HER HEARTS DESIRE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIV, Issue 10413, 10 April 1897, Page 3 (Supplement)

HER HEARTS DESIRE.

BY CHARLES OARVICE, iotbor of "By Devious Ways," "Just a Girl," » Queen Kate," " In Cupid's Chains," "The Outcast of the Family," etc., etc. CHAPTER I. OSK afternoon in early June, about the ha ppiest-lookine girl in all England stood 8 the entrance of the new lions' house in the Zoological Gardens. She stood looking in wistfully and longingly. ar, d tl)en B lanoed ' with a little *'& of regret, at a group of ladies seated under the trees on the lawn a little way off. She ' had been seated in the group, listening to the email talk for nearly half an hour, and that half hour had just mount) so much wasted time to her, for she loved, adored, animals of all kinds, wild or tame, and she hated gossip. So she had got up quietly and strolled off, knowing full well that to troll away from your chaperon and guardian 1 an act of disobedience and wickedness of jlmoattho last degree. With a sigh, she was going back to the group, when, unfortunately for her, the lion—the big one with the mane— a jrroan and then a roar. This was irresistible, and the girl, abandoning the proprieties, passed through the doorway, and with ecstatic enjoyment sauntered down the house, watching the animals. There were not many people in the place, and she almost had it to herself, and no words can tell how she enjoyed it. Sometimes she leaned with both elbows on the iron bar which rails off the cages from the promenade, and now and again she climbed up the steps facing the dens and sat on one of the seats, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting in her gloved hands. ghe was very happy; first, because she was young. Oh, it is good to be only twenty! Secondly, because she was perfectly healthy; and thirdly, because she had not eaten of the truit ot the Tree of Knowledge. That is to say, she was as innocent of all evil as the doves that cooed in the cages in the south walk. Alas, how few girls of twenty are there who could lay their little white hands on their hearts and claim a like ignorance ! But this child of nature, as her aunt, Lady Pauline Lascelles, called her, had been exceptionally brought up, as will bo seen presently. She was so absorbed in the lions and the tigers, the black panther with the temper, and the leopard who declined to change his spots, that when she had got to the end of the carnivora house, instead of returning to the group, she, caught by the splash of the seals who live just outside, passed on and instantly grew aa absorbed in thorn. Leaning on the bar, ehe watched the keeper put the intelligent, soft-eyed little fellows through their stereotyped tricks, and frankly, and with an "Oh, thank you, thank you; how clevor— very clever they are!" gave the keeper a shilling from the silver-netted purse which she extracted from the mysterious pocket which ladies favour and no man has ever been yet known to find. Prom the seals, she sauntered on to the monkey house; but the evil-smelling place wp.s too much for her, and, suddenly awakened from her kind of dream, she remembered her aunt, and retraced her steps

by way of the lions' house. Aβ she went through it again, her pace grew slower, and she lingered, just a moment or two, before the big lion's— Victor's -cage. While she was looking at him admiringly, the keeper's private door between the cages opened, and the keeper came out. He was followed by a gentleman who paused a moment to look round him, then, passing something into the keeper's hand, nodded and walked on. The keeper pocketed his tip, touched his hat with marked respect, and looked curiously after the gentleman. The young girl looked after him, too, and a little enviously for, fancy being privileged to fro " behind the scene&" at the Zoo I She left the carnivora house and walked quickly toward the lawn; then she stopped and looked round, rather aghast, for the group had gone from under the trees, and lady Pauline was not to bo seen. She was nob alarmed, because she was neither nervous nor timid; and she felt sure she could find her aunt, who was both tall and stately and not easily hidden. So almost as happy as before, she wandered round and about, ju?b pausing on tiptoe, so to speak, before some particularly enticing cage, and keeping nor eyes—l will tell you about those eyes very shortly— the alert. But after half an hour spent in this way, and no aunt in sight, she began to getwell, a little grave and serious, The Zoo is hot exactly n wilderness--though thero are plenty of wild animals in it—and there are numerous keepers, of whom one can inquire one's way; and the girl was not afraid of being lost; bat she knew that Lady Pauline would be anxious and as angry as she could ever find it possible to be, and the girl was getting vexed with herself. Now, as elm had a particularly eloquent face—eyes, lips, and brow, which reflected and expressed every passing emotion—it was not to bo wondered at that as she stood at the corner of one of the walks, looking from side to side anxiously, eho should attraot attention. A nursemaid dragging two children behind her, remarked to the oldest : . " Look at that pretty lidy ; she've been an' lost her wiy." A young man glanced at her, and waited, longed to speak to her and offer assistance ; but lie was young and shy, and he too passed on. Then came the gentleman who had come from behind the dens. Ho was walking slowly, with his eyes fixed straight before him, and he did not see the girlish figure and the anxious face until he was close upon her. And he too looked as if he 'rould havo liked to pass by. But something in the grey-blue eyes, in 'ihe delicate lines of the girl's white brow, itoppecl him, against hi» will. He pulled up, raised his hat, and in a •rave voice that was not by any means unUusical, said : "I beg your pardon. Are you looking for anyone? Can I help you ?" The girl did not blush, bub turned her eyes upon him with an almost boyish frankness. " Oh—thank you," fhe said, rather hesitatingly; tor how could he help her? "I have wandered from my people, and lost them. I have been searching for them everywhere, but cannot see them." He looked at her—glanced would be the better word-and he saw a slim, girlish figure clad in grey with a'simplicity almost Quakerish; a clean-cut, oval face, greyishblue eyes with dark lashes, and a mouth that struck him as rather large. The face, be knew even at that first moment, was beautiful— what men call a fascinating one ; but he did not think much about it. She was at this, their first meeting, just a girl— probably a schoolgirl—who had lost her mistress or her mother. , And the girl, as her eyes rested on him placidly, incuriously, saw a well-dressed Ban, with a handsome face with dark-brown •yes and hair. There was a suspicion of grey about the temples, a look of gravity »nd sadness in the eyes which perhaps •truck her afterward. But for the moment 'he only noticed that he was good-looking Mi. had a distinguished air, and that he seemed rather wearied and a little bored, ' but too well-bred not to try and conceal it. i' No voice whisporod in her ear: " Behold \ *»is man Iho is your fate; the man who § •ill change the current of your life; the i Ban whose slightest word, lightest smile, r "ill have power to move your heart to its I very depths!" ; 1 So she emilod at him with her eloquent) I ■south, with her frank blue eyes, and the |. fan looked gravoly into the face, scarcely % noting its fascination. I Where did you leave them ?" he asked. m J' Under the trees on the lawn by the I lions' cage," she replied. "I strolled in §L were and wandered further than I inll tended ; when I came back they bad gone." ff, "No doubt they only left for a time; Jf they way have gone back," he said. H 'Oh, do you think so 1" she said, with a •each of relief in her voice, a smile in her •y«. "But I can't find it again. I've gone round and round until I feel as if I 'ere in a maze." U ')' Be smiled. " I think I know the piece you mean; .<; «<Hiyou will allow mo, I will take you ||swktbjt." v ; . ."Thank you," she said, simply, and as if .'; w offer were quite a matter of coarse, and IB

to be accepted as readily and naturally as it was made, "This way, then," he said. They walked on side by side. He did not look at her curiously, admiringly, as most men, as nearly all the sons of man would assuredly have done, but gazed straight before him as he had done when he had come upon her ; and ho did not speak for Borne moments. There was indeed something so strange in his preoccupation that the girl began to think he had forgotten her; and she glanced up at him with u naive, half-mischievous smile in her eyes. He happened to catch tho glance, and as if he had suddenly remembered her existence and proximity, he said: " Is this your first visit to the Zoo?" " Yes," she replied. "My very first. We have always lived in the country. This is my first visit to London, and 1 begged aunt to bring me here; I had heard and read so much of it. lam so fond of animals." "Yes?" he nodded. " Yes," she went on, as freely and frankly as if she had known him for years. " I have a horso of my own, two dogs, three cats, some white mice, and a guinea-pig. I had a monkey, but it broke my aunt's best tea-set—old Crown Derby, you know —and it had to go ; it was like a dear little baby with wicked eyes." He nodded again—he seemed to be scarcely listening—and the impression her talk and voice gave him was, that he hud taken charge of a girl who was a mere child. " I once bought a parrot of a sailor—we live near a port—but aunt said it talked bad language, so I exchanged it for some Belgian hares." " You must have a perfect menagerie," he remarked. She laughed. How soon was the man to thrill from head to foot at that laugh ! And yet, now it affected him nob tho lonst bit in the world. It struck him as musical, pleasant—that was all. " It was awfully hard to part with thorn. I brought the dogs, and tho guinea-pig, and the white mice, hut 1 hud to leave the rest behind— Oh, there is the place—but my aunt is not there!" she broke off. Tho man looked round, as a man does when he has undertaken to do something which he knows will be a nuisance, " Perhaps she is searching for you, as you have been searching for her," ho said. " We had better go round the Hardens. What is your aunt like ? But you will see her, of course, if we run against hor." " She is tall and stately," said the girl; "and she is dressed in grev, like I am; but in silk. Oh, of course I should see her evor so far off I" " Then let us go round," he eaid ; " there ie no cause for anxiety." " I am not anxious," said the girl, frankly. "Of course aunt will be a little angrywell, not angry ; she never is; she couldn't be; but I know that tho carriage was ordered to pick us up at one of the gates at six o'clock, and I think I could find it. Are we going through the lions' house ? I hope we can. I've been through twice; but I should never get tired of it—should you J" "Eh?" ho said, absently. Her voice was musical, but he was nob paying much attention to her words. " On, I don't know. I go to it very often." " I saw you just now," sho said. " I saw you como out from tho back of the dens with the keeper." "Did you?"iho said, listlessly. "Yes; I had boen round to see a young lion I brought over." She stopped dead short and looked at him, hor limpid oyes wide as saucers, and, it must bo confessed, her by no means small mouth almost as open. " A lion you brought ovor! You, yourself 1" she exclaimed. He smiled a little wearily and listlessly. "There is nothing wonderful in that," 1)0 said; " I've just come from Africa; thoro are lions there still, strange to say. I caught this one, after shooting its mother. It's ft fine young lion, and doing very well." "Oh, how I should like to soe it,!" eho exclaimed, not shyly or hesitatingly, but frankly, liko a girl, a child, if you like, whose wishes have always been granted. " Should you ? Nothing easier," ho said, just in tho same tone. "The keeper shall show it to you." Ho took her into the house, beckoned to the keeper, who touched his hat respectfully as before, and, to tho girl's ecstatic delight, led them through the passage, between the cages, to the back of the dens. "Just show us the youngster, keeper," ho said.

The keeper touchod his hat again. " Yes, my lord," he said, obsequiously. They had passed into a kind of covered yard in which were standing eevoral hugo travelling-cages. Sonio of theso wore covered with tarpaulin, nnd from one of these the keeper drew aside the covering and revealed a fine young lion. As tho light.streamed in upon him he blinked and snarled, showing his white even tooth angrily. "Oh, what a beauty!" exclaimed tho girl. "And you really caught it! Oh, how I envy you I What a lovely mane it ha?!"

As she spoke, she wont down on one knee, and, all unconsciously, got a little too close to the enge. Everyone knows how quickly a cat's claw shoots out after a bird or a mouse. Like a flash of lightning the young lord of the forest darted out his paw at tho girl, but the gentleman had caught the vicious look in tho animal's eyes, and before the sharp claws could reach her, he had caught her by the arm and drawn hor back. Ho was only just in time to save her, and not in time to save himself; for the sound of rent cloth mixed with the snarl and roar of disappointment which tli6 lion sent forth. The keeper struck at the cage, shouted, and let tho tarpaulin down. " Hope he didn't catch you, my lord," he said, with anxious respect. Tho gentleman shook hie hoad, and slipped his arm with the torn sleeve behind him. " Not at all," he said, quietly. Show us that young panther, keeper." The girl looked from one to the other. She wae a little pale. " Are you sure it did not touch your arm?" sheeaid, her sweet eyes fixod upon his face with a troubled expression. " I—l thought I heard the cloth tear. Are you sure, please?" "Quite sure," he said, a little wearily. "There is the most dangerous animal in the Gardens." He nodded toward the panthor, who regarded them with a sullen ferocity, and as he nodded he took her arm, and held her away from the ca»o. Tho keeper showed them several other animals in the private yard, and now and again the gentleman dropped a word of criticism and advice, which, the girl noticed, tho Ueepor received with marked deference. It seemod to her that) her guardian for the time being must be a man of some importance. But presently lie appeared to remember that they were not very likely to find her people at the back of the lions' den, and with a nod to the keeper, he led her out again. They walked round and round the most frequented parts of the for some time, stopping to look at> the various cages, and tho girl chatted and aekod questions with a perfect freedom from ehyness. Every now and then she would look up at his face laughingly, and call attention to some odd bird or quadruped, and the man would come down out of the clouds and emile gravely. He answered all her questions with calm exactitude, and once or twice volunteered gome information. "You must know a greab deal about animals," she remarked. " I wish I did," and eho eighed. " I've travelled a little," he responded. "I wieh I had!" she said, with a halt emile and a half sigh. " But girls don't travel, do they ?" "I don't know; I've met a few," he replied, primly. She did nob detect) the irony. "Girls (ire eo different, to men. Now, it wouldn't matter if you were lost instead of me."

" Not much," he said. " No j you would not be scolded and (old —oh, all sorts of things. I don't see aunt anywhere—and oh, I am bo thirsty 1" "Are you? Why didn't you say go before ?" he asked, " I didn't think of ib before I saw the re« freshment-pliice," she replied, frankly. He led her up the path, nnd put a chair for her at one of the tables under the trees, full in lighb of the elephants, promenading with their cages of assorted human beings, and ordered tea for two. The waiter brought ib and seb in down. with the usual rattle in front) of the girl, and she pound it out with simple gravity,

as if—well, a3 if they were brother and j sister, or man and wife. He leaned back in his chair, and regarded ! her with a slight increase of interest. She j was certainly vory beautiful. Her eyes | were rathor a strange blue—the blue that I darkens quickly under any swift or deep emotion. The lashes were black and long, and the brows—a 9he looked at her with the calm, cool regard of a man of the world to whom a woman's looks count for just eo much or so little, he remembered a picture in the old gallery at Rotterdam. It was a picture of one of the paints, and it had a brow like this girl's, and soft, reddish-brown hair, all fluffy and tendrilly—in an odd kind of way, he felt eure that it waved and fluffed naturally—and red, mobile lips as expressive as lips could be; and when the girl before him smiled, and then laughed softly at the antics of a couple of children dodgine a dromedary, he caught himself wondering whether the saint of the picture ever laughed or smiled. Then he looked at her dress, and seeing its simplicity, pondered over her social position. It was evident that the girl was a lady ! Her very innocence and frankness would prove that, if her voice and manner had not done eo, " Do you tako smrnr ?" she asked, lifting her eyes to his so suddenly that he found it necessary to drop his own critical ones. "No ? How strange that seoms! I does much as I can get." " You can pour tho contents of tho sugarbasin into your cup if you like," ho said, "I wonder what the wailor would pay! No; lam going to bo content with throe lumps. Oh, how nice tho tea is! I was so very, very thirsty—weren't you ?" " Yes," he mid, simply. Ho beckoned a waiter, and told him to bring somo cake. The girl brightened up at it, and after helping herself, cut a slice for him. "Not like cako?' she said. "That's strange, too; I thought everyone liked cake." " Most young people do," he said, with the half-weary Bmile. She looked" at him with something like actual attention, her cake poised in her hand. "Are you—old?" she eaid. Tho simplicity of the quostion, to say nothing of its frankness, brought a full-blown smile to his face j and certainly he did not look old at that moment. "Ib all depends upon what you call old," ho said, " I am afraid I should soern to you vory aged." She thought a uiomont. " Aunt says that a man is ns old as he feels, and a woman as old as ehe look?." " Reckoning on that basis, I am ninetythree," ho said. Sho smiled at him with innooont amuseinent. "Audi?" Ho looked nfc her with ft listless kind of scrutiny. " Sevonteen—eighteen—" She put tho cuke down, unci starod at him with girlish indignation, " How absurd ! I am nearly twenty 1" Ho was surprised, and ho looked it— faintly. "Really?" > " Yo.», really. You aro like aunt. Sho is always telling mo that I look like a girl, and imploring me to remember that I am a woman—as if it inado any differonco." Ho got out a cignretle case—got it out mechanically—then glance , ! at her, and was putting it away again, when she said : " Are you going to einoke? Do, if you wish. Ido not mind." [To he continued.]