FOR LOVE'S SAKE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10127, 9 May 1896, Page 3 (Supplement)

FOR LOVE'S SAKE.

, BY DORA DELMAR, Author of "Sinner, or Victim?' "In the Golden : City," " Had She Foreseen," " The Secret of Kstcourt," " A Tempting Offer," &n. CHAPTER Continued.) Sir Gkoffrky looked over at Bee with pain in his blue eyes. How cold and cruel and indifferent she was 1 he told himself. She had never really loved him; she did not know what love meant. Perhaps she was only too glad of an excuse for breaking off her engagement. Fool that he was to have forgotten what lie had seen ou the previous night— little tableau in the firelib h,;i—Dick Holroyd on his kneos before her, and Bee lifting her hoad, which had been bent down over his. In the- excitement and anxiety that had so immediately succeeded ib, he had forgotten that little sceno ; he remembered it now.

"Last night," ho said, scornfully, "I, too, witnessed a scone which was not meant for my oyos; bub it did nob kill my faith in you, although it was woll calculated to do so, I saw Dick Holroyd on his knees to you, and you bending—" She put out her hand with a little de precating gesture. She could not speak j her lips were dumb, her voice was dead in hor throat; but Bhe turnod her failing eyes upon his face, and tho look in them silenced him, "Forgive mo I" he said, passionately, in a moment. "See how cruol my misery makes me. Bee. I only wanted to toll you that my faith in you was greater than yours in mo. 1 know uow that you never loved me, and perhaps you were right— saved yourself some trouble by nob doing so, because the Lisles are fated to bring misery to all who love thorn. lb is better, far better, for you that you rate mo at my ' truo valuo," he added, losing for a moment all control over his passion and his pain; "that you should deem me capablo of asking you to bo my wife, and feigning love for you, my mother's guest, while I was carrying on an intrigue under my mother's roof with one ot her household. You can have nothing to regret in the breaking off of the engagement made hastily and without sufficient thought. You can only congratulate yourself that you found out my true character bofore it was too late. Congratulate yourself, thereforo, and leb me congratulate you also." Sho had managed to reach (ho door, faint and trembling as, sho was, with his angry words sounding dimly in her ears; but when she put out her little shaking hand, she could not find the handlo, and gi oped for it feebly with her little helpless fingers. " Yes, you may go," he said, bitterly. " You have made me suffer enough for one morning. And yet if you know all I think, you-what is it?" He hurriedly crossod tho room to her side; sho raudo one desperate effort to throw off her faintness. "Will you please open the door?" she said, with white lips, her hand falling helplessly at her side, and as she swayod back he caught her on his arm. " You are ill," hesnid, hurriedly. " Bee !" "No—it—is—" Hor voice faltered and failed her, and oven as the words diod upon her lips she fell hoavily back against his shoulder like one dead.

"Bee, my darling I" the young man whispered, wildly, as he gathered her passionately in his arms and pressed his lips to her damp forehead and sweet, cold lips. " What have I said ? What havo I done to you ? Forgive me, sweet. It was because I loved you." But the words were spoken in deaf ours, the pale lips wore mute and cold to his kisses, the long lashes swept her cheek, the lovely, wistful eyes were closed. Sir Geoffrey looked around him anxiously. Ho did not wish to summon assistance, and his eyes brightened as they fell on his hunt-ing-flask, which lay upon a table closo ab hand; and, still supporting the fainting girl, he poured a little of tho sherry from the flask into the little silver cup, and managed with somo difficulty to force a few drops between her lips. Bee novor touched wine, and oven the small quantity she swallowed had the desired effect, The colour crept back to her lips, her eyelids flickered, then were slowly lilted, and the sweet brown oyes mot eagor, passionate blue ones bont upon them with an expression which thrilled the still half unconscious girl in every pulse. "You are better, my darling," he said, huskily, his arm tightening around her bb she moved feebly in his arms. " Yes, 1 am better," she answered, faintly. " Forgive me. lam so sorry." Sho was raising hersolf giddily from his shoulder ; sho was confused and dizzy still, and she looked around the room with dim, questioning eyes. She was not quite sure where she was, and sho had not yet remembered what had made her faint. There was a bowildered expression upon her face, which faded slowly as she recalled what had happened. "Thank you,"she said, feebly. "I am better. lam quite well; I will go." " You cannot go," he urged, eagerly. " You are not fit to stand."

She stood still for a moment; then gathering up all her strength, turned from him, moved unsteadily to the door, opened it, and passed out. " Boe," ho said, entreatingly. "Do not let us part time, Bee." But she either did not hoar or would not heed. Sho wont on at first Blowly, then more rapidly, and so without a backward look disappeared from his sight. An inarticulate exclamation, half of anger, half of pain, broko from .the young man's lips, and he was turning to go back to his room when ho saw Mrs. Merritt hastening toward him with a pale and startled faco. "What is it?" Sir Geoffrey said, as he hurried to meet her. " Doctor Lane is hero, Sir Gooffrey," tho housekeeper said, in hurried, tremulous tones. " And oh, Master Geoff," she added, going back to the old formula in her agitation, " Miss Glyn has told her ladyship." "Told her ladyship?" Sir Geoffrey repeated, staring at" her with a great fear in her eyes. My mother known! Great Heaven ! it will kill her!" "She is quite quiet, Sir Qeoffroy," Mrs. Merritt said, oarnestly. " She has taken it far better than I thought sho would. I think her joy at seeing—" Sir Geoffrey pulled himself together and stood orect— had been leaning against tho wall, as if overwhelmed at the unnouncoment,

"I will go to her," ho said, huskily. " Docs she know about Millicent?" "too, Sir Geoffrey. She need nob know that, since Miss Valerio herself—" "True," he answered, pushing his hair from his forehead with a weary littlo gesture. "Merritt, whab should we do now without suoh truo friends as you and Hurst and Benson he added, as he hold out his hand to the housokeepor. " But for you we should be lost."

CHAPTER XXVII. Sir Gooffroy found Lady Lisle in the cedar room, talking to Doctor Lane and looking better than he had dared to hope. Her eyos mot his as ho ontered the room with a look half joy, half fear, but she did not break off in what she was saying to the surgoon, who rose and greeted Sir Geoffrey in his usual quiet manner. • "I was just telling her ladyship," he said, " that last night's dissipation seems to have had a very beneficial effect upon her. I think she must repeat the experiment."

"Happiness does no one any harm, Geoff," Lady Lisle said, smiling. " I have jußt told my kind doctor so, and ho fully endorses what I say. lam glad, boo, that Millicent is not seriously hurt; although Doctor Lane says her ankle will keep her laid up for some time, I must try to pay her a visit."

" I am afraid I must dissuade you from that, Lady Lisle," the doctor said, hurriedly. " Miss Drew's condition is on the whole satisfactory, but she is inclined to bo feverish, and I must most earnestly doprecato any excitement for her. She must bo kept extremely quiet." " Feverish from a sprained ankle !" Lady Lisle said, in some surprise. " That is sbrango. Poor Millie ! Of course I will do as you wish, dootor," she added. And then Doctor Lime took his leave, and Sir Geoffrey went out with him, and they walked down the long corridor together and passed into the picture-gallpry. "How is she?" Sir Geoffrey asked, when the tapestry shutting off the corridor had fallen behind tliem. I The doctor looked grave.

"I can scarcely say 'yet," he m & "She is foverish and in pain, but very I patient, poor girl. The fever comes more from her mental Buffering, however she is terribly anxious about something. It would be well, if' possible, to remove the cause of that anxiety." Ho lookod at Sir Geoffrey rather inquiringly, noting with some concern the lines of care upon the handsome, haggard face of the young man, who on the previous night had Beamed so happy and radiant, "You did nob discovor the cause, ho Baid, quiotly, although his eyes did nob meet the doctor's as lie spoke. "No," Doctor Lane said, quietly. "I did nob attempt to do so, neither did I question her about the accident. I found that it excited and distressed her. How did it happen ?" t "I do not know," Sir Geoffrey said. I was nob present. She was probably carrying the pistol carelessly, and—how do similar accidents always happen, doctor,? Just for the want of a little care." "Just so—just so," replied the doctor, quietly. "Exactly. lam glad to see Lady Lisle looking so woll this morning, he added, after a pause, " The excitement of last night has done her good, and if I may be allowed to say so, your engagement has . been of the greatest benefit to her. Happiness is an excellent tonic."

Sir Geoffrey smiled a little sadly. " I am glad," he said, vaguely, thinking how short a time his happiness had lasted, and his engagement. "I am sorry to see that you are not quite the thing," Doctor Lane said, glancing at him keenly. "No sleep last night, I suppose?" "Nob muoh, certainly," the young man answered, smiling. " Bub I am scarcely fragile enough to be upset by a sleepless night. The truth is, doctor, that I am rather worried, and if," with a little laugh, " 1 thought you could minister to a mind diseased, I would confide in you ; but— He shrugged his shoulders. " Perhaps I can," the surgeon said in his cordial, pleasant tones. "Try me." "I will consider it,"Sir Geoffrey said, smiling. "It I could trust anyone, I know no one whom I would rather trust than you, Lane. You have often proved yourself tho kindest of friends." "I have had no opportunity hitherto," the surgeon said, smiling. " But if the time should come, try me, Sir Geoffrey. You will have no reason to regret doing so." " I know that," Sir Geoffrey said, holding out his hand. "I have learned it from experience, and that is the only true teacher." They exchanged a cordial hand-shake, and the doctor went toward tho staircase. Sir Geoffrey, always unfailing in courtesy, especially to those in a lower position in the social scale than himself, accompanied him down the marblo staircase.

"You willromember what I said about Millicent Drew," the surgeon said, as they parted in tho great hall. "If whatever is troubling her could bo discovered and removed, and she could sleep, I think the fever would be lessenod, and I am anxious for this if possible. An incroaso of tho feverish symptoms might bring delirium, and that 1 am very anxious to avoid." "Delirium !" Sir Geoffrey ropeated, with a start. "Is that likely ?" "It is possiblo, at least," the dootor answered, quietly. " Therefore, if you can remove the anxiety under which she is undoubtedly labouring, it will be well." " I will endeavour to remove it," Sir Geoffrey answered, quietly still, although the look of care had deepened perceptibly on his face, as he stood watching tho doctor's rather primitive sleigh drive away down the snow-covered avenue.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned back into the hall, and slowly, with rather a laggard step, ho climbed the marble stairease and went slowly down the corridor to the codar room.

His mother was standing in the centre of the room, her eyes bright and oager, tho lace upon her bosom rising and falling rapidly, a pink flush on hor cheeks, giving tbera back all their vanished beauty. As Sir Geoffrey camo in she advanced a stop or two toward him, and he took her in his arms, looking down at her with a great tenderness and compassion in hi eyes. "Mother," he said, softly. " You will take mo to him now ?" she said, mooting his tender and compassionate glance with ono of oager joy. "I may go to him, Geoff? Oh, when Valerie told mo I thought I should have gone mad with joy. To think of it! To see him—to see him again 1 My son—my son !" " Mother," Sir Geoffrey ropeated, tenderly, " you will bo calm ? You know how much depends upon it. I do not want bo alarm you unnecessarily, doar, but there is need for caution—urgent nood." " I know—l. know," she said, restlessly. "I will be careful; I will speak so low, in whispers, if you will only lot me see him again after this long time. Oh, Geoff, if you knew how my heart has hungered for the sight of him, how my oyes have thirsted for him, how I have longed to see him again I When I was so ill, when you all thought I should not got hotter, I know that I could not die without seeing him again, J could not," "Dearest mother," tho young man said, tenderly holding her in his arms and feeling how she trembled with eagerness and excitement, "calm yourself." "Ab, you do not know," she said, pasBionatoly. " You cannot understand, Gooff. You aro my son, tho best, the truest, the tondorost son a mother over bore. You have never given mo an hour's sorrow. You have loved and cared for me as only your father could have done had ho lived. He—Horace—is my son too, my youngest born, and ho has brought disgrace and shame upon our name, and misery to our home, and yot I love him, I love him as dearly as [ love you." "I know, dear," the young man said, tenderly soothing hor, "I know." "Nay," Bhe anewerod, more quietly, "you cannot know how a mother loves, how a mother suffers for her children and with thorn—how her heart yearns ovor hor loved onos, and feels every pang they endure. Geoff, when your happiness came to you in that sweet child's smilo, I rejoiced as I rojoiced in by-gone years when your father said he lovod mo. When Valerie's engagement to Lord Alford was announced, it seemed as if a knife stabbed my heart for my poor, exiled boy's sake. I know he would suffer at her desertion—

"Desertion? Mother, you have nob forgotten that at the time Valerie, and rightly too, refused—" "I have forgotten nothing," she answered, with almost a touch of petulance. "How could I? Valorie never will love Lord Alford as she loved her cousin."

"That will be a misfortune for them both," Sir Geoffrey said, gravely, "and ib can do ray brothor no good. Bub, mother, if you will excuse me for a few moments, I will tell him, and propare him for your visit." " Where is ho '!" she asked, tremulously. "In tho only place where ho fa safe now," Sir Geoffrey answered. " Tho secret room. He must remain there, of course, while he is with us, and as soon as can be in safety, he must go—" "Away ?" she finished, bitterly. "Again? Oh, Geoff, ho is but just come 1 And already you talk of sending him into exile again." " His only real safoty lios in oxilo," Sir Geoffrey said, sadly. " Whab has saved him here is his likeness to mo, dear; but of course that is only safe for a time. Dick Holroyd saw him last night, and for a moment thought) it was me he saw, bub he recognised him the next, and—oh, you need not fear Dick's loyalty, dear. He is as true as steel to us all. Ho is as surely to bo depondod upon as Merritt and Benson, and thoy know—" " He is a good, kind boy, I know; but, oh, Geoff, he. cares for Bee, and you have taken her from him. *Ii in anger against you he—" " Mother, hush; Dick is not a traitor," Sir Geoffrey said, in a rather strained voice. " That Bee was foolish enough to accept me while he loved her would only make him all the more loyal to me. You need fear nothing from Dick. Do you know that it is Valorie's betrayal that I fear 2 She is so vehement, so impulsive—" " Oh, you need not fear her I" Lady Lisle assured him. " Last night when she saw him she recognised him at once, and though she fainted, 1 bolieve, she did nob utter a word. Oh, Geoff," she broke off suddenly with a little eager cry, " Valerie has Been him, Dick has soon him, you have seen him. It is only his mother who is kept away." " Be pationt a few minutos longer, dear," Sir Geoffrey said, gently, as he pub her into a chair. " Only a few minutes longer." " A few minutes seems the space of years after so long a time," she answered, with something of impatience. "Bub go, I Gooffroy, only haston baok." Sir Geoffrey lef b her with a great anxiety | on his face. A secret which was known to

1 half a 'dozen women and almost many men could nob. remain a secret long, he thought bitterly. A word, a look rmghb betray it, and Sir Geoffrey Lisle shuddered at the thought of the ruin betrayal might) bring, which betrayal must bring. His heart ached fur his mother whom'he loved so passionately, and who had suffered so much—his poor sweet mother whose heart was so wrapped up in the son who, as sho said, had brought disgrace upon his name and hers, and sorrow into a happy home. This did not surprise him; he knew that divine maternal instinct which seems to make a tender-hearted woman cling to a son who in "morally maimed," as she might cling to a child who suffered from a terrible bodily illness, and give to it a tenderer love, a deeper care, than she gave to her healthier offspring. He understood all her love and sorrow, but he feared for her with a great fear, lest a greater misery should come to her.

He was not long absent. One of the maids coming down the corridor saw him enter in his own apartments, a"nd when he camo oub again she had disappeared and there was no one in sight. Sir Geoffrey went slowly back to the cedar room. Lady Lisle stavtod eagerly up as he entered, " Come, dear," he said, quietly. "He Is oxpecting you." They left tho room togethor, and went down the corridor into tho rooms which Sir Geoffrey himsolf always occupied. They wore a suite of four—a dressing-room with a bathroom opening into it, a spacious bedchamber, and a small study, from which there was no outlet except through the sleeping apartments. Sir Geoffrey led his mothor through tho rooms until they reached this one, and when they had entered it, he closed and fastened the door behind them.

The room in which they thus found themselves was rather longer than ib was wide, and ib was furnished in the style of a long by-gone day. The wood panels were dark with age, and the tapestry which hung between them was considerably faded, bub it was beautiful still in its exquisite delicacy of conception and work. Carefully moving aside one of the pieces of tapestry, Sir Geoffrey touched the panel beneath, and smoothly and swiftly it slid behind the adjoining one, thus making an oponing in tho wall— opening through which a faint gleam of yellow artificial light fell into the outer room. Then the young man moved back, and motioned to Lady Lisle to enter; he followed, and a momonb labor the tapostry had fallen back into its place, and there was nothing to show where the opening had been through which thoy had disappeared.

CHAPTER XXVIII. Bee Wentwarth never know how she managed to get back to her own room after that interview with Sir Geoffrey. When she reached it, Dorcas was busy there, ami if tho maid looked startled at tlio death-like pallor of tho young lady's face, she was not reassured by tho hueky, impatient tone in which Bee desired hor to leave hera tone which demanded instant obedienco, and admitted of no remonstrance.

Bee was too unhappy to be patient). The sleepless night, the mental agony—it was nothing less—that she had endured, had made her irritable and impationt; she could scarcely spoak without breaking into tears. When she was alone, she could not rest; she seemed possessed by twin demons of doubt and joalousy. She was little more than a child, and it was her first real suffering, her first tasto of the bitter fruit of evil and sorrow.

Why had this thing came upon her? she asked herself, wildly. What had sho done to suffer so ? Why had Geoffrey Lisio pretended to love her, while in his heart there was nothing perhap but the friendly affection ho could not but feel for his friend's sister. She had been so wildly happy for those few brief days, and now —sho was even more miserable than alio had boon happy ! She went to tho window and looked out. The snow was failing, there was a grey sky overhead; tho year, which was in its infancy, had had a white birth, and it looked as if it would wear its swaddling clothes of snow for some days to come. Bee told herself that sho hated the snow, and the cold, and the winter. If Horace could only have taken her to Africa with him, there would have boon no snow there.

Sho turned from the window, and moved restlessly about tho pretty rooms, which had boen specially furnished and decorated for her, and which wore so pretty, with their white enamel, their pretty French chintz, and their delicately tinted walls. There was her portrait of Horace smiling at her out of ith plush frame; sho had moved it from its piaco of honour on hor writing-table to put Sir Geoffrey's in its place, and hor heart passionately reproached hor for the slight. Horace had always boen so truo to her, and yot she had deposed him from his shrine in the inmost recesses of her heart, and had put up another idol in his place—an idol whom sho had believed bo bo purest gold, but who, sho had very soon discovered, had but feet of clay.

She wont ovor to her writing-table with hor brother's photograph in hor hand. That of Sir Geoffroy, in a pretty quaint frame with dainty soft silk curtains, was in its placo there, where her eyes could rest on the beloved familiar face. The curtains wore nob drawn, and tho kind oyes smiled at her from out tho handeorao faco, which had grown so dear. Hor lips bogan to quiver as her oyes met the kind, smiling glance for a moment, but she resolutely checked her tears, and taking up the frame, removed it from the table, and placed tho likeuess of her brother in its place. Then she carried Sir Geoffrey's photograph to the mantelpiece, drew the little silk curtains ovor it, and turned away. As she did so, it seemed to her that the eyes mot hers with a look of reproach in them. Sho turned away with a little cry of pain, and thon tho toars camo with passionate, irresistible force; sho flung herself faco clownward on her bod, and sobbed herself into exhaustion, and then into sleep. At first, tho young girl's slumbors were broken by an occasional sob, then they grew quieter and calmor and untroubled as tho sleep of a happy child.

It was late when she awoke, roused by the eonnd of a loud gong, to which she listoned dreamily, but half awake, for a few moments; then she started up and looked around her. She had ovidontly slept for soino hours; the day was dead, and darknoas reigned without, while her room was only illuminated by the pleasant blaze of the cheerful fire, which had evidently been curofally tendered during tho afternoon. A silver tray with toa stood upon a littlo table near tho bed. Bee touched the small Queen Anne teapot with her hand; it was buroly warm, and had evidently been standing for some hours. Rising to her feet, she examined her watch by the firo-light ; ib marked the half hour after seven. The gong she had heard was tho drossrag-boll; she had slopt for many hours. Tho long sleep Had soothed and refroshed her, and brought her to a calmer condition of mind. She was no longer restless and impatient ; and if she were sad, Bee was young enough still to find a certain pleasure in melancholy. Still, her heart was very sore; she missed the glitter of the great flushing diamonds from her finger; she folt that sho had boon selfish and heartless in sleeping off some of her unlmppiness. Sho began to wondor how tieofiroy had passed the long snowy day. She lighted the candles on her dressing table, and involuntarily smiled back at the faco which looked out at her from the mirror. It was a fair young face, the eyes a little languid, but softly bright, the soft cheeks flushed from sleep, the mouth dewy and sweet as a newly gathered rose. Every mark of caro and anxiety and trouble seemed to have faded from it, and she was glad it was so. Geoffrey should not think that she was grieving for tho love he had taken from her, she told herself as she put on her dressing-gown, and let her pretty hair down about her shoulders.

She was as difficult to please in her choioo of a dinner-gown as she nad been when sho dressed in the morning. Compared to Valerie's wardrobe, her own was scanty enough not to give hor much choice, and Anally she decided on putting on a pretty quaint white gown, which had been one of Sir Geoffrey's favourites. Ib was of some soft woollen stuff, which clung about the lithe young figure in graceful folds; it was cut so «s to show the' bare white throat, though not the neck or shoulders, but the slender arms were bare save for a fall of lace upon the shoulder, while it was fastened round the waist by a broad sash of soft white silk. The girl looked very young | and fair as she turned away fromthe mirror, drawing on her long white mittens, and ' ready to go downstairs, She did nob linger

in her own , r6oms>'-the little curtains so Carefully drawn over Geoffrey Lisle's face seemed to reproach her. She felt as if she had lvurbsome' sentient thing as she hurried out of the room, wondering a little how ho would meet her.. She was not kepb long in suspense. As she entered tho picturegallery, Sir Geoffrey Lisle and Dick Hoiroyd were coming toward her on their way down to tho drawing-room. Both faces brightenod and softened at eight of the pretty white vision. As the young men stood still and waited for her, Boe, advancing slowly, and apparently intently occupied with a refractory mitten, wondered if they could hear her heart beating. It seemed to her that they must. "lb has not hurt her much, thank Heaven for that," Sir Geoffrey thought, as his longing eyes rested on the girl's delicate loveliness, her bright eyes and softly tinted cheeks. " She is only a child and children feel nothing very strongly. I had no right to trouble her white young soul with such a love as mine. I must bear my burden alone in future. And yet, what a sweet true helpmate she will make for somo happy fellow some day." "What have you been doing with yourself all day ?" Dick asked her, smiling as they met, " You have been lying perdue in your own room. My opinion is that you have spent theafternoon peacefully slumbering off tho fatigues of last night." "Right first guess," Bee said, with a little laugh, which all her efforts could not make quite steady. " I have slept away all the cold snowy day, It was bo pleasanb to wake up and find that ib was lamp-light again." It has done you good," Dick remarked, glancing at her admiringly. "Yes, has ib nob I feel quito a different woman now. Here comes Valerie. How lovely she looks in that sapphire velvet gown ! What a pity his lordship is not here to see her."

Valerie certainly looked mosb beautiful as she. came toward them; the rich folds of blue velvet swept the floor about her feet, her snowy shoujders and arms were bare, she had an unusually bright colour in her cheeks, and her eyes were as bluo as her gown. " Val, you look superb," Bee said, merrily. " We were just saying, or, rather, I was just saying, that it was a pity Lord Afford was not hero to see you." It seemed bo bo rather an unfortunate speech, for Valerie's colour faded, and sho glanced at Bee with a bole which was half piteous, half angry. Sir Geoffrey relieved the embarrassment of the situation by offering her his arm. " We can appreciate your beauty, and feel quite as grateful to you for being lovely as Alford would," he said, smiling. " Let me take you down to dinner. Dick, will you take Miss Wentworth ?" All Bee's pretty smiles faded as they followed the cousins downstairs, and she looked half piteously at Dick, who was sorry for tho poor child's discomfiture, and tried to console her.

" Never mind," he said, cheerfully; "Geoff is rather worried to-day, and is not responsible for his words 01 actions. Lady Lisle is not coming down to dinner; she is rather tired, I believo. lam wondering if my old dad has got over his ill-temper. There is something in the air, I fancy, which is conducive to nerves." (To be continued.)