DOROTHY ARNOLD'S ESCAPE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXI, Issue 7008, 3 May 1884, Page 3 (Supplement)

DOROTHY ARNOLD'S ESCAPE.

BY MES. GEORGIE SHELDON. Author of "The Forsaken Bride," "Brownie's Triumph," &<•.

CHAPTEK XlV.— (Continued). ' bobotht's pictcke. ■- When.the days began to grow warm and sunny, Mr. Arnold brought a low, easy phaeton and a gentle horse, which he presented to his daughter, and Dot, delighted with the gift, looked really happy once more as she told Boy about it, and said she ehould take him out driving every pleasant day. He, too, was eager to get out of doors, and every morning after that, when the weather wassui table, the little horse was hitched to the pretty carriage, and they spent almost whole days in the open air. It did them both good ;. Roy seemed to gain strength, and a faint tingle of colour began to come into. his cheeks and lips; but people watching them drive by would sorrowfully remark, as they noted that bowed form and those misshapen shoulders, that " poor young Davenport was a hopeless cripple, and it was such a pity, when he seemed to have everything else to make life so enjoyable." Roy appeared to feel his infirmity more himself as he went out among people; he would never mingle with his old associaten if he could help it. He liked to drive if he could go out into the suburbs or country, but he would never alight anywhere to make a call, or go to a place of amusement, and thus Dot was cut off from all her old friends, for she would go nowhere without him. No one ever knew, until long after, how she enjoyed those long cosy drives on those bright summer mornings. The light came back to her eyea, the smiles to het lips, but with them, too, came a new Boftoess and sweetness of manner which she had never before possessed. People began to remark with something of surprise, how exceedingly beautiful young Mre. Davenpprt was growing, and how very devoted to and fond of her sick husband she was. Strange, was it not, that Roy was so blind to these signs? Strange that he did not interpret that sudden softening and lighting of her eyes whenever they encountered his, the quick coming and going of the lovely colour whenever he chanced to say anything particularly pleasant, or. the reverse, or' the sweet, low laughter which now and then broke from her lips. •

Bat he did not seem to think that it meant anything; he had long ago given up all hope that she would ever love him, or, if he thought about it at all, he probably explained it by supposing she coneidered it part of her dutj to be cheerful and agreeable when with him.

Hβ saw that she was blossoming into new beauty erery day, but it only made him the more sensitive over his own deformity, and to regret.more than ever that one so young and fair should be bound for life to such a clog as he.. . * . And thus the summer passed, and Roy's twenty-first birthday came around. Immediately after breakiaat on that day Dot ran up to hie room with a very bright face. Going up behind hie chair, she put both v soft hands on his cheeks, bent down, and, looking into his eyes, asked : " Do jou know what day'it is, Roy ?" " Yes ; it is the fifteenth day of October," he answered, with a long-drawn sigh. ■ " Have you forgotten what I always do when the fifteenth of October comes around ?" she pursued, unheeding the sigh. "I know that you always do something on that and on all other days, too," he replied, and smiling up at her, for a wonder. But who could help it, with that gleaming face so full of beauty and life bending over him ? The colour flashed brightly to .her cheeks, as she returned : " Thank you; that is the nicest thing that you have said to me. for ever so long, Roy. Ifow, I want jou to come out with me, for I am going to take you driving, and then I have something nice for you. Kit is harnessed aud waiting at the door, and I am impatient to be off." " Where are you going to-day, Dorrie ?" " Ask me no questions, but be very good and do just as you are told, and you shall be rewarded," she answered, lightly. Then bending, she left a soft kis3 upon his forehead, and ran out of the room, half frightened at what she had done. Boy flushed like a girl, and caught his breath with a sob. It was the first time she had kissed him since that day of her interview with Gilbert Fontaine, and for a moment a wild, sweet hope thrilled his heart. The next he bowed his head upon bis hands with a groan. "If she could not love me before, surely she cannot now—deformed, ill, useless as I am," he murmured, despairingly. But for a long time he was conscious of hat gentle touch upon his forehead. They drove about for an hour or more; then Dot turned down a quiet street of the city and stopped at length before a handsome brick house. "I want you to got out here for a few minutes, Roy, please," she said, as Elbe threw the reins over the horse's back and prepared to alight herself. "I would prefer not," he replied, his face clouding; " why do you ask it to-day, Dorrie ?'' "Monsieur Perrin, an artist, has his studio here, and there are some lovely pictures that I want you to see." "I do not believe L care anything about them," he returned, still unwilling; it was exceedingly painful for him to meet • people. He could not understand juat then why Dot should colour such a vivid scarlet and appear so embarrassed at his refusal. "Roy, please; it isn't often that I "ask you to do anything for me," she pleaded, in a low, earnest tone, and without more ado he alighted and followed her into the house. The first floor was devoted exclusively to paintings, and there were, indeed, some very lovely ones amoDg Monsieur Perrin's collection. To Roy's great relief, there were no visitore there but themselves—he did not know th&t Dot had planned to come thus early for that very reason—and being very fond of. good pictures, he soon forgot everything save the enjoyment of the hour. Dot led him about as if she was familiar with the place, pointing out here and there a " little gem," and talking up art in a way that surprised him. , ■ ■ ' "Now there is just one more that I wish you to see, then we will go home," she said, with danaing Monsieur Perrin himself suddenly appeared from an alcove at the farther end of the room and came forward to greet them. ■ - Smiling and bowing with true French politeness, he " hoped Madame Davenport was well this morning." " Quitet well, thank you ; and, Monsieur Perrin, allow me to present my husband," Dot said, with a charming gesture, indicating Roy. • He glanced at her, a strange thrill at his heart at the sound of those two words.

He had'never heard her aay them before, and he wondered how she could introduce him so readily in that way, as if he was a maa to be proud of, rather than an object of pity and commiseration. ■ ■ - But her face was beaming with smiles ; he had not seen her so bright and animated before since their marriage, while she was perfectly lovely to look upon. , - The morning waa very, warm for the season, and she had dressed herself in a pretty summer eilk—a white ground with a hair line of brown in it. Over this fihe wore a blaok lace scarf, fastened with a single bnsh-rose and bud. Her broad-brimmed hat of white chip : was also garnished with blaok lace and blushroses, -nd was extremely becoming, and Roy could read admiration in every glance of the artiet's eye. ' He acknowledged the introduction with great courtesy, though a look of pity shot into his eyes as they rested upon the invalid ; observing which,i and- always anxious to shield him from everything unpleasant, Dot hastened to say : : "I have brought him to-pronounce his verdict upon nir picture. Will yon show it to him?". ■■•. ■ :

" With pleasure, madame," and the artist turned'and led the way back to the alcove from which he had come a moment before,

There were a few choice pictures in it, and directly opposite a large pier-glass there stood an easel covered with cloth. Monsieur .Perria removed this, and instantly Koy started forward, with ah exclamation of delight; for there was Dotbright, beautiful, charming—Dot, as she used to look in the days gone by, only with a sort of sweet earnestness softening the piquant features, and a little deeper tenderness in the sparkling eyes. " You like it, then ?" she said, (stealing to his side, and speaking in a low tone. " 'Like it' does not express it. Ido not see how the artist has done it," he answered, gazing at the painting with his whole heart in his eyes. "I had it painted to give to yon to-day, but I wanted you to pass judgment upon it before I had.it sent home. I am glad you are pleased with it." "It is perfect, and you could not have given me a pleasanter surpriae," Roy replied, heartily, his own face glowing. "1 could think of nothing else for your birthday; though," she added, with a little laugh that had something of constraint in it, "1 might be accused of egotism for giving you my own poitrait. But X see monsieur has other visitors. Shall we cover it and go now I —unless yon wish some alterations made." *' No, indeed; I will have nothing changed. Monsieur Perrin, you may send it home just ss it is, and I thank you for giving me so faithful a likeness of my—of Mrs. Davenport." ■ - i The artist bowed his appreciation of this compliment, bnt Dot's face clouded a trifle; she would have liked it better if Boy had not changed the last part of. his sentence. She wrote their address upon a card and gave it to M. Perrin, and then, as 'they turned to go, to her dismay, found themselves face to face with Gilbert Fontaine ! . He started and coloured, but recovering himself almost immediately, he advanced, with outstretched hand, saying : " Well, well, Davenport! lam glad to see you out once more. How do you find yourself ? —really stronger and better !" If strangers had not been present, Roy would not have deigned him one word in reply; but he could not make a ecene there, so he returned stiffly, and without appearing to notice the outstretched hand : "I am comfortable, thank you." Dot looked deeply distressed for a moment; she would have given worlds rather than to have had this encounter. Then an air of dignity seemed to settle over her, and Gilbert found himself feeling anything but comfortable as he turned to her. "How well you are looking, Miss Ar— Mrs.—Davenport!" he said, with unpleasant emphasis, while he cast a pitying, almost contemptuous glance at Roy's atoopiug form; then straightening himself up proudly he bestowed a complacent look upon his own splendidly developed figure as it was reflected in the glass near which they stood. Dorrie merely inclined her head in a distant way ; but her cheeks were very red, and her eyes flashed with indignation. She had seen that contemptuous glance; she had marked that scornful emphasis, and was very angry. She turned to Roy with more of wifely attention and regard in her manner than she had ever betrayed before, saying : " Shall we go now, Roy ? lam afraid you are tired, and I think Monsieur Perrin understands that the picture is to be sent today." The artist said that it should be attended to, and then, with a slight inclination of her bright head, Dot laid her hand softly within Roy's arm, and they passed out. Gilbert Fontaine gronnd his teeth in rage as he watched them depart.

He had never seen Dot s'o beautiful as she was to-day, nor realized, so keenly what he had lost in losing her. He could not believe that all affection for him had died out of her heart; he had hoped to see the love-light leap to' her eyes at this unexpected meeting—to see her shy, embarrassed, and distressed; but she had confronted him without a tremor, apparently— in fact, almost ignoring him, while she had resented instantly his insolence to her hueband. How tantalizingly pretty she had looked, how sweetly she had spoken as she turned to Roy and asked him to go, walking as proudly by his side as if he had been a very king amoDg men as to stature and comeliness. She had shown him by her every look and act that if she ever loved him, that love was dead; it had been slain by his own depravity and folly. " Toss your head, my proud little beauty, annihilate me with those bright eyes if yon will, and put on all the airs yon choose ; but —my time will come yet," he muttered, with moody brow, as he turned to examine the picture which they had just left.

CHAPTER XV. SAD ENDING. When Koy and Dot were seated in their carriage, and about to drive away from the artist's home, the young wife discovered that she had left her purse in the studio. She had laid it upon a little table that stood near the easel while talking with Monsieur Perrin about the picture. " What is it, Dorrie 2" Roy asked, noticing her look of dismay, " I have left my purse," she faltered. " Well, you can easily go baok and get it," he remarked, with apparent indifference, bat giving the flushed, downcast face a searching' glanoe out of the corners of his eyes. "There was not much in it. I don't believe any one will touch it. I will drive down to Leighton's and give an order for mamma, then come back for it," she muttered, very loth to go back into the studio while Gilbert Fontaine was there. " Go for it now, Dot. It need not take you more than a minute, and there is no sense in going to Leighton's, and then coming round here again," Roy said, knowiDg well enough why she did not wish to go aod get it, but thinking it beat that ahe should do so. So Dot reluctantly alighted again, and, with heightened colour, returned to the studio. She stole in very quietly, hoping that every one would be ao engaged that she wonld not be observed, and that she could secure her purse and come away without meeting any one, particularly Gilbert Fontaine. To her dismay she found him standing with Monsieur Pertin before her portrait in the alcove. He had caught a glimpse of it S3 he approached Dot and her husband, and after their departure had asked the artist's permission to examine it more closely. "It is exquisite," Dot heard him say, as she stole softly down the room, which was nearly deserted, most of the visitors having gone upstairs to look at other pictures. " What shall I give you to copy it for me ?" he asked, his eyes resting covetously upon the beautiful face. " Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the little Frenchman in surprise, "I fear madame would object—that monsieur, would not grant permission." "Madame, S3 you call her, is s very particular friend of mine. See, I carry her picture constantly; and monsieur, as yon call him, does not amount to anything," Gilbert said, as he took a handsomely-tinted photograph from his breast, and held it up before the artist. He had surreptitiously captured it from an album in Dot's home, when he had been in the habit of visiting her there. " Ma/ois ! L'affaire d'amour/" ejaculated M. Perrin with arching eyebrows, and an expressive shrug of his French shoulders. His companion smiled complacently, and looked wise, while Dot felt the blood tingle with anger to the very tips of her fingers. How dare he compromise her so before this stranger ? How dare he ask to have her picture copied, and make so free with her name ? "If monsieur will set his price for a copy he shall have it," he persisted, determined to gain his point if it was possible. Again the artist shrugged his shoulders, and looked reflectively at the portrait. He did not blame the.man for wanting it, particularly if he were fond of the lady herself, for it was exquisitely lovely; but he was not quite sure that it would do to accede to his request. . . Art waa his profession, and he was eager to make all hs could by it; but Madam Davenport evidently was rich and influential, and if he should do anything to offand her it might result greatly to his disadvantage. "I will give you five hundred dollars for a duplicate," Gilbert offered, seeing his hesita--tion, and thinking that amount would be a temptation that he could not resist.. It was a great temptation, for it was more than Dot herselt had agreed to give him. If he could do it, and never have it known —if he could pledge the man to secrecy, it might do to gratify him. " If monsieur," he began, but there was a swif.. rush of silken garments behind them, and Dot, like a flash of light,.her cheeks

crimton, her eyes flashing, and iudeed her whole body fairly scintillating with indignation, swept in between the two a.stonished gentlemen, if the word is not a misnomer. "Monsieur i'errin," she said, in a tone, that was not to be_ misunderstood, " I desire to have the portrait sent immediately, and—" her lips quivering, her nostrils dilating with acorn and suppressed anger—"it is not to-be copied for any one." .-.'■■". "Mon.Biea! madam! no, no, of course not—certainly not—" stammered, the artist, overwhelmed with confusion, . Bat Dot, seizing her parse, which had remained, untouched where she left it, was gone before he could finish his sentence, and without bestowing even go much as a glance npon the man who, a moment before, had declared that she was a very particular friend of his, and who had offered five hundred dollars for a copy of her picture. . Gilbert Fontaine bit his lips with vexation at this unexpected extinguisher. But he swore in his heart that he would be even with her yet—that he would conquer in the end* He believed, egotist that he was, that she still Igved him—that she only treated him coldly and slightingly for the sake of appearances and the respect due to her position as the wife of another.. He still hoped that by the exercise of patience and perseverance he would be able to win her back to him ; he had resolved to entice her to leave her husband and fly with him. He had set his heart upon having her, and have her he would, by any means within bis power, he cared not what. One thing, however, had been made plain to him that morning, and that was he would have to change his tactics somewhat if he hoped to have any influence over her. He must work carefully and cunningly, employing stratagem if necessary, but to look out and not arouee her scorn and anger. He felt very uncomfortable over the encounter just described, for he knew she wouldreaent the way he had misrepresented her to the artist, and it might do hU cause a great deal of harm if she had overheard their conversation.

He wondered what could have brought her back into the studio, for he had not noticed her when she picked up her purse, he had been so taken aback by her unexpected presence. " Perhaps," he thought, with a , qaiok heart-throb, and with that supreme vanity which characterised him in his over-confi-dence in his powers to accomplish whatever he desired, " she had returned purpo»ely to see him —she had, perchance, made some excuse to Roy and come back, hoping to get a word with him, but beipg offended at what Bhe had heard, she had given that order concerning the picture as a blind." Taking this view of the matter, he felt as if he had much to hope for, and he resolved that he would seek an opportunity to reinstate himself in Dot's good opinion aa soon as possible. Meanwhile Dorrie had returned to Roy as pale as she had, but a moment before, been flushed, v and looking greatly disturbed and agitated. He noticed it instantly, but he said nothing, though his heart ached sorely, as he told himself that it was doubtless caused by meeting her old lover and having the wounds of the past opened afresh. Perhaps they had spoken together—he felt aure they had, for Dot had been gone longer than was necessary to recover her purst— and though he was confident that she would be loyal to him and true to herself, yet it drove him nearly wild to think that he could have power to agitate her thus. He sat silent and depressed for a long distance, thinking of these things, until a heavy sigh unconsciously escaped him. "Are you tired, Roy? Wan it too much for you to go in to look at the picture J" Dot askod, anxiously. It had been too much for him, but not in the way she meant. " Yes, I am tired, Dorrie—tired of life," he said, moodily, '

"Roy! Her tone was sharp, imploring; for the words had hurt her keenly, like the thrust of a knife. . " I cannot help it, Pot, though I have tried to fight against it. It is a ihame that you shomd have to be tied to me, a poor, useless cripple, all your days. What a drag lam upon you, Dot! What a late for yon, so young, so bright, so full of life, to sacrifice yourself thus to "met" he said, passionately, his whole soul rebelling against his lot for a moment. "Why will, yon say each hard things, Roy?" Dot asked, with quivering lips. "I am sure I am very_ sorry if I have given you any occasion to think I am discontented with my lot." "You have not," he returned, quickly, "you are very patient and good to me—too good; if you'd be the old, rebellious, wilful Dot, fret, 3cold, and do contrary things sometimes, it would seem mors natural. . But you never complain of anything, you bear with me like a martyr ; you set such a watch and guard upon yourself that you never bo much as look out of sorts. But I was wicked to bind yon to me; I wish—l wish I could give you back yonr freedom." . ' " Oh, Koy ! how do you know bat that I prefer not to have it back?" Dot could not repress a sob, and her tone was so aad that he was conscience-smitten for having said anything to trouble her, but the memory of her white face and agitated manner as she came from the studio, had.made him feel sure that she was grieving still over her lost love, and it galled him almost beyond endurances.

" Yes, you try to comfort me by striving to make me think you are content; you wear your fetters very meekly, Dorrie," he said, bitterly. "I have never called my marriage vows 'fetters,'" she answered, flushing, and i beginning to get out of patience with ham for being so obstinate and blind. . She longed to say something to let him know how very dear he had become to her, but in his present condition she feared that he would sceptically regard it merely as a piece of duty on her part. " No, I know you have not; you have been careful never to wound me in a single instance; you are a pattern of excellence—a model wife," , he returned, with even more bitterness than before. Dot had never seen him in quite so despairing a mood, and it troubled her exceedingly. She attributed it »U to the meeting with Gilbert Fontaine, and his cruelty and inso-, lence in making him feel his deformity, and she hated him for it. She longed to comfort him, but did not exactly knot? how to begin ; she did not wish to overdo it, and yet she did wish to let him know in some way how' her feelings had changed toward him. "Roy," she began, hesitatingly'. "how < would you feel if I should tell you that— that I can never be thankful enough that I am not the wife of—that man ?" " Who ? Gilbert Fontaine 2" he asked, eagerly. , . I "Yes." . , ■ ' " Dorrie !" It was a question and exclamation both, and yet there was a doubtful intonation in it, which Dot's quick ear caught. " I mean it,"she said, positively. " After the revelation of his character which I had several months ago, and after his cruel deportment to-day, I am very grateful that I am beyond his power. After one loses one's respect for a man, there isn't much else left for him." Roy searohed tho downcast face with a keen yet half suspicious look. " Do you mean me to understand by that that you have—have ceased to care for him V he asked, in a low, suppressed tone. " I mean just that," she returned, frankly. " I found, on meeting him to-day, that thera was nothing but contempt;and aversion foe him in my heart. Now, Roy, will you stop brooding over that phantom which has haunted you ever since yon began to get better ?" . . '". ■ She looked up with a smile, hoping that he would say something fond and kind, bo that she could unburden her heart still more to him. ' . ' . "But you did love him, Dorrie, and your misery over being bound to me before yon found him out nearly killed you. I know all about it—l could see how you suffered, though yon did your beet to hide. it. But, even if you do not care for him now—and it is a great relief for me to hear you say so— there may be eome one sometime whom you will meet and love, and who would make you happy if yon were not tied to such a -useless, unsightly thing as I am." - Dot's face turned the deepest crimson at this : she was terribly disappointed and hnrt; but he was so morbidly sensitive over, his appearance, and he had been so cruelly wounded, that ehe saw he was in no mood to be comforted by anything that she might say at that time. * ■..:'•, -• All that she could do was to wait patiently nntil the right.time should come, if it ever did, and then confess bow her heart was yearning for his love, . -

She could not, however, resist pnnuhinfl him a little for his unreasonableness, I .and, . tossing her head with- something of the defiant fashion of the Dot of days gone by, she said with more of philosophy than sympathy : ' ■.'■-• " "Well,. Roy, if yon are determined to make yourself miserable in spite of everything, I cannot help'it We are " legally, married, I suppose, and what has been done . cannot .be undone; I am sorry to have ifc fret and worry you so," and another wave of hot colour flooded her face as she said this ; "but I see ho other way than to make the - bestof.it." . ~.-". : '■■''■ "Make the best of it?" .'■'.•• ~ Boy, so'keenly susceptible to every word, thought she meant to imply that she was struggling to make the best of it, and he groaned inwardly. '■"--. ■ ;,: .^. It was so strange that he could not seer how she had changed of late—-how she had brightened and was growing more lovely every day with the development of this new. tenderness that was springing up within' her —how she lingered by him as if loth to leave him at any time, dressing in the colours ho liked best, wearing the flowers that he loved; and showing, by a thousand signs, how thoroughly her heart had turned to him.' .' Bat he was bbnd to it all. He could not believe, as he looked at his shrunken features and his crippled form, that it would be possible for any one to love him or be proud to call him husband. . " No one would ever believe that I am the same person that 1 was a year ago," he would . say, with a shudder of repulsion. ' And, indeed, he was right; he was BO changed that his own mother would not have known him had she not been with all the time and marked the change from day to day. '_.'■■■ . : An awkward silence fell upon the young couple after that last speech of Dome's. Each, heart was deeply wounded, and neither of them spoke again. until they reached home. ... The ride which Dot had planned to be so fall of pleasure on that bright Ootober morning had ended sadly enougD. ' . . That afternoon the picture cams home,' and Boy ordered it to be carried directly to his own room and hung opposite to the place where he constantly sat. "He does care a little bit for me,"-Dot thought, as she heard the order given, and her ruffled plumage was smoothed consider- | ably by the .waurance. "I must have patience," ehe added, "and in time I shall* • make him see that I am glad, so glad, to be his wife under any circumstances." [To be continued.]