ALL OR NOTHING.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 584, 12 July 1913, Page 6

ALL OR NOTHING.

(Copyright.)

■ 4 A THRILLING ROMANCE, By the Author of "A Kilter Bondage," "Two Keys," "Stella," "Tile Unknown Bridegroom,"- &c., PAUT 15. "No." she said, "'mamma does not care tor society ; indeed, she does not like it." "I wonder,"'he said, looking at her with -that humourous smile no one could resist —"I wonder if by any possible means I could induce Mrs. Morton to receive me ?" "I car.not tell," replied Mabel, her beautiful face Hushing, for it suddenly occurred to her that it was for lier sake he wished to know her mother. „ Will you encourage me to try ?" lie asked again. He saw that she was distressed. She was divided between them, knowing her mother disliked visitors, yet longing to see ?llm in the charmed precincts of her home. "I shall try my fortune soon," he said ,; and he set resolutely to work to invent some means of introducing himself to Mrs. Morton. Fortune befriended him. The mistress of Beechgrove sent one morning for Dr. Stanley. She was not ill, but she had a severe cold, and wanted something to relieve her. Dr. Stanley was away from home, and Leonard Ainsleigh, only too pleased to have the opportunity, hastened himself to visit Mr? Morton, i CHAPTER XXV. The little domain of Beechgrove was enclosed by a low rail of iron that surrounded it. Before the house lay a green lawn, soft as velvet, green as emerald, and the house derived its name from the grand old beech trees that stood upon it—tall, glorious trees, tfticß of trunk, luxuriant in foliage,, with mighty, spreading boughs, where the birds, built their nests, and sang the whole day long., There was a copper beech that, when the sun shone upon its burnished leaves, was a picture and a poem in itself. The lawn was diversified with beds of flowers —not hothouse blossoms, but old-fashioned flowers, such as the poets loved — flowers whose names are songslilies and roses, carnations, sweet williams, mignonette, and pansies ; great bushes of fragrant southern-* wood, that the country people round Carsbrook call "lad's-love flowers t .ot, hundreds of years ago, shone like stars in the grand verse« of our poets. At the back of the house there wa« a large garden that led to an orchard, where apples and pears, plums damsons, and scarlet cherries filled the air with Jusclous perfumes. The orchard led into rich clover meadows, where the mild-eyed cattle stood ankle-deep in the thick, soft grass, and clustered under the trees to drink the water of the clear little pool. Then came the woods of Carsbrook, and those woods were all poetry. It was like being lost in fairyland to wander there, to see the bluebells waving in the wind like a blue sea, the starry primroses and wild violets clinging to the roots ol the shady trees, white and blue hyacinths, wild convolvulus and eglantine stretching from branch tc branch. A beautiful golden silence seemed to brood over the trees, only disturbed by the sopg of the birds, the hum of the bees, and the leaping of the merry brown hare's. Silence that was yet full of music. Far down in the heart of the woods the shade was cool., the light dim, the music sweeter, the flowers fairer. There was no home in Isng-. land than Beechgrove. The house was small —only two storeys high—but the rooms were large, airy, lofty, afic bright. An atmosphere of fresh aii and flowers seemed to be in it ; the sun shone in all the rooms, every window looked upon gorgeous masses of bloom or upon tall green trees. The very home for a poet or an artist, full of dainty colouring, of delicate lights—full all day of Nature's sweetest music and the sun's warmest light. Dr. Ainsleigh looked about him with some little curiosity. He had heard so often of the picturesque loveliness of Beechgrove, and now he stood in the enchanted ground. .What was she like, the mistress of this lovely place, the woman who had declined the genteel patronage ol Carsbrook, th» mother of fair, charming, dark-eyed, golden-haired Mabel ? He pictured her to himself as he walked across the lawn, thin and middle - aged, perhaps intensely haughty, or she would surely have liked good Mrs. Welford and her compeers. A neat maid-servant opened the door, and he found himself in a cool, spacious entrance hall. Stands ol bright flowers made it fragrant, a marble Flora beautified it, the door was covered with a delicate Indian matting. Then Mabel came forward to welcome him. He saw the flush on her beautiful young face, the golden light in her dark Italian eyes. '"I am glad you have come," she said, simply, holding out her hand tc him. "I am sure mamma is not well. She is in the writing-room, and will see yon there." She opened a door that was hidden by a curtain of crimson velvet, and Leonard Ainsleigh, following her, thought himself for one minute in fairyland. At first he only saw the room, and was too much startled by it to notice its occupant. A lafgc, lofty room ; but its great sing ilarity, its great charm, was that an enormous sheet of glass occupied the entire end of it. It was not so much it window »s a wall of dear, bright

glass, ana tnrougri one saw rue sweet flowers', ail massed i:i rich colours, the tail, green trees, the emerald grass,- and the blue sky—a sight so beautiful that those who saw it for the first time were always startled as Leonard Ainsleigh was. The paper of the roop was white, with small garlands of flowers; stands of bright-coloured, fragrant flowers were placed about the room ', there were two or three exquisite statues, and a few gems of pictures,; a carpet of green velvet pile ; chairs that, only to look at, made you long to rest ; elegant little trifles that denoted womana presence ; books, a piano, and* before the enormous window a writing-table. She was seated at the writingtable. He had wondered what she would be like. He found himself in the presence of an imperially beautiful woman, who rose to meet him with the dignity and grace of an empress—a dark-eyed woman, with a mouth like a rose—grand, imperial, lovely ; and Leonard Ainsleigh looked at her in unutterable wonder. Who was she ? So superbly beautiful, so dignified, so noble ; her face all soul, all spirit, all poetry ; her dark eyes full of lire, of eloquence, and of love—the grandest woman upon whom his eyes had ever fallen. If he had given way to his impulse, he would have knelt down before her and kissed the hem of her garment., as befitted such a queen. As it was, he controlled the impulse, and stood before her bewildered and amazed. He noted in that one moment the black, shining robe that fell in such statuesque folds around her magnificent figure, the white hands on which no gold ring shone. Then she spoke to him, and lier voice had the same sweet, lluke-like sound as Mabel's.

"I thank you for coming to me so soon, Dr. Ainsleigli," she said. "I have a troublesome cough, and I wish it to be cured as sbon as possible,, for I have some important business on hand.!' His eyes followed hers, and he saw the writing-table covered with loose sheets of manuscripts. '•'l will do my best," he replied. He thought he was in a dream when he took the white hand of that imperial woman in his own and counted the beating of the pulse. Who was she ? Who" on earth could she be ? Mrs. Morton saw his wonder ; and smiled at him. He asked several questions about her health and general way of living. From her answers he gleaned that for six or eight hours she stooped over her desk to write. ' "It is no wonder," lie said, "that you ha T -e pains in your chest. Could you shorten your hours of study ?" She looked up at him with a dreamy," far-off gaze in her beautiful eyes. "No," she said, "I cannot. It fills up my life." Then he gave her some general directions, and promised to send her some medicine, which, if auythiug could, wodld cure the tiresome cough.. "You seem to admire my writingroom," said Mrs. Morton, smiling again. "I do indeed," he replied, fervently. "I have never seen anything so beautiful, so bright." "Knowing I should pass the greater part of my life here," she said, "I have suited my own taste. There is nothing I love better than trees and flowers ; here I see plenty of them." "It is a beautiful idea," he said, "that, wall of glass." "Yes," she replied. "Summer or winter, all nature lies there before me. I have but to raise my head, and I see the rairest Colours in earth and sky, the fairest flowers, the greenest trees, sunbeams, mooning out of doors." "'Such a room must be an inspiration of itself," he said, dreamily. Then Mabel came up to her mother's chair. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful as the noble, spirited face of the mother and the fair face, the golden head, of the young girl. Mamma," she lialf-whispered, "Dr. Ainsleigh does not belong to Carsbrook, you know. May I show him one of your books ? He loves poetry, and it would be such a treat to him." Mrs. Morton smiled at the lovely, eager young face. She laid her hand caressingly on the golden head. "It is hard to refuse you a favour. May." " Do you refuse, mamma," she interrupted. "There is the width ol the whole world between Dr. Ainsleigh and the people ypu dread." Then she seemed to remcmbet the force of her own words, and a burning flush covered the fair face. Perhaps it was to shield her daughter's confusion that Mrs. Morton said : " Dr. Ainsleigh must give me a pledge of secrecy, then. Even to please you, my darling, I would not consent to become the wonder o! Carsbrook." He looked up eagerly. "If you would honour me, madam," he said, "I would give you my word never to mention one word of what you say to me." "Then, May," said Mrs. Morton, with a smile, '"you may show Dr. Ainsleigli as as you choose." It was one peculiarity of Mrs. Morton that sho never laughed. A peculiarly beautiful, luminous smile, that deepened in her eyes, and played round her lips, was the nearest approach to laughter ever made by her, and the singularly sweet, half-sad smile came now as she watched the young girl. Mabel went to the book-case, and took from it a volume. "You praised this book to me the other day," she said. "You told me every line in it was full of poetry, every leaf full of the gold jof grand thoughts and noble ideas. I longed then to tell you it was my mother who wrote it —my mother, who seems to have all the poetry of the world embodied in herself." "Mabel is very enthusiastic," said

Mrs. Morton, quietly. "So F am. mamma, over you. I :i:.t so proud of you. I should like ■iii the world to do homage to you. I should like you to he ' the shining lip!;;, all men worship.' I cannot bear that you should lead this hidden life." The fair face flushed the ea.irer words ; then turning to Leonard leigh, she placed the volume in his hand. He recognised it at once—"Spirit Voices," a book that, had stirred the heart of all Kimland, that had raised men from apathy, women from despair ; a hook the influence of which had swept over tlif land like a strong, healthy l.reath of the sea. ' He remembered his own emotions whenvhe read it. He remembered how all the papers and reviews praised it ; how they had puzzled over the authorship, declaring from its strength it must have been written by a man, from itssweetness by a woman, it.f fiery eloquence by one born u genius. The whole country paid homag <' the writer, and longed to know wh< it was, but the. secret never transpired. "Spirit Voices" was followed by others, as beautiful and asgood, yet the. secret, remained unknown. Rumour did her best, lining first upon oDC person, then upon auother, but no one ever guessed tiie truth. Hot. And Leonard Ainsleigh. who had wondered quite as much as his neighbours, looked up with reverence raid awe to the beautiful woman .whose genius had made itself felt all over the laud. She, the mistress of Beechgrove, the mother of the golden-hair-ed girl by her side, was the great writer. "Madam," he said, "my tirst impulse when I saw you was to knee! before you ; my impulse was right." Mrs. Morton smiled. "You will keep my secret, Dr. Ainsleigh ?" she said. "I can trust it to you ; you will not betray me?" There was real emotion in his face, real emotion in his voice. "I am more honoured by sharing it," he said, "than any words of mine can tell." CHAPTER XXVI. They talked for some few minutes then Leonard Ainsleigh looked at the beautifully gifted lady. '"I feel inclined to join in Miss Morton's cry," he said, "and deplore that your life is hidden here —such a glorious life." She smiled at the words. "The writing of the books you admire just fills it," she said. ! "I love my solitude ; if it were to be broken, the great charm of my existence would he gone. Society is, no doubt very charming, but I should be annoyed At receiving four or five calls in each day, listening to trivial gossip about my neighbours' concerns, bonnets, dresses, servants, and the weather. Trees and flowers speak another language ; I like their language best." "But for Miss Morton's sake," he said ; and the lady raised her beautiful head.

"Mabel has plenty of society. Dr. Ainsleigh ; she goes out when she i will ; she gathers her rosebuds. Dr; you not, my darling ?" "I am very happy, mamma," said the young girl ; "I could not be happier." As she spoke, her dark ryes met those of the doctor Used full upon her, and her sweet face grew crimson. Mrs. Morton saw the look ;it did not escape her. "I am afraid," said Leonard, wlier. he rose to take his leave, 'that 1 have prolonged my visit. I must ask your pardon, Mrs. Morton, am! I must ask another favour : may I come again—not in a professiona. character, but, if you will permit me, as a frieud ?" She might have said "No," but that she caught the wistful, pleading expression on Mabel's face. "Sometimes," she replied. "1 shall be pleased to .ee you." Then, bewildered, as a man whe has been in fairyland, the young doctor went away. Mabel walked with him to the garden gate. "What do you think of my mothei Dr. Ainsleigh ?" she asked. "1* there any one in the wide world t< compare with her—any one so beautiful or so clever ?" "No," he replied, " except yourself." She laughed aloud —the sweet, sil very laugh, so clear, so musical. '"I !" she cried. "I am not. eqiia to my mother's shadow." "Ho\i> little 1 dreamed who was shut uj) in this pretty fairy bower!" he continued. "L am not so unwill ing to say good-bye now. .Miss Morton ; I have a certain hope that J shall see you again—and oiten." They had reacued the little gate, over which the branches of ilit laburnum trees drooped heavily. He stopped there, and held out hit hands. Her white, soft fingers v.et t. tightly clasped—sunshine and :lo\vor> make men bold —he held her hand, with .a gentle, caressing toucn li-ul thrilled her heart. "I am so happy," he whispered, *'to know that I am coming ! ere again." And the girl went back to ihe house, with a : ook on her face ball divine —her heart beating with happiness so great it was almost pain. Mrs. Morton watched the tall iigure ot the young doctor as lie walked down the gartlen path by Mabel's Aide. "I have kept my secret all these years," she said, ;J and have told it at last to a stranger whom I have only seen oncc. Why did I tell it ? Ah- me ! Because, whether she knows it or :not, my darling loves this handsome young stranger. Hei heart was in her eyes and on her lips the whole time he was here. She loves him. God keep my daughter from a fate like mine !" With ;the delicate rose-leaf Hush still on her charming face, Mabel came biack to her mother's side (To Continued).