A DOUBLE LIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9130, 11 August 1888, Page 3 (Supplement)

A DOUBLE LIFE.

BY HELEN CRAMPTON DALE. CHAPTER XXII.— (Continued.) "not thus IN' other days we met." It is the old story. Norma loves him to-day as she loved him in the years gone by ; her only fear has been for him ; her only terror has been that harm has befallen him. She is a woman, and no matter what else may come, so that he is safe, she asks no more. He is very pale, very milch excited, otherwise it is the same face you saw last at Darkendale. And almost as she utters that cry of thanksgiving he has her in his arms. "I was afraid you would hear the noise and be frightened," he says as he kisses her,

"so 1 came up to ease your mind. There has been an accident on the road, and a woman is hurt. No, it wasn't that that detained me. I had business at the club ; it kept mo longer than usual, and I was just driving home when I was fortunate enough to be on time and offer assistance to the injured party. I don't know who she is, but 1 found her lying insensible on the roadside, near the wreck of a carriage. There were no horses, no driver, nobody near, so I made Herrick get down from the box and help me lift her inside, and then drive home as fast as possible. Robert has gone for Dr. Sprague. I have told Madame Benvarde to prepare the wing chamber, and-- Hark they are carrying - the poor creature up (lie stairs now. I hope Fitine has the room ready. If not" " Let. her lie carried into mine!" says Norma, quickly. "Go ! tell them —my room until tho other is ready, Neil." The servants reach the landing as she speaks and hear her excited words. She can dimly see the outlines of a dark, richly - clad figure, and waves of loose black hair, the glint of a jewelled hand hanging limp, then, with a nervous haste that brings on a spasm of coughing, she is through the arch of the sleeping-room, the lamps are lighted, and the door thing wide. "In here—inhere!" she says, excitedly, and in answer to the command, the servants obey.

Slowly and gently they bear the motionless figure in and deposit it upon the couch, there area few whispered words, the door is closed, and Norma and Madame Benvarde are alone with the sufferer.

Quite still she lies, her dark head buried in the pillows, her white face upturned. And such a face ! The two women stand for a moment and stare at it in surprise and awe, then very suddenly : "Ma foil how beautiful!" exclaims m-ulame, in a whisper. " Mii/nonnc —Mees Norma—man J)icu! is she only human, with a face like that? I no see anything so lovely in my life !" Lovely? Norma Dane, looking at her, thinks the term weak ; thinks that she has never seen a woman so beautiful before, and to the day of her death she never forgets the picture. It is a face superbly, divinely beautiful— flawless as a carven cameo from the broad, beautiful brow to the delicate rounded throat, long lashes fringe the closed eyelids, and rest softly upon the satin-smooth cheeks, the mouth is tenderly sweet, the whole face radiantly fair. The dark fetterless hair falls loose about her, and the soft, perfect hands glitter with diamonds ; she is tall and superbly formed, she has the hands and feet of a duchess, the figure and tresses of a siren, and the face of a marble goddess. It is an odd tableau they make, those three women ; alone there in the luxurious, gas-lighted sleeping-room, with its hangings of rose and gold, the lovely stranger lying there in the flower of womanly beauty; Norma, like .a ghost, tricked out in ballroom attire, looking so little like the Norma of other days that her dearest friend would not have known her, leaning over the couch and studying that wondrous face ; and close by Madame Benvarde, with a deal of silver in the hair that used to be so dark, a lace cap upon her head, a pair of large blue spectacles over her eyes— permanently injured by cold more than lour years ago—her slender figure clad in a plain, loose robe of black merino, a broad, white kerchief folded over her shoulders, and fastened at the neck by a silver pin of a most peculiar design. Ho for half a minute that tableau remains, and the two " wondering watchers" are so absorbed in studying that beautiful face that they do not hear the sound of an approaching footstep, and it is not until the rustling curtain tells her that someone has passed through the arch that Norma turns and meets the inquiring look of her husband.

No, she hasn't revived, and—and we have done nothing for her," she says, slowly. "Madame and 1 have been lost in wonder, and— Oh, Neil, come and look at her ! Did you ever see a woman so superbly beautiful before ?"

He steps forward softly, quickly, and looks at her.

The gaslight falls full upon that glorious face, full 011 the rounded, perfect figure, on the slim, white hand, the flowing dark hair, and the lovely, scarlet mouth ; and catching his breath with a stilled cry of surprise, he sees her for the first time as lie sees her in his dreams—• waking and sleeping after until the tale is told.

" How beautiful—how very beautiful!" he murmurs ; and then madame puts up her hand with a startled gesture, and bends nervously ever the couch. "Hush!" she says, quickly. "She is reviving, I think. Pardon, m'sieur, but at such a time—"

He understands her, and turning quickly walks out of the room, and once again madame and Norma are alone with the sufferer.

She is reviving—they sec it clearly now, for a nervous tremor is playing about the lips, a warmer hue is stealing into the pale checks ; her hands begin to move ; a long, low sigh stirs her bosom ; she turns slowly, the white lids lift, and then a pair of wondrous eyes lift solemnly to Norma Dane's face —not black eyes nor brown, as they expected, but blue, and beautiful as sapphire stars. They rest on Norma a moment, puzzled, solemn—then they shift to the rose and gold hangings, wander about the room, fall to madame face, and then :

" Where am I?" she says, in a faint, low voice. "Has anything happened? How came I here ?"

"You are among friends, madam," answers Norma, gliding nearer and smiling down into that puzzled face. "Pray do not disturb yourself, for 1 am afraid you arc hurt. My husband found you lying in the road near the wreck of a carriage, and had you borne in here. We have sent for a doctor, not knowing' how long you had lain unconscious, nor how serious your injuries might be. Is there anything we can do for you, or— Why, you are weeping, madam. Are you then in pain ?"

" In pain !" with an intonation between a laugh and a sob. " I—l am always in pain —always ! always ! No—yes—l don't know —perhaps I am injured ; my ankle throbs and aches, but I wonder what you will think of me if I tell you that you have drawn to my eyes the first tears I have shed for years? I wonder what you will think if I tell you that I am so little used to real tenderness, that the pity in your voice touched a spot I thought had grown cold ! I do not know you, madame—l wish I did —I wish— Oh, 1 don't know what I wish. Don't mind me, I am a foolish, friendless woman—that is all."

"You, madam! You friendless?" murmured Norma, in surprise, glancing at the rich velvet, the rustling silk, and the sparkling diamonds. " Yes, lam friendless. I have the entree to the best families in England, madame, and yet I am friendless, because they pamper the favourite, not the woman. I have wealth, position, fame, but not friends."

" And your name, madame ?" Electra Vallory, to you ; to the world Mademoiselle Idelette."

What! Idelette, the great prima, donna ?

" The great prima donna, and the lonely woman, yes, madame!" And then, as though something choked her, she turned away her face and lay staring at the wall with her big, solemn blue eyes.

"I was to sing to-night for the last time in London," she said, presently, "and I dare say they are wild over my absence at the opera house, and I ought to send them word. It, was late this afternoon that I foolishly took it into my head to order my phaeton and take a long drive alone, and I was so absorbed in the fields and flowers when I drove into the suburbs that night came down before I was aware of the time. I knew I should be late for the opera no matter how I hurried, but then, as though to make matters worse, the darkness baffled me, I could not distinguish the landmarks, and thus lost my way. It was not until I reached St. John's Wood that I discovered I was on the right road at last, and anxious to reach the heart of the city, I quickened the horse's speed. But I was fated not to reach the theatre, as you see, for suddenly Rocket took fright at something in the road, reared, tore the reins from my hands, and dashed on until the carriage collided against a tree. There was a crash, I remember falling, and after that no more until I opened my eyes here. My ankle hurts, I do not think I am seriously injured, but I cannot sing to-night; and if I may put you to so much trouble, I should like to send word to the theatre."

" Trouble, mademoiselle? Indeed it is no trouble," responded Norma, with a smile. "Do you know I was going to hear you tonight ? I wanted so much to see the singer whose name is upon everybody's lips, and I have been feeling so much stronger and better than usual that Dr. Sprague thought I might venture to go to the opera to-night, since I was so anxious to hear yon before you left London. But, unfortunately, my husband was detained at the club, and I had given up the idea of going to see you, when you turned the tables and came to see me. In this case, you see, the mountain has come to Mahomet. But there ! lie quite still, and do not attempt to move until the doctor comes." A tender smile played about Mademoiselle Idelette'.* lips, her eyes tilled, she lifted one slim, jewelled hand, and held it out to Norma.

"You were kind and tender to me even when you knew nothing of my name, and I shall always remember that," she said, huskily. "Ah, madame, lam so lonely, 1 am so sick of this dazzling, excited life I lead, so tired of the flattery and praise and empty nothings of society, and—" Her voice wavered and broke, she lifted up her full eyes, and so : " I wish you and I could be friends, madame," she said, huskily. " You have touched a spot I thought was dead, and, somehow, strange as your face is, strange as you may think the fancy, I feel as though I had known you all my life. Madame, may we be friends ?"

" 1 hope so—l pray so, mademoiselleyou are so beautiful, 1 wonder anyone could help loving you !" responded Norma; then, with a smile, she turned toward a daintily carved secretary, and took out a sheet of scented and monogrammed paper. " ilerrick shall drive to the theatre at once, and bear the news of your accident to the managers," she said ; " so, if you will tell me for whom he is to ask, mademoiselle, I will write it down so that there may be no mistake."

Mademoiselle turned away her face, and a solemn, grey look seemed to shut down over it.

There was a second's silence, then :

" Tell him to ask for Colonel Robert Vallory— my—my father !" she answered, in a laboured voice.

CHAPTER XXIII. WHAT THE YEARS MARK OF MADAME.

" Your father, mademoiselle?" responded Norma, glancing up. " You have a father, then ? I don't know why, but I somehow thought you were an orphan. Maybe 1 drew the inference from your own words, and it seems to me"—with a sweet, solemn pathos in her voice—" that one who has a father living could never be friendless." " We live to see many of our fancies dispelled, madame," answered Idelette, in a weary voice. "I used to think in my childhood that if one had riches anil beauty, life would be nothing but a bed of roses. I see more clearly now, bub the lesson was hard to learnhard to learn !"

Norma made no response. Something in the weary voice and clouded face—something solemn and sad in the big, mournful blue eyes seemed to tell her that life had gone hard with this beautiful, petted darling of fortune, and with a sigh she turned back to her secretary, and wrote down the name mademoiselle had told her.

'• I will send no message—Derrick will be able to tell Colonel Vallorv all," she said, as she arose and extended the written slip to Madame Benvarde. "<Jive that to my husband, Fifine, and bee; him to despatch Herrick at once. Doubtless Colonel Vallory will return with him, and you may as well prepare the east chamber for his reception. Mademoiselle Idelette will of course remain our guest for some time to come—will you not, mademoiselle?" Mademoiselle lifted her eyes and smiled— such a wondrous, sadly-sweet smile that, somehow, Norma's heart seemed to go out to her.

" It is too much to ask," murmured the prima rlointa. "1 am but a mere stranger, and you—"

"1 am your friend, am I not? You asked for my friendship ; cement it at once by consenting to remain. I have no friends, no companions save my husband, and 1 have been ill so long it will be like a new life to have a guest- in out - lonely home. You will let me tell your father that you are to remain, will you not —for my sake " For your sake? Say rather for my own. for I have seen so little happiness in my life that I am selfish enough to wish to lengthen it where possible, and I know I shall be happy with you. Yes, madame, I will remain if you wish it. But your husband—" " When you know him you will understand that my wish is his law, mademoiselle," broke in Norma, with a smile. "He is the best and dearest of husbands, and for live years I have lived a life of happiness and peace such as few women ever know. But there, I must not lengthen your father's anxiety by delaying the message. Fitine, take the address to Mr. Dane, and tell him to despatch Herrick instantly. You will understand what to say, will you not ?"

" Yes, Moos Norma!" responded Fifine, as she turned toward the door. "1 will understand—yes." There was a quick, sharp breath—nothing morethen the door opened and closed, madame had gone, and when Norma turned again toward the couch, she saw a sight that startled her.

Bolt upright in the pillows, her lips shut, her eyes dilated, her face white as death, Mademoiselle Idelette was sitting and staring at her. " Oh, mademoiselle!" she exclaimed. " What is it ? Are you ill ?" " Only a pain !" responded the prima donna in a nervous, unsteady voice. " No— no—don't touch me. It will soon pass away, and—Norma — Did that woman call you Norma, or did I only dream it ?" " She called me Normayes, mademoiselle ; that is my -Norma Dane !" "Norma Dane —Nor— Oh, no, no, no ! I am raving J My fancy is playing me a trick ! Such a wild thing could not be. Pray, pardon my agitation, madame ; but I was so startled. It was such a strange coincidence. I—l had a very dear friend once who was called Norma, and who was to have married a—a Mr. Dane, and you can understand now why the name startled and surprised me."

" Indeed I can, for the name is not a common one," responded Norma. "Itis a strange coincidence, as you say, and 1 am sure I never heard of another Norma Dane in England. " It was not in England that I knew her, madame. It was in—in—

" Surely not in America?" " America !" gasped Idelette, dropping back in the pillows with a pale, pinched look upon her face. Oh, no—no! I have never been in America, madame; never —never. I met the friend of whom I speak in—in my French convent; yes, in my French convent four years ago. I allowed my fancy to run away with my reason, and I might have known better had I only stopped to think. I fancied your voice reminded me of hers, but you have not a feature that bears the slightest resemblance. Ah, she was young, so beautiful, and I used to love her so. God knows where she is now. In her grave no doubt, poor girl. Besides, 1 was foolish —so foolish to be startled by the name when I come to think of it, for she never became Norma Dane, madame. The man she was to have married was killed before the wedding-day came round—struck down by a hand he loved—slain by a woman who loved him ! It must have killed Norma also, for she worshipped him ; and to have his bleediug body carried home to her

Ah, Heaven ! It is —terrible. You cannot imagine what a horror it is to know that the one you love has been killed by a hand you trusted." Norma turned away with a shiver and put her hand to her heart. "Can I not, mademoiselle?' she said, huskily. " Such a horror has stood out before my eyes night and day for five terrible years. My own father—ah, Heaven ! the memory of it! —my own father was murdered, mademoiselle ! Murdered in the dead of the night, shot down by the dearest friend I ever knew. God knows what reason she had for the act, and, but for her confession, I could never have believed it possible, although her hatred for him was openly avowed. But pray let us change the subject, mademoiselle. Even yet the memory of that dreadful time tortures and horrifies me. We have chosen a dark subject for our first meeting— us choose something brighter now. Tell me of yourselfof the life you lead, the triumphs you have made upon the stage, and—" Idelette put up her hand. "Hush!" she said, gently. "Ask me nothing of that life, my friend—l hate it! I hate the noise and glitter, I hate to look out upon the crowded house and feel that the people there have paid their money to see me do the thing I loathe. I love music, I love to sing, but not on the stage ; and sometimes when the applause is loudest I stop to think : What a hollow, empty life it is ! If I fail, they will hiss me down as readily as they now applaud me. No matter if I am ill, so that I fail they care not what the cause. I have not one real friend in all this crowded house, not one whose heart would bleed to see the great favourite thrown down from her pedestal. Oh, Mrs. Dane, if I could only leave the stage, if 1 could only fly away to some place where the name of a theatre is not known !" " And you not leave it? You must have made a fortune, you are so famous."

" Yes, I have made a fortune, but not such a fortune as my father requires. With his habits he would drain an exchequer thrice as large as mine. No, there is no help for it. Either he must change his mode of life, or I must sing till my voice fails me, or I die."

Norma opened her lips to reply, bub at that moment a trembling hand tapped the panel, and in answer to the summons, Madame Henvaixle opened the door and quietly glided in. " Oh, it is you, Fifine," smiled Norma. ''You have sent the message then ? Ilerrick has already gone?" Madame bowed and made response, but at tho sound of her voice Mademoiselle Idelette started and looked up. " Ova, Mees Norma, I have sent the message, and Meester Dane begs leave to see you in tho library across tlie hall. M'sieur le docteur haf come."

"Tho doctor? I am very glad," responded Norma ; then, as she caught sight of the puzzled look upon Idelette's face, "Are you, too, remarking Fifine's peculiarity?" she added, lightly. "One might almost bo tempted to believe that another soul periodically enters her body, might they not, mademoiselle, when one remembers that that change occurs a dozen times a day." " It is very strange !" murmured Idelette, closely scrutinising the Frenchwoman. " Her voice is no more like the voice of the woman who walked out of here ten minutes ago than though they belonged to two separate and distinct bodies. Were it not for her dress and that peculiar breast-pin— to which there surely cannot be a mate — I could almost have believed it another

person." Madame essayed a feeble laugh. "Mees Norma can tell ma'am'zelle how vair impossible that would be," she answered, " as she can also tell her to what zis distressing change is due."

"It is the effect of a serious cold which Fifine contracted very suddenly more than four years ago, mademoiselle," explained Norma. " Her eyes were so badly injured that she has been compelled to permanently disfigure herself with those hideous blue glasses ; then her throat became affected, and ever since then she has been subject to those remarkable vocal changes. One minute she will talk to you in her natural clear voice, the next it will become thick and husky—as it is nowstrangely intonated and altogether like the voice of another woman ! It is an odd case, certainly, and you will often remark it, I dare say, until like us you grow used to it, and fail to notice the change."

And in the days to come Mademoiselle Idelette did remark it often ; but she also remarked that the singular change never occurred in anybody's presence—it always did after Fifine left the room and returned.

" It is very strange," she murmured. "It is the same form, the same face, but the voice of another woman !"

" It is certainly the same, mademoiselle !" responded Norma. "It would be as impossible as it would be purposeless for Fifine to change herself, for she does not quit the house for weeks at a time. Her poor old mother lives with her up in the turret chamber, and when you are stronger you must visit the dear old soul. She is in her eighty-sixth year, mademoiselle, and although her mind is a trifle a fleeted at times, you will find her a wonderful old woman. She was my mother's nurse, and has been connected with our family ever since. But, oh, dear ' I must not stand here talking while the doctor and my husband are perhaps waiting to hear if you have revived. Pray pardon me for a moment, mademoiselle. I will return instantly."

There was a shawl lying upon a chair, she caught it up, threw it over her head, and stepped out of the false temperature of the room into the cool, brightly-lighted hall. The library was just across the passage, and a step brought her to the door. " Good evening, Dr. Sprague," she smiled, extending her hand to the elderly gentleman who, with her husband, stood inspecting a painting over the fireplace. " Neil, dear, I presume Fifine has told you all ?" " Bless your heart— !" responded Mr. Dane, arching his brows, "and I give you my word I never was so completely bowled over in my life. Why, my dear, I was introduced to Colonel Vallory only this afternoon at the club—it was he who detained me. A capital fellow, splendid hand at billiards— a brilliant talker, and certainly the best card-player ever I saw. I sent Herrick to him the instant I found out our guest's identity, and begged him to honour St. John's Wood in general, and Oakhurst in particular, during the remainder of his stay in London. He told me this afternoon that they were to start for Spa in a fortnight, as mademoiselle intended to spend her summer vacation on the Continent. I hope Herrick will succeed in finding him at the theatre. I told him to drive like mad. It is now" — glancing at his watch — "nearly ten minutes since he left, and if he has obeyed orders, he must be close to Regent's Park by this time. But there ! take Dr. Sprague in to see Mademoiselle Idelette, and in the meantime I'll trot down stairs and tell the servants to prepare the guest suite for her instant reception. And, I say, little woman, don't come out into these halls any more to-night. You must hurry aud get over that wretched cold. Mustn't she, doctor ?" "Foolish boy, you will kill me with kindness, and I don't see why you persist in keeping me shut up like a recluse all on account of a trilling cough. I am not ill, am I, doctor ? lam quite sure that I feel as strong and well as ever to-night." "Excitement, my dear Mrs. Dane," mumbled the doctor, with a warning glance to Neil, "and excitement is very bad for such a cough. Try and be as quiet as possible to-morrow." Then, without another word, he walked across the passage and entered the room where mademoiselle lay, leaving Neil alone in the library. " My poor Norma !" he murmured, standing still and staring at the closed door, '' my poor little wife, may you never learn the true name of your ' trilling cough !' as you have never learned the true shadow that darkens your dead father's memory. Poor little wife ! have I kept my promise, and been a true and tender husband to you all these years, I wonder; and have you never dreamed that the heart was dead when I gave you the hand ? All that a husband could be, I promised to be to you I wonder if you have been happy ; if you have ever felt a slight, if you have ever regretted that you became my wife, dear ? God knows I have tried to do my duty, as I shall try unto the end !"

CHAPTER XXIV.

"after long GRIEF AND pain."

"Ten !" chimes the stable clock at Oakhurst ; " ten !" echoes the clock in the white boudoir, and "ten" tolls forth the great tall timepiece standing like a sentinel in the lower hall.

It is an hour and a half since Herrick drove off to Her Majesty's Theatre, and for

the best part of the time Neil Dane has been doing what he is doing now, tramping up and down the smoking-room chewing the end of his cigar, looking first out of the window, then out of the door, and wondering all the while, " What can detain the colonel ?" A good hour ago Dr. Prague came down, and drove home after imparting the intelligence that Mademoiselle Idelette was in no danger. "As far as he could see, she was only suffering from a turned ankle, and the natural consequences of being subjected to such an experience—a trifling nervous shock. But ten to one she would be_ as good as new in the morning. A charming woman, a de-cidedly charming woman ! Good-night, sir, and keep a sharp eye on your wife. These consumptives are apt to overrate their strength, and then pay dearly for it. Yes, it was a nice night—it was a very nice night —a superb night, and — Get up there, Dobbins! you lazy rattlebones ! We've two good miles before us." And all this an hour ago, yet still no sign of Colonel Vallory. " Deuce take "the fellow, why don't he come ?" muttered Neil, glancing at his watch for the fiftieth time. " Can he have failed to go to the opera Can Herrick have missed him, I wonder, on— Eh? What's that?' It was Madame Benvarde gently opening the door, and calling to him in her naturally clear voice.

"Mees Norma have sent to beg that you will come up to the boudoir, m'sieur," she said, as she entered. " M'am'zelle's room have long been in perfect ready, and, as she is vair weary, and M'sieur Vallory pot yet come, she wishes to retire. She insists that she is quite strong enough to walk, but Mees Norma do declare she must have assistance, and Pardieu! What is m'sieur doing ?" " M'sieur" is rushing straight for the great entrance doors, that is what he is doing, and almost in an instant madame becomes aware that a carriage is dashing up the drive. It whirls under the porte cock ere, and halts just as Neil swings open the doors, then Herrick is down from the box, the vehicle is opened, and : _ " My dear fellow—my very dear fellow !" sings out a masculine voice, as a gentleman steps down and comes rapidly up the steps. "How can I ever thank you, and thus to trespass upon your hospitality after only a few hours' acquaintance ! My dear fellow —my very dear fellow! I am positively delighted to grasp your hand again. How is my angel, my precious white lily? Not seriously injured, I trust?" " No, not seriously— mere scratch, thank fortune !" responds Neil, as he grasps the colonel's hand and draws him in, displaying, in the glare of the gas lamps, the most unsoldierly personage who ever bore a soldier's title.

He is tall and well-proportioned; his garments are of the very latest mode; his glossy hat of the newest and most expensive type ; his spring top-coat a marvel of Poole's art; his small feet are encased in patent leather, and his small hands enclosed in lavender kids.

Handsome Yes, Colonel Vallory is handsome after a blase type that must have been perfect in the days of its youth, and might be wondrously fine-looking still but for certain lines and certain hollows that tell of late hours and much champagne. A drooping, gulden moustache veils his mouth ; a bushy, golden beard of the "awfully English" type just brushes the top of his flawless shirt bosom ; crisp, golden curls wrinkle and cluster beneath the rim of his hat, and a pair of splendid dark eyes look out from beneath golden brows. He is a blonde of the most pronounced type, and the sunny fairness of his hair and beard are suspiciously rare. Ladies have died in the effort to attain it, and it has \ieen whispered among minds competent to judge that the handsome colonel dyes to retain it.

My precious girl, I have been crazed with anxiety for her," serenely says the blonde colonel, as he lays aside his top-coat, and leisurely draws off his lavender kids, " and I should have been here long ago, only that I remained at the club instead of going to the opera, and I knew nothing of her absence until your coachman found out where I was and brought me the intelligence." Herrick, who hears this, smiles and (only in the kitchen) he tells later how Colonel Vallory kept the carriage waiting twenty minutes until his game of billiards was finished.

" Now then, up we go, my dear fellow !" says the colonel, laughingly, as he flirts a speck of dust from his coat with his scented handkerchief. "At least I presume we do go up, do we not ? and if you will have the goodness to lead the way" Neil bows, and turns toward the staircase, but Herrick, who has been waiting for an opportunity, excuses himself, and begs his master to step out to the carriage for a moment.

If Colonel Vallory and Mademoiselle Idelette are to remain as guests at Oakhurst, there will he baggage to be transferred from the Langham, he recollects, and it is regard ing that he desires to speak. "Pray, pardon me, colonel," exclaims Neil, suddenly. "I have a little matter to arrange with my coachman, and as your daughter is above, she will present you to my wife, if you will kindly allow madame to lead the way. I know you are anxious to greet Mademoiselle Idelette, and as the little bit of business is imperative, I am quite sure you will overlook the breach of etiquette."

" Don't mention it, I beg." "A thousand thanks. Fifine, have the goodness to show Colonel Vallory the way. I will join you in a few minutes, colonel." "Don't hurry yourself on my account, I beg," responds the blonde colonel : then with a bow ho turns and follows Fifine up the broad brilliant staircase, and his brows arch, his lips shut, his eyes widen at the evidences of wealth and luxury that meet him on every turn, for Oakhurst, purchased by Neil from the heirs of the builder, the Right Honorable Lord Viscount Dynelley —who scattered a million pounds and his precious brains inside of eighteen months after he attained his majority—was something higher than a mansion, and very little lower than a palace.

Up the broad, beautiful staircase and down long corridors hung with gilded leather, where stalks of Easter lilies were the gaslamps, and busts and groups in white Carrara were freely scattered, madame led the way straight to the snow-white boudoir where Idelette now reclined in a deepcushioned chair close to the miniature conservatory. Madame knocked and then opened the door.

"M'sieur le Colonel Vallory," she announced, but before she had fairly completed the sentence," M'sieur le Colonel" was across the threshold and standing at his daughter's side.

Her back was toward the door and she had not seen him enter.

"My child, my Idelette ! Dear girl, how you have terrified me !" he began, stooping as though to kiss her, but mademoiselle put up her hand with a quick gesture, and two bright warm spots burned on her rounded cheeks, and whether that flush and that gesture were made as indignant protests against his kiss or mortification for the breach of etiquette, Norma could never determine.

"You forget our hostess!" exclaimed Idelette, quickly. "Mrs. Dane, permit me to introduce Colonel Yallory." " You are welcome, colonel," responded Norma, rising and extending her hand. "A thousand thanks!" responded ihe colonel, bending over it. " May I ask pardon for my thoughtlessness ? It was a fault of the head, nob the heart, madame. I saw no one but my child for the moment!" "And I honour you for the thought,' returned Norma, with a deep sweet earnestness, and in spite of the few brief words Idelette had said regarding him. in spite of a preconceived repugnance for the man who forced his child to follow a life she detested, Norma Dane lifted up her eyes to the blonde colonel and liked him.

She saw it—that dark, beautiful girl, sitting listlessly by the conservatoryand with a sigh turned away her head, as the colonel dropped into a seat and began to talk to his hostess in his own easy, brilliant way. For five minutes Idelette sab silent, motionlessthinking; then, very suddenly : " Will you pardon me if I tell an impolite truth, and soy I am tired and would like to rest, Mrs. Dane?" she smiled, as she lifted her eyes to INorma's. May I go to my own room now, without giving offence ?"

For all answer, Norma turned and rang for Fifine.

There was a moment's pause, then footsteps sounded, the door opened quietly, and Neil Dane entered.

"Well, colonel, have you seen the precious patient, and discovered the veracity of.the report," he laughed, and at the sound of his voice something like a galvanic shock seemed to run through the drooping figure in the chair. Her hands shut, her lips parted—the beautiful face grew suddenly white. She sat like a stone, nob daring to turn, nob daring to look, and so : "Neil, dear, I want to present you to Mademoiselle Idelette," murmured Norma, leading him forward, and pausing beside the prima donna's chair. " Mademoiselle, permit me—my husband, Mr. Dane 1" "Indeed, I am more than honoured, mademoiselle," responded Neil, in a firm, true voice. "I hope and trust we may have cause to remember this night with perfect happiness as long as—" v The sentence was never completed. While yet he spoke, another quick, sharp shock went through mademoiselle's frame, she steadied herself with the arms of the chair, rose to her feet, looked up, and then :

There was a sharp, palpitating cry of recognition, a dizzy reel, a backward step, and throwing up both hands, she fell back and fainted in her chair.

[To be continued.]