A SPLENDID SILENCE.

Mataura Ensign, 19 March 1913, Page 7

A SPLENDID SILENCE.

[Published t>y special Arrangement.]

By ALICE MAUD MEADOWS.

Author of "A Million of Money," "The Dukedom of Portsea," "The House at the Corner," "I Charge You Both," "One Life Between. Etc., CHAPTER XVIIAt four o'clock on the day following the accident to the carriage ui whicn JJlrs Ohampneys had been driving the Jfiarl of ft ortn boroughs victoria drew U p at the door of the hotel, Tne tootman inquired whether the lady was at iome, and, receiving an • answer m the .affirmative, conveyed the intelligence to the earl, who alighted quickly, and was soon in the presence ot the beauti- j ful widow. . . She was dressed in white, with a long-fringed black silk sash tied into a J large bow upon one side round her slender waist. She was resting among crimson cushions on a pale blue couch, and could not, had she tried, have, found a more becoming setting for her j beauty. She was probably quite aware j of the fact. ~ j The three dogs were sitting beside i her, lolling out their pink tongues as j though they felt the neat. T-lie two j smaller ones made an instant dive un- ; < der the sofa as the earl entered the joom, and the chow dashed aggressive- j ly for his boots. "It's only their play/' Mts Champlieys said, smilingly. "I'm afraid I spoil them,. But a lonely woman must l .have something to love, something little • that seems dependent upon her. That's 1 what is called the mother iiffltinct, is it,

not? Kennel, Di! Bad dog!" She caught up a small whip and ad--1 ministered rather a sharp lash to th© dog! He uttered a yelp, and slunk with the others under the sofa. Then she held out her hand to the earl, smiling brightly. . "It i 8 so good of you to come to see me so soon," she said. "There js a saying, is there not, that he gives twice who gives quickly, and I think the same may be said of anyone who does auiy kindness without delay, and just now, too, you must be so very much engaged. I have only now heard that your nephew —your only nephew and heir, is it not? —is about to be married." The earl could hardly have told why, but it annoyed him that this wonderful woman, this creature of absolute beauty, should take it for granted Douglas would be his heir, and yet a little over 24 hours ago he would have sworn that would be so. "At present he is my heir, certainly," he said, "but he is not my only nephew. I have another, but I see very little of him; he is an author, and lives in London." "With his wife and family?" "Dear .me, no. My nephew Wilfred is not married. I should like to see him married if he would take a wife from his own class, but I am very much afraid he will not." She looked full of concern, the beautiful mouth even hardened for a moment.

"He is tiresome, perhaps," she said, "a -jie'er-do-well ?'' He Chastened to correct her. "No," he sais, "he has never given me any trouble. He works hard at his profession, never asks me for a penny; but as rather neglectful of me, as head of the family, and, incidentally, of his own interests. He has mixed himself up, too. with a lady, who, if there is nothing else against her, moves in rather a fast set; and, to make matters worse-r----but this can hardly interest you." "It interests me very much," she said. "It concerns you." There was open flattery in the words, and in the way in which she said them ; but they were uttered so innocently that no one could have said there was any such intention in them. The earl's heart gave a quick throb. "You are very kind," he said. "You '■are, I can see, Mrs Champneys, what I think every woman should be —sympathetic. That being so, I can open my heart to you. Did you happen to lead in the papers the case of the eudden death at Monte Carlo of Lady flolister?" "Yes, certainly," she answered, her voice kindly inquiring. "Did you notice that her companion and friend —a Miss Faustepn O'Neil—•was almost suspected of putting a narcotic in her coffee?" Mrs Champneys nodded. "Well, that Miss Fausteen O'Neil—ia woman who came from heaven akme knows where, who edged her way into some sort of society, heaven only knows how —is the woman with whom my nephew. Wilfred's name ia always coupled." Mrs Champneys looked quite sorrowful. "How very unpleasant for you," she said. "And I suppose nothing you say to him does any good? He is, mo doubt, a young fool set on his folly." She stooped down and pulled the tiny Pom from under the sofa as she spoke. The little creature snarled, as though he was not particularly fond of her, and she suffed him sharply. x "I have never mentioned the lady /"to my nephew Wilfred," h 6 said, "btit - I know what these infatuations mean, and that all the talking in the world would make no difference. I assure you, my dear Mrs Champneys, that it has been a perfect nightmare to me to think an accident or sudden death from some cause or other might rob my nephew Douglas of his life, that my nephew Wilfred might inherit, and that •a child of this woman might come after him. • I never was so thankful in my life than when a later will of her godmother's, under which my nephew's future wife benefits very largely, was discovered, which allows her to marry at once and not wait until after her twenty-first birthday. sven now my heart will not be quite at rest until she and my nephew are safely married." Mrs Champneys knitted her beautiful •brows. "I do not quite understand why your heart will be at rest then," She said. The earl laughed quietly. "One should not, of course, count upon one's chickens before they are hatched," lie said. "But when two perfectly healthy young people marry the natural consequence is a family. I have been looking forward ever since my dear wife's death to the time when my nephew should tmarry, have a son, and give me an lieir."

She went on stroking the tiny dog, -who, however, wriggled as though wishtfill to get off her lap. For a pet, and probably pampered dog, he was •strangely undemonstrative. "But surely," she said, almost tenderly. '*you yourself may marry again. iYou are still, in all essentials, a young ajSlkii, anf'_ it is not good for man that he Jbe alone." Once more his heart throbbed. Sho fR-as quite right, Of course, it was not good to be alone. He had felt that ananv times. And yet surely his Tieart [H-as 'in his wife's grave. "You think a man can tateaAwace fie said. ' -

She looked up at him now with the kindest, sweetest smile. "Oh, surely, yes," she answered; "the flowers bloom, the trees come into leaf year after year, and surely love is the sweetest blossom of the bunch. I should be a sorrowful woman indeed if I believed that love—the deepest-and the fullest love—was over for me for ever, and Heaven knows I loved my dearest one very truly."

A shadow seemed to creep across her lovely face; her eyes were downcast again, her lashes, dark, curling, and silky, rested upon her softly-rounded cheek.

[ "Is it long since you lost him?" he ! asked, tenderly. For a moment she did not answer. One might almost have thought she had forgotten how 1 long. "It was three years ago last June," she answered. "I lost him abroad in Italy. It was very sad and very sudden; even now I can hardly bear to speak of it. But because I loved him and because his memory will ever be enshrined within my heart that does not make it a dead heart. I hope the future will give me love in my life again. I believe it will. I should be a miserable woman if I did not. Fate lias robbed me of husband and child. Surely it cannot whip me with scorpions for ever."

His hand, which almost involuntarily had crept nearer to hers, now touched it gently. "A child, too?" he said. She did not look up. "Yes." "A-a boy?"

"Yes, a boy. Oh!"—with a swift upward glance—"you would have loved him could you have seen him. Tall for his age, my little man of four years old; straight as a dart; lissome as a willow wand; handsome as a young god. I—l don't wonder the angels envied me and took him, my little boy." Her voice seemed to break, her eyes were misty with unshed tears; she smiled at him pitifully. "I have no right to worry you with my troubles," she said. "We all have enough of our own."

His fingers pressed hers tenderly. "Your confidences do not worry me," he said. "I am proud indeed that you speak to me as a friend, and, though your little son has gone from you for a time, I envy you. I never had a child."

"Was he mistaken, or did her soft, slender fingers creep jiM a degree near-> er his —press them ever So gently, so confidingly, as a child's mieclit?" "There is the future," she whispered. "What has been is never a criterion for good or ill of what may be." He felt the blood surge upwards- to his brain and riot there. Mad words were 0:1 the tip of his tongue; he kept them back with difficulty, and rose abruptly. "You will think I am staying an unconscionable time," he said, "and I have not yet said what I really came to say. It is a very short invitation, I know, but will you grace my nephew's wedding with your presence? The invitation card is on its way I know; but I shall he the happier if I know" you will accept."

! For some reason her face flushed brightly. It was not with pleasure; : her expression was one of fear, j "You are very good," she said, "but ! I should know no one. Your two nep- : hews, your niece that is to be, and all your friends and relatives would wonder at my presence. I should love to go, of course; but as a guest Ido not think ; I can. I should feel so strange." • "And as the greatest stranger, I should do myself the. honor personally to look after you," he said, "and it ' will be an introduction to the county. > My nephew Wilfred I shall not be able to present to you, as, for some unknown reason, lie has declined the invitation ; but almost everyone else I can present to you. Do say you will come, Mrs Champneys." The flush faded slowly on her face. "If you make it a personal matter, ( how can I refuse?" she said. "If I may, I will leave it like this—if I can find a frock fit to wear I will come." i Ho laughed quite heartily. "Tlien I jam sure you will come," he said; "and : when tinder my own roof I present you jto my friends and people, it will be ; one of the proudest moments of my life, j Now, I suppose I must not trespass on your good nature any further." She did not urge him to stay. Perhaps she knew the surest way to make a man come back is to send him away. And so she put her slender, cool hand in his and wished him good-bye, and very lothfully lie went. She heard his carriage roll away. Then she smiled, and repeated aioud some of his words. "When under my own roof I present you to my friends and people :.t nil] be one of the proudest moments of mv life." She looked at herself in a mirror an-.I smiled slowly; then she dropped among the cushions on the couch and laughed and laughed until the tears ran down her face. (To be continued.)