A CRAVEN HEART.

Evening Star, Issue 11674, 5 February 1902, Page 2

A CRAVEN HEART.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRAKGEMftNT.

By "RITA"

(Author of 'Peg the Rafce,' 'Kitty the Rag,' 'The Sin of Jasper Standish,' 'Th» Grinding Mills of God,* 'The Mystery of the Dark House,' 'A Daughter of the People,' etc., etc.). COPYRIGHT.

CHAPTER XX— (Continued.) " A thought has suddenly flashed through mv brain. I have been looking back on the various meetings and commanicatioiiß 1 have had with Lord Hallington, trying to remember whether in any of them I said or did anything to alarm his caution or arouse his suspicion. Memory and these -■"*e.s both assure me lam innocent. The last time I saw him was on that evening when the children had played truant and taken themselves off for the day. "He was here in the evening. I remember it perfectly. He has not been here since. Yet on that occasion he talked of spending Christmas at the Park, nod having a small house party. Now he has left country and party all in the lurch, without any intimation so far as I am •oneerned, or Elinor. Lawrence alone knew of it.

"Lawrence! I go back on the track of that night. I remember how Lord Hallington and he were closeted together in his study for nearly an hour. The dress-ing-bell had rung, and I was in my own room, before I beard the carriage drive away. Why did 1 never think of this before? Why did it never occur to me to wonder what important matter the two men had to discuss? Had it anything to do with myself? If I only knew " The bells have ceased at last. The house is quiet; still I sit here, restless, miserable, perturbed. If I have to leave the manner, if I have lo face the cold world again, what is lo be done? I know the old hateful business so well—the struggling, the writing, the insults of fine ladies who think T look 'above my position,' the impertinent curiosity, the needless questions' us to references and reasons for seeking a situation. Where again could I hope to find n woman like Elinor Haughton? Pom- trusting soul! Why can't she believe that at least I would not make her so poor' n return for her kindness—-that I might be a. truer and better friend than ever she imagines? Can she love that man? To me he is so unworthy, so despicable- a ii-cnture without honor, or strength, or She is fifty thousand times too ■ •nod for him. and yet she gives him everything, including Iter love, and does me, the b<i;i"r to be jealous of my superior attrac-

"()li, these masks we wear to each other *nd dare not lift ! Tf but for five minutes F could show her my soul, and she would show me hers, surely we might stretch hiiiu!.; iieross that gulf that now divides us ami say ' I understand.' " Hut let me return tn that evening, ('mild the two men possibly have discussed me? If so. wa« Lawrence Ha.ughton dastard enough to utter some aspersion on my character? To relate how and why I came here? Or was he content, with merely stating where I came from, and my own version of my antecedents?

place. I thought for a year or two you might have been contented here." She looked at him, and her eyes' quiet earnestness revealed more of her reason for standing between him and future temptation than he had power or inclination to read. Her thin hands clasped one another as they lay ou her lap; the wedding circlet turned loosely on the finger that she touched. How content she would have been here, she told herself—how well and perfectly content, but for him! "You—vou look very well," he went on. "Although with that cold it was foolish lo leave your warm room and come downstairs " "Women are always doing foolish things," she said. " Perhaps ( they do them sometimes to veil a purpose." "I fail to see " "Dear Lawrence, I meant no particular instance. .Shall we leave further discussion till to-morrow? I want to have the children in. I only gave them leave to sit tip till ten o'clock." It will soon be that," He crossed the room and rang the bell. "I'm going to have a smoke." he said. "I should not advise you to sit up late. "It's such nonsense waiting for Christmas bells and tilings of that sort. A lot of false sentiment—as "if Christmas wasn't jusfc as dreary as any other time of the year!" He'closed the door roughly. Was it only the jar to sensitive nerves that sent that hot smart of tears to those patient eyes, that brought that stifled sigh to her lips? All the brightness of her face clouded now in the solitude of that great splendid room. What could its splendor do for her. the owner and mistress of it all? It could not lift the shadow from her life, the old, sad shadow of what had been. Nor could any wealth or splendor restore that image of'boloved and noble manhood to its place in a girl's mind, or compensate for a broken ideal, a crushed and wounded, heart? Her thoughts turned to him still; turned with pity because of the gentle womanliness of !■' nature that never could be braced to sternness or harsh judgment; turned with excuse, with even self-blame, seeing so little merit or charm in that self she blamed for sa!;e of him. In what ho said, in his whole bearing id Into, there lurked a threat of coming division between lives so closely linked ;'.s theirs. " With sorrowful unwillingness she had been forced to acknowledge it, though the whola tragic possible truth had only flashed upon her in her child's innocent words.

"1 must save him,'' she thought. "It may b. only a. passing fascination —pardonable enough, she is so beautiful —but there is so much at stake. I cannot leave this inheritance to oho unworthy of it. I auinot see mv child doubly dishonored."

'• Fool that' T was not to foresee what be might do in his jealousy. Fool—doobly, trebly fool—to show to him of all people the scheme 1 had in view '. Fool, and again fool, to shut my ears to the warning ■)[ experience ! " But what use to rage, and fnme like This? It is not like me to lament the. inevitable ; on the contrary, my energies usually brace themselves afresh. Twice have I done this —twice !

"The shadow of that old terror creeps oyer me. The memory of that other Christmas Eve. In this quiet room, shut away from all eyes. I and my enemy stand once more face to face. Why can't F kill memory? Does even death do tint?

•Oh. that quirt face, that rhill, cold smile upon the silent lips, those half-closed eves, and the grey dawn creeping in ttmnii'h the open window, and his despairin" criH nn me--and then the tragedy that ended it!

" Perhaps some whi»per of that it was that reached the old lord's ears. Perhaps .Mary Connor has broken her promise. Why should T expect her to keep faith with m 3? T am not rich enough to bride her. nor powerful enough to persuade. lam at the mercy of her word, or her tongue. Tru<\ she can prove nothing, assert nothing; hut a hint is as dangerous as accu-. satinn, and a lie that is only half a lie can work as much mischief as the truth. " Such truth as I might speak would convince no one. " Shall I state it baldly here for my own reasoning powers to sit in judgment upon? 1 am tempted to do so. " What I have shut up in my own soul fur four silent years nishes back on me to-ni-dit like an imprisoned torrent. " What do I behold? Again a man's in-a ne passion, again a woman's insensate ; ::'oiyor. A double suicide. And I—v<;in>.;. beautiful, friendless—accused—aciu' d of purchasing the poison administered !iv 'V husband to the wife, and—then !;■]•• e'i by himself. " I live- again the terrors of that awful i;. r n J sco myself confronted by such ]■■[,., l penalties as micht well wreck a woiv.'in's life. I see one hand stretched out tf. save me, and I cling to it with all the passion of despair. "'that hand did sav me. But for wha! purpose—for what end?" CHAPTER XXI. When Kathleen Monteath left husband and wife together Lawrence Haughton ielapsed into sulky silence. He was antrry with Elinor for coming downstairs : doubly angry at the frankly expressed desire lo which iiie gave utteranet —a desire to leave England and whiter abroad. '' I should get well and strong in sunshine, under bright skies," she said. "And now there is no difficulty in the way, as we need not consider expense." "What aboci Val?" he asked.

The .-o'lind of hasty feet, of laughing voices, dried her tears. She drew herself up, and her arms opened wide with a mother's hunger that demanded some satisfaction for the woman-suffering behind it. The children hurjod themselves upon her with boisterous gratitude for such long liberty. " We played at ghosts up and down the corridor," ?«.id Barry. " Hut no one was frightened. Where's mother?" he added, glancing round the great room. " She went upstairs about half an hour ago. Now [ want you children to sing me that Christmas carol again ; T only heard it in the distance. After that you must rea'lv go to bed." '' But who's to play for us?" asked Barry, marching up to the piano for thb music. " Perhaps T can," smiled Elinor. " There are a few things still that I can do, although I am supposed to bo only capable of lying in bad, or taking a, carriage drive." She seated herself at the piano. The two young voices began, faltered, then with surprised zest took up air and words, as a sweet clear soprano steadied them. "Why. yon can sing tool" exclaimed the bo v.

"A little—ye?." "But it is beautiful." cried Val, enthusiastically. " How does it arrive—happen, you say—that I never have heard you hefore'/" Elinor looked at tho bright face, and kid one gentle band on the pretty russet head. "T think," she said, "you may have heard me before. Val. when you were, only a tiny child, and I would siiig you cradle songs. But it's long ago, dear—so long ago that I surprised myself to-night." Lawrence Hnughton, sitting by his study fire in black and gloomy thought, had shared that same surprise"; and listening to the long silent voice that rang so true and sweet across the intervening space, he asked himself the question Kathleen was writing in her journal : What does it mean? Had s,ho grown suddenly tired of her inactive part in life? Was she really stronger than she had pretended? The thought brought no gladness, no relief. His

" She would, of course, remain here under eharjre of Mrs Monteath. We woidd return in the spring." His brow contracted. "Wo." How readily she took his consent for granted. What a helpless tool was a rich woman's husband —obliged to give in to her whims and fancies—never independent, never his own master. Troty, there were things to endure in life for which no money could compensate.

"It's a long time- to leave home, and—and everything," he objected. "And you have had proof of tlie children's capacity for mischief. It's l —it's a great responsibility for Mrs Monteath."

Elinor smiled. '' Oh, Kathleen is quite capable of managing them, I think. There is no reason, of course, why Barry should not be ti weekly boarder with Mr Friar, and only come home- on Saturdays. That would lessen her anxieties." " Where do yon wish to go to?" he asked. "I thought "of Cairo. It wonld be new ground, and I hear a winter there is delightful." ." Cairo! Good Heavens, what a distance !"

"In these days distance is no obstacle. Everything is made easy. I'd© short sea vovage would be beneficial to—both of us."' n You might leave me to answer for myself. I think."

" Certainly I w3l. Bui I have noticed that, you, too, have seemed out of sorts and out \of spirits lately. My suggestion, therefore, embraces both of us."

His cowardice took alarm. Anything was better than that she should suspect. Hut then to leave Kathleen! Supposing Lord HaTlington returned—supposing they met—supposing that his part in this timely separation came out! He rose and paced the room, as was usual with him when disturbed, weighing pras and cons and possibilities with eveiy yard lie paced. a I don't fancy you would like Cairo," >.e said. "Why not try the Riviera?" "We know that. Besides—so marry undesirable Engikh po there." Re colored—-knowing what she meant. " Oat has to take- oners' chance wherever one goes. The same risk attends every

! brow grew darker; impatience and irritation showed in every line of his face. i Whatever false hope had whispered of ! freedom, to-night had given it the lie. Not I'lhar way would he win what he coveted, and the years were so long and might be so many. His eyes rested on the wellfilled bookshelves! —on that neat pile of i MSS. containing his notes for that hook he I had now no inclination to write. Wasted j days, wasted dreams, wasted labor all. I What was the use of writing? Money I ho did not need, for fame he did not care. Tho interest he had first taken in his subI jeet had long since given way to a more ! engrossing and human interest. It, startled : him now to see how engrossing it bad be- . come. And for a sick woman's whim he ; was ordered to give it up-to cut himself ! adrift from a companionship whose danger ! was half its charm. How could ho bear j tho empty ilavs, lite silence, the ignorance ■ as to her welfare or pursuits? I Then snddenly, by a s-f.rong effort, be j checked theso tlrtrnghts. and turned his I mind into another channel. F? thought of I his wife's love—her patient devotion—the I gifts of fortune she had Wished so unj grudgingly upon him. In what way was ! he repaying tbem? j Shame- smote him at the memory of his j ingratitude. Yet neither shame nor remorse were strong enough to hold him j back. The tide of passion swept bim off I his feet once more. This woman had taken ! complete possession of his soul. Put her ! aside he could not. j " I am a weak man, but I am as Fate i made me," be said. " Weak and false too. j If Elinor knew me as I am, would she send , me out of her life? It would be only what I I deserve. I came out of that hell poisoned I in mind and body; hating law and justice [ and right; afraid to face my fellow-man; j afraid of the secret that leaves me the sport of chance; afraid of my wife's pity, and ashamed of her love. I shut myself t out from lfer sympathy. I forbade allusion i to those awful years, and the shame of f them, and the bitterness of them have eaten j like a canker into my very soul, destroying j honor and strength. Better. I often think, that I bad cut myself adrift from her, j taken my evil presence out of her life; | and I would do it now if I could take Kathleen with me. She has no fine feelings, I am sure oH that. Self binds her desires. If I only had in my own right what I share by right of the marriage tie, I would not hesitate. But I have nothing; I can do nothing; and to-night I almost feared that Elinor began to suspect. If she did, she would dismiss Kathleen, I snp- ! pose, without a moment's hesitation. God! . what a tangle it all is! In whatever way i I act there is danger—to her. to me, to all I of m ! How to get onfc of it?" | His restless feet had brought him to a standstill before the bookcase. Hardly eonI sciows of wbat he -was doing his eyes wsni dered up and doewn. the serried ranks of [ volumes it contained. Wandered, then [ stayed at one shelf, arrested by the sight of a title, gold lettered on calf binding. He turned, moved away to the window, ! looked ont at the darkness, at the wintry sky. and sirinaig.. then dropped the

blind, and once again came back and let his furtive glance stray over that shelf. But now his hand followed the direction, of his eye, touched the volume undecidedly, then drew it out Ho went back to his chair, laid the book deliberately on the table, and opened it at the title-page: ' FAMOUS POISONING CASES.' The bells were chiming and clashing when Lawrence Haughton at last lifted his head from that long and studious perusal. All vestige of color had left his face-; his eyes had a strange, wild glitter. " How easy it seems," he said, half aloud; "how easy! And how. many have escaped detection!" CHAPTER XXTI. The Manor Hause people nw»r -went to church. Lawrence stubbornly refused, and Elinor's plea of ili-bealth served her as excuse. On Christmas Day, however, she ordered the carriage, and asked Kathleen to accompany Val and herself. Too surprised to refuse, and reluctant to ask a reason, Mrs Monteath said " Yes " with a briskness that seemed to welcome the opportunity. Church attendance was not much in her line, and on the one or two occasions she had presented herself there it had been more as a critic of congregation and service. Both had suffered considerably at hen caustic tongue, but she had not indulged herself in Elinor's presence. To-day, the flutter of plumes, and rustling of satins, and general air of ceremony and occasion, afforded her infinite entertainment. So, apparently, thev did Val, who had come reluctantly to the service, and envied Barry's freedom of will in the matter. During the drive home Elraor alluded to her intended departure. "Would you have any objection to remaining here in charge of Val?" she asked. " Ccrtainlv not; I should be only too delighted." "Mr Haughton feared you might consider the responsibility too great." "Not in the least. The household arrangements, I suppose " " Oh, Mrs Burton would see to them. Of course, the large reception rooms would be closed ; but the rest of the house would be at your disposal." Kathleen laughed. " You don't suppose I should bo entertaining on my own account? The nail and the library are all and enough for me. But isn't this a .rather sudden determination?" " Yes," answered Elinor. " Bnt I think my husband and I would both be better for a change." "You have not been here very long."

" No. But lam never well in the winter. The cold does not suit me. I want to try the swallow's plan and fly to summer climes. I am thinking of Cairo." " How delightful! And in will be such a change of life as well as scene."

" You have never liecn there in your wanderings, I suppose?"

" No; France and Italy embrace my travels."

"We should probably be away till April," continued Elinor. "If you have the slightest objection to remaining hero alone, do not hesitate to say so."

"My dearest Mrs Ilaughton, objection! Did I not tell you how forlorn and homeless I wa.s? I should be, ungrateful, as well as foolish, to cavil at any plan you made."

"I thought.'" snid Elinor, gravely, "that you would miss the attention—the society. Of course our absence precludes your acceptance of invitations."

"Of course. You don't suppose T should be asked to dinners and dances when your sheltering wings were withdrawn, or that even if the county forgot its duty to the governess, the governess would forget hers to the county?" In her heart she was saying : "If you want to get rid of me, my dear lady, you must say so straigltt out. No one can be denser at taking an unpalatable hint than vour humble servant."

But Elinor was only feeling her ground. She had no absolute reason to mistrust Kathleen Monteath. no absolute fault to find with her attitude towards the position she held ; yet the vague uneasiness of yesterday was far from being dispelled. She might exonerate her governess from blame, but she could not deny her attractions.

•'When do you start?" asked Kathleen, presently. Elinor glanced at the child, who was listening to the conversation with evident misgiving.

" Nothing is decided yet." she said, hur riedlv.

" Oh. but cherie. you will tako me !" cried Val, suddenly. '' It is not ever that you go without your poor little child who loves you so?"

"But. dear, you will be quite happy here. You will have Mrs Monteath to take care of you. and Barry to play with, and you are to learn to ride. I have bought you a little pony as a Christmas present, and the coachman will teach you. Think of that." Val did think of it. Such an event in her small life was of a significance that dwarfed a shadowy sorrow. A pony of her own to ride! She went into ecstasies. Then suddenly remembered facts. " But I cannot ride alone, and Thomas he is old and stupid. T want Barry to ride with me. Ido not care for my ponv if I do have him all alone. May not Barry have one too, p'tite manian?" "Dear child!" exclaimed Kathleen, "you must r:ot expect that Barry is to share all your joys and pleasures. As it is, your parents have been far too considerate." "I also wanted to say." continued Elinor, " that T should prefer you to arrange for Barry to be a weekly boarder with Mr Friar. It will not distract your attention so mnch, and Val is more manageable when bv herself."

Kathleen felt the color rise to her brow. This was certainly unexpected. "Of course, if you wish it." she said, stifflv. "I am sorry you think his companionship harmful for your little girl." She scarcely recognised the timid, softspoken Elinor in this cold, decided woman. More and more she wondered what had passed between husband and wife. " Not harmful," said Elinor, in the same measured tones. " But it is a little injudicious to throw them so much together. And a boy is so different." " Barry' is certainly a handful to manage," sighed his mother. "I often fear you have not forgiven him for. taking Val orf to that place—where was it?— King's Chase? King's House?" "King John's House," chimed in Val. "It was one most lovely day. I wish there was another of it."

" I shall look after you a little more carefully in future. Another of it would be n little too much," said Mrs Monteath.

Her eyes were on the wintry landscape. She sat by Elinor's side, and wished the long, uncomfortable drive was over. "You are quite by yourselves to-night?" she asked, suddenly. " Yes but the children will dine with us. I think Christmas clay entirely a day for one's family!"

"You prim little thing, I should like to slrake you?" thought the governess. "A very melancholy day I always think it," she said aloud. "Most anniversaries are that. They always mean looking back on the changes Time has made." "In ourselves?" "Yes. and in others too. We all have our landmarks."

" I think it is better not to look back on them."

Elinor's eyes rested on the child. Kathleen Monteath watched them. "That is 'your' landmark," she said to herself. "I wonder what it means?"

Luncheon meant a period of forced gaiety. Kathleen tried her best to keep the ball of conversation rolling, but it was hard work. The. change in Elmor's demeanor made her uneasy, and kept her on her guard towards Lawrence. He, on the other hand, reseated secretly his wife's apparent return to health, and duty, and her evident determination to leave the Manor,

goihg t6 this wonderful land, to those pyramids which towered to an indigo sky from a desert of flame-*olored sand, of Which she hod read in the big illustrated Bible she had discovered. Wild ideas of pursuit rushed to her brain—of hiding under the carriage Beat and having to be taken, whether or no, on this journey of marVols —of appeal and insubordination, or dire vengeance on those opposing powers wno had decreed home and schoolroom for her instead of liberty. When luncheon was over she consulted Barry as to plans, but for once met with no encouragement. " Let them go! I shouldn't bother. We'll have no end of a jolly time without 'em," Mas his response. Val thought of measured playbxrors—of one Saturday only in a Jong week—of the constant supervision of Mary Connor or Mwdaftte, and grew restive.

" For you—oh, it will be all very well 'or you, but what of myself? You are not to come home but once of a week, Saturday, and you return yourself on the Monday morning. Viola (that is all. Not much of a 'jolly time,' as you say, in that." "Better than nothing. At least, we'll have two whole days to" ourselves!"

Kathleen Mbnteath, meanwhile, was longing for the pronouncement of liberty. She wished discussion would give place to decision ; that everything was settled and she left in possession, no one to order, no one to fear, no one to consult! Oh, why wouldn't that hateful, foolish Lawrence i see that it was the very best thihg that could happen! She longed t6 have a fetv moments' talk with him, but dared not run the risk. On no account must she strengthen suspicion. Ji\e whole fabric of her safety lay in Elinor's hands. She could tear it to pieces in a moment if she chose.

But the thought of Lawrence, sullen an-] unwilling, and driven desperate, held a fa*r amount of uneasiness. Who could ever triwt a man, or be sure how lie would act? The highest code of honor ha* been broken by a mere flesh and blood temptation. And he was so weak. She knew his mental fibre well. It conld scarcely bear any strain, any opposition, any tempting. To get him away from here, to be-reliercd of his presence, his pursuit, was her present idea of happiness. The air was poisoned by subterfuge, rent by jealous frenzies ; the ground on which she walked was a network of pitfalls. Oh, if he would only go, only leave her to that promised freedom. Would anything bribe him, supposing he proved obstinate? She went over to her window and stood there for long, debating this point. She watched the ted {{low of smrcet through the bare tree boughs,' and saw the great spaces of open country between their leafless gaps. 01), for even a month of leisure and safety and peace! A month in which brain and nerve might recover mental balance. A month in which she would not have to act, but could play at being her own mistress, and live in peace. As the thought whirled through her brain she saw a. figure moving in the distance—a man's figure that passed between the gaunt tree-trunks and then crossed a space of grass and entered a small plantation of young firs. "It looks like Lawrence Haughton," she said. "Oh, what a chance! If I could see him alone—speak to him--persuade " Swift in her actions, as in her moods, she rushed to the wardrobe and sewied a hat and cloak. A quarter of an hour later another figure disappeared into the flr plantation. CHAPTER XXIII. Beyond the plantation was a thick pine wood, through which a little track zigzagged amongst dense straggling undergrowth of weeds and withered bracken. It ended abruptly at a low stone wall, one of the boundaries of the park. Lawrence Haughton was close to this wall when he heard the sound of quick steps aud panting breath. He looked round and saw Mrs Monteath. The blood leaped quickly to his face, then seemed to ebb back to'his heart in a swift current of pain. For a moment be grew dizzy ami faint, as if by some acute mental shock. When he steadied himself again he could heaT the heavy labored beats like hammer strokes in the silence. The hand that pressed his side pressed a spasm of agony that, spoke its own warning. "I saw you walking along," cried Kathleen. "What a pace'..One would think you were entering for,a foot race." His eyes flashed. ■ His. face regained its normal color. Time, 'scene, suffering, all merged into that one dominant joy of her presence, " I want a chat with you," sjie went on. "Shall we walk here? It is a, dreary place, though."

"Not now," he said, and his breath quickened, and the color fhisiicd his cheek hot! v. " Not now."

.She laughed lightly. "Oh, you mean thai for a compliment! But I'm in no mood for nonsense. I haw something serious to gay to you, and you have to listen to it. Yes, and agree to it. Promise!"

"I can't promise till I hear what it is." " Then, shortly and simply, it is that you are to do what your wife desires, and put her suspicion to Test. It is not fair that I should suffer for your, let us call it, temporary interest jxi Mrs Haughton's governed. Not fair, and not kind to me. I have had a hard life, Mr Hanghton; I iave faced trials and enmities such as few women have had to face; I do not choose to bear any more, if I can prevent it. A little plain speaking sometimes saves a great deal of after sorrow. Let me speak plainly. I like your wife, and I do not wish to make her unhappy. She suspects me of—shall we * call it—flirtation with you? Nothing more. Well, for that suspicion you are to blame. You must destroy it—nip it in the bud. When we drove home from church this morning I read a change in her manner, a change in her thoughts. .She is bent on taking you away from what she\ considers a danger. I think she is right. I don't profess to be a good woman, or a very virtuoos one; but at one. thing T draw the line. I will not have any wife lay her husband's sins at iuv door. I will not step between a man arid his duty to the woman he has married !"

Lawrence Haughton listened with something of wonder and anger combined. That poor shadow of duty and honor to which she appealed gained no tinner substance; his shallow nature was incapable of comprehending her reasons for speaking so baldly. "It is a little late in the day," he said, "to talk to me of duty. You should have thought of that before you drove me to forget it." " I—drove you?" she cried, angered and amazed.

"Yes, you! Who else? How could I help contrasting you with that poor milk-and-water thing who claims what you call —duty? What should I care for duty? Every smile and look, every word and wile of yours, has driven me further and furfurther away from it. Now all my life is bounded by you, s and you alone. All else is poor and weak. No; I will speak—you have forced me to it. T. love yoa, Kathleen, and only you; yon know it, as well as I do. That love is driving me to desperation. I think, breathe, live only for you and those hours in which I see you. Were I a free man, all that wealth and position can. bestow should b» flung at your feet, and nothing of their worth would weigh with me against a smile of yours."

She stamped her foot with sodden anger. "Will you cease? These words are the words of a madman. I refuse to listen."

"You have made me a madman, then, and yon must listen!" he cried, fiercely. With all her coolness and courage she grew alarmed. But she was too wise to show any sign of fear. "If it's any satisfaction to you to rave like this," she said, " pray do so. Only, I assure y<ra, it hasn't the slightest effect on me."

" You mean to say that you don't care "

Could she possibly suspect him? He watched her furtively, yet avoided her eyes, and rarely spoke. "The situation was decidedly strained, and all Kathleen's tact scarcely bridged a threatened impasse. She persisted in alluding to the proposed tour, planning the journey, suggesting plans of travel, the necessary outfit, the wonders and delights in store for Elinor. Val listened »- djtaaa&. Ifee adeat-oi bMPWtbw

"Not the tiniest atom! Why should I? "You. barefe no sadi a&sac&aoo

fox me as I appear to have for yon. Bat I do value my position here, and I care for yonr wife's piece of mind. You shall not jeopardise either, if I ean help it." His sufien. brow* lowered orcr the anger in his eyes. He coold have killed hfer fl»s«u aaa ieariessnespr

and lashed hhn with the cool infi»leh<So of her words. "If—you call prevent it," he repeated, "slowly. Then he paused and faced her. ." But you cannot. I refuse/ to leaVo the Manor. If Bir wife wishes to go abroad she can go—without m«!" Kathleen's cheeks paled. Her lips set themselves firmly. " Are you «Wftre," she said, " that your words are a deliberate insult? I came here trusting you as a gentleman and a man of honor, expecting under your roof the courtesy and protection usually afforded to a lady, whatever h«r position. Have you no sense of what is due to me, to your wife, to yourself?" "None," he said—"none. You have destroyed all—everything, except my love for you.' It is all my life; I have no thought or wish or hope apart from that." | She toned away impatiently. Every word he spoke, every sign of her masteryover his craven heart, annoyed and disgusted her. Acustomed as she was to deal with, men's passions, she found this man a tougher subject than she had bargained for—a more difficult case to handle. "You poor wretched coward," she muttered. "What am I to do with you?"

He caught the last low-breathed words, and construed them as an appeal instead of a menace. He saw her pause suddenly, and lean against' the low stone wall, resting on her folded aims, while her eves gazed moodily into the woodland depths, that stretched away to a red and brooding sky. So she stood motionless for a space of moments, and on her face was a look that changed all its soft alluring beauty to desperation. She saw in him an enemy and an obstacle. His obstinacy threatened her with ever-recurring dangers; his infatuation was impossible to deal with. "I wish," she said, viciously, "that your wife could hear you. That she knew you as you are." "It would make no difference," he-said. "It would make the difference of proving who was master here," she said, with a sweeping gesture of her upraised hand. " She would have every right to banish you, as unworthy to share her honors, or to spoil them." He grew ashy whit*. She noted the change, and wondered what random shot had struck home to him. She remembered her always-present suspicion of something in his past life, some secret or shame, whose discoverv he dreaded.

"What do "you mean?" he whispered hoarsely. He was close behind her now, bis hand closed on her wrist, with sudden, savage fierceness. She turned, her eyes ablaze, her lips quivering. "I mean," she said, "that vou have a secret to hide, Lawrence rlaughton—a secret I have discovered!"

" You!" be faltered, guiltily, and the ashen hue crept like a grey shitoW over his face. Then he roused himself to an effort of denial, but she hiul seen the fear in his eyes, and pushed her advantage. '' Yes, I. If it were known here by your neighbors, your position would suffer materially, liven your wife could. not screeD you." " It's a lie !" he cried. " You cant know —anything." She did not—bufc she found guesswork an admirable substitute. •

"I know enough." she paid, "to humiliate von—to place you under my feet," . "Yet—you wish "to stay on here—under my roof.'

"Your wife's roof, you mean; yon are only a tenant at will. Yes, I have my own reasons for wishing to remain here. But I don't desire a scandal about it."

"I know your reswon," he sneered. "You think that old dotard will come backthat you can bring him to your feet again. Yon'still hope to be 'My Lady' queen up nt the Park yonder. But you won't rind it so easy to fool him a second time. Peeresses need a clean family record; and ho knows you cannot show thai." "He knows! Then it was you who told him."

She flung off his hand, as if its touch scorched her. The flame and wrath of her hot Irish temper blared out at last and terrined him. The flood of her words held liim dumb, marvelling at the source of so eloquent a torrent. It was useless to try to stop its flow of abuse and defiance. He shrank back, conscious still of a wild and passionate admiration of this force, of hers, thrilled with a mad desire to seize this tigress in his arms and kiss the quivering lips into silence or submission. She roused in him a sense of manhood. A longing to master her, to conquer her defiance, set every foree of his nature quivering with a passion hitherto unknown. Oh! for one moment (o hold her, conquered and subdued, that lovely form crushed to his breast, those mocking lips silenced by his own; to •throw ba«k that taunt of cowardice,, to force acknowledgment of strength, erven, the strength of mere sex against sex, and then —come death, come madness, it mattered not. In moments such as these the Paga.n pian leaps all boundaries of civilisation and creed and the tutoring of generations. He is still the savage who foucrht his enemy for food, and captured his love for lust, and bore her, even as he bore his.prey, to some primitive retreat, there to ha tamed and snbdqed to his mastery in the. solitude of primeval forests. He felt the blood race through his veins, a red rnisrt swam before his eye*. For n moment silence reigned. ixcr rage had exhausted her; her" breath came in swift. uneven ga«ps. and one choking, hysteric-il sob caught her throat, and proved her still but woman.

Then, with a sudden, loud langh. be tfrrew his arms around her. " Yon beautiful termagant!" he cried, savagely. "At least you shall pay for your insolence!"

She felt the brutal force, of those compelljnc arms, the fever pasvion of the lips that crushed her cry to silence. Then. with eveiy pulse of outraged womanhood stung to desperation, she forced her own arm* to freedom and struck wildly, blindly, at his down-bent face. She bad some dim memory of a gasp, a sudden relaxation, then she had wrenched herself awar from the outrage of his claim, and was fljtnrr at headlong speed, neither knowing nor heeding where h<jr feet horo her, so long as she was free of that hateful presence! (To bo continued.)