. v. moderate allowance, while Miss Fielding was already an heiress in her own right. " Did she think I meant to woo and win her for the sake of her wealth?"

Anger and wounded pride came to his roscuc, blunting the sting , of her stjrmy words. If there was one class of men lie liad ill ways detested ab'-vu others it was fortune-hunters. And the thought Unit he should be classed us one ol" tho.su despicable creatures cut to his hutirt like the sharp thrust of a dagger. The next morning the di.-plorabkt news was circulated among the young ladies fcbnt Mr Thornton bud left the hotel the aiigjit before. "Oh, how provoking!" they chorused in a breath. "And the season in its height, too- How we shall miss him at the hops.' He was a charming gallant. How provoking that the attraction was not strong enough to keep him here to the end of the season."

And more than one glance was maliciously turned toward Doris.

Doris turned quietly to the pretty Monde ■who bad made tho remark.

" Perhaps he went because the attraction elsewhere was strongest—as it should be in bis case. I believe Mr Thornton to—be— married."

" Married i" echoed the little group, in amazement. '* Surely that caunot bo, Miss Fielding. What reason have you for thinking so, and who is the lady?" •' Some three years ago ha was betrothed to Miss Vivian Courtney. He loved her— aud I have every reason to believe—married her," returned Doris, in a low, faint voice.

" Indeed you are mistaken," declared ono of the group, briskly. " lie was engaged to Miss Courtney, it in quite true, but for some unexplained reason the mamatje vas .broken off. He went abroad, ana about that time her father died of a fit of apoplexy. A year later, after waiting in vain for her handsome lover to return and make up their quarrel, pietty, dark-eyed Vivian married a wealthy sea captain for his gold. They had anything but a happy life of it, and at last he died, and his young widow is spending the money as fast an Jalie can. J read in one of the society journals she was expected here this season. No douLt she has liwird that her old lover is here, and is following him up. And, leaniin-r tliat, haudsoine Frederick Thornton has taken French leave, taking to himself tho friendly warning , to 'beware of vidders.' A wise man knows better than to them." puds listened like one suddenly to

stone. The long porch with its groups of promenaders, the white beach and the long stretch of restless sea beyond, seemed to whirl around her. Ahtf Heaven ! had sho heard aright, or was this a-cruel mockery of the senses ? Vivian and Frederick had parted— three—years—ago ? Ah, surely it could not have been! They loved each other too well for that. And believing himself free to woo and win Vivian what had come between them. ?

Could it be that his conscience had smitten him, when he came face to face that night with the poor child-bride, whom he had married only to desert, and did remorse overcome with tho knowledge she had sought death to set him free ?. And was it Heaven's retribution upon him, she wondered, that he should meot her again, and knowing her not,—she was so changed in name, face, and fortune—fall desperately in love with her ? ' That he did lovo her now, she could not doubt! Had he not perilled his life for hers ? Was there over a stronger test of love than that ? And she had sent him away—oh, cruel, cruel! And yet, the spirit of that other Doris called out to her for vengeance ! He must suffer as she had suffered. He must feel, pans for pang, the cruel torture of unrequited love, "such as she had felt in the horror of that never-to-be-forgotten hour when kindly strangers, pitying her youth and her friendlessness, had broken the heart-rending truth to her—that he had forsaken her.

[to be continued.]