HER HEART'S DESIRE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIV, Issue 10479, 26 June 1897, Page 3 (Supplement)

HER HEART'S DESIRE.

BY CHARLES GARVICE,

Author of "By Devious Ways," "Just a Girl," " Queen Kato," " In Cupid's Chains," " The Outcast of the Family," etc, etc. CHAPTER XUI.-( Continued.) Decima saw Lord Gaunb every day. Sometimes Lβ came up to the Woodbines. He would sib in the porch or walk about) the old-fashioned garden with Decima beside him. Sometimes they would moeb in the village, and he would 30 round and look on at) the demolition of the picturesque and unhealthy cottages, with Decima beside him, and they would talk over the architect's plans. He left everything to her and Bright—which meant) her alone, for Bright was simply guided and directed by her.

Sometimes she and Bobby went to the Hall; and then Gaunt was ad his best. No more delighted host) could be imagined. There was a charm about) the man which, alas! many women had felt and yielded to; and all that charm was exerted for Deeima, for the innocent girl who never suspected for a moment the feeling that was growing up within the man's heart.

When she woke in the morning her first thought was of him—of the plans for the cottages, of the new schools, of the proposed restoration of the dear old church, When she met him—and every day it seemed that she was fated to meet: him—something, a sudden well of pleasure gushed up in her hear);, She thought of everything he said, remembered every story of his solitary hunting days; site led him on, with childish cunning, to talk of himself—to recount 'some of bis wonderful adventures. This man, against whom she had been warned, had entered into, her life. To her ho gradually became the noblest, the most mi. saltish of men. Why, there wa3 nothing she could ask him that) he would not do, He spent money oh the village like water. It had been a Heaven-forsaken place before he came ; it was now. growing prosperous and: flourishing, with new cottage*, new schools in bud, and a church being rapidly. nrtvnit ■■•;•:'■•. ■,■■••■•■• '

And it seemed that he cared for ber eociety-and Bobby'a only. The county people had come down, its cohorts all glittering with gold, to meet with a decided rebuff. The Cattermoles, and the Pettergille, the Sir William this, and Sir George that, had called, but failed to see Lord Gaunt. He had returned their cards-but that wae all. The county was nonplussed and dissatisfied; but Lord Gaunt did nob seem to.care. He lived a solitary life at the Hall, and saw no one but Bright and the Deanes. One day he rode up to the Woodbines on Nero, leading a handsome half-thorough-bred, There was a lady's saddle on her, and when Oecima came down to the gate and stared at him with wide-open eyes, Gaunt said, quietly: "Just bought her. Do you like her J Get your habit on." " But—" said D'ecima, eyeing the horse wistfully. " But me no bufca," he said, with a smile. " I've been looking out for a horse for you for weeks past. This one is all right, as I think you will say. Don't be longer than you can help." She had learned to obey him, and she hesitated only a moment; then slio ran without a word. It had come to this. I» a very few minutes she reappeared in her habit, and he lifted her into the saddle. Tho colour bloomed in her cheek, her pure eyes grew dark and brilliant j joy welled up in her heart. " Yes," he said.-after they had gone half a mile or so and he had kept close watch over her, "you can ride." " Oh, yes," eaid Decima. " Aunt Pauline had me taughb. She said that ovory lady should know how to ride, just as she should know how to play tho piano and dance. What a beautiful creature it is! Why did you take the trouble to get id for mo ! Why are you always so kind to mo?" Bo looked at her, then turned his eyes away from her. Her very unconsciousness hurt him.

"You merit some amusement," ho shid. " What with architect's plans, and builder's estimates, you were in danger of being overworked. Aro yon happy J" he asked, Buddonly. She looked at him, and her eyes—violet now—met his innocently. '.' Quite—quite happy," she said. They rode through the village and over the moor beyond, and Gaunt still kept a watchful eye upon the mare. He glanced at her lovely face, with the colour of a blush-rose on her cheeks, tho light of joy and happiness in her oyes, and hia lips grew tight and comprossed. On llieir way homeward they came to a field with a thorn-hedge, and Decimn

looked at tho latter wistfully. "Can sho jump?" »ha asked. "Aunt Paulino would nevor let me jump; but I have always longed to do it. Alny I try f' "She ciin jump," hu eaiu. "Try her, but bo careful."

Jle led the way over a bit of timber in tho hodge, and Decima followed. It is very likely Uint eho pulled the yonnyr ui.ue anyway, it made a false step, and Decima would have fallen, but Gaunt was close beside her and caught her. He held her in his arms for a second ; it was scarcely longer that her head rested against his heart. It was but a moment of time, but her heart had beat against his, his lips had almost touched her check.

He went very white, and his faco grew stern and set while the moment lasted; but Decima rocovered her seat with a laugh, with the unconscious laugh of a child. She had not seen his faco, had not known how near hid lips had been. . " Nearly off!" she exclaimod. "Bub it was my fuult. Let me try her again !" " No, no !" ho said, almost fiercoly. " I will ride lior for.a day or two first—l will show you." Ho could scarcely speak, and ho turned his head away. He was almost silent on the way home. A groom was waitin? at the Woodbinos and took the mare from her, and Gaunt rode homo slowly. Ho went straight to his study and lighted a cigar. Ho could foe! the lithe, graceful figure still in his arms, mill feel her breath on his cheek.

Suddenly ho flung the cigar in the fireplace, and threw his hands above hie head with a wild, despairing gesture " Oh, my God!" he cried. "Not that— not that I" But tho prayer came too late, and knew he it. " I love her!" ho cried, as the sweat of his anguish broke upon his brow. " I loro her—l love her!"

CHAPTER XIV. " I love hot! I love her I" The words ranir low through the room with ft note of infinite pain and despair; and Gaunt sunk into a chair and hid his face in his handa.

Now, there has been no attempt in this history to whitewash Lord Gaunt, or even to make excuses for him. He was nob a good man, lie had been guilty of excesses which no good man ever commits ; but lie was not bad at heart. Until the great roistnko of Inn life, he bad steered the straight course of virtue on life's rough way, and ho had been driven to the wide road which leadeth to destruction by misery and despair. But since ho had come to Leafmore a change had taken place in the man. The old life of dissipation had suddenly grown hideous to him ; at no tiuio, even when in the very midst of it, had it been particularly enjoyable. Ho had played highland cared little whether he won or lost ; he had moved in a fast set whoso motto is " Love mid Laughter;" but love had nob enticed him. and laughter well, few men had seen Lord Gaunt laugh of late years. Then he came to Leafmore weary of everything, of the foolish talk, the hollow laughter of the fast set, of life itself. And he had met a young girl—a girl as innocent as a child—and everything had become changed to him. Life had regained its savour, something like peace—and yet a peace full of wistfulness had fallen upon him, and he had begun to forget—actually to forget— the past, made so bitter by the great mistake. He had been changing unconsciously; had not known, realised what it was that was

working the transformation. Bub he knew now. And he sat with his head bent and his eyes covered, and faced the thing. For Gaunt, though nob a good man, was no fool and no coward. Ho had got to face it, Uβ placed tho whole case before him, so to speak, and tried to regard it calmly and judicially. He Iras in lovo with Docima Deane. He, years older than she—and a married

Ho wiped the sweat from his face with an unsteady hand. It seemed ridiculous and absurd; bub there ib was, and all the ridicule he could pour on it would npt quench or drown the truth. Hβ tried to laugh as be thought of the difference in age, of the bond that held and galled him ; but tho laugh rang hollow and unsatisfactory. He loved her. And he know that it was the lirsb real lovo of bis life, The fancy for the woman who bore his name had been a

fancy only, and had died ; changed, rather, to contempt nnd loathing. He h»d. never really loved until he had met Docitna. And the girl was everything in the world to him. Life, hope, joy. fler face rose before him aa he eat and thought. Ttio sweet girlish face, with its blue and ever-changing eyes, its mobile mouth and its bright and innocent smile, the soft brown hair clustering in tendrils on her white brow. Her voice with its innocent tone-

Innocent 1 Yes, she was innocent; so child-like, that ehe did not guess how it was with him. He was not a good man, but he thanked God for that, She did not know, she must never know.

He must go away, go away at once. He rose, stung to movement by the resolve, and almost groaned. A shudder ran through him as he thought of returning to the world, of going away from the sight of her face, the sound of her voice. They were life to him, and his days without them would be shadowed by the darkness of a death in life.

Need he go! She did not know, guess, of hie love for her. He would keep a close watch, and guard over every look and word, Why should ho not have the consolation of boing near her ? She had been like a guardian angel to him; she had, all innocently and unconsciously, led him oub of the dark forest of despair and gloom to higher and brighter lands. She had been his saving angel. If he left her he would slip back into the old life—the old life he hated and loathed. . Aβ he paced up and down with bent head and hands tightly clinched,, he tried to persuade himself that he should be content

to be near her, to see her occasionally; that he would hope for, think of, nothing more. YWi tb«t Wμ howbVwould werkit. She

should be just an angel of light to him. He would go on loving her, but as the sailor loves the beacon star that lights him home through the storm, as the light that burns in the shrine of a eaint. Inspired by that love, he would keep hia life clean and sweet; he would devote it to her. Hβ would be her slave, would do everything she wanted done for the place and the people, "Yes, that ia how it must be," he said, with a deep breath. "There is no hope for me. The child would never love me, even—even if I were only her own age and freo. Very good. Let me accept that, let me remember id always, whan I am with her or away from her. She is not for me. She qan never be mine, but I can go on loving her. 1 will never let her suspect, I will keep & close guard on my secret, and she shall never know. Id would only pain her; and, God knows, I would rather die a thousand deaths than she should suffer a moment's pain." He laughed discordantly. " What a pity one cannot dio when one likes,"he sajd, bitterly. "It would be so easy a way out of it. But I've to live, and I cannot live without her I" The last words wero uttered almost savagely. We all know how, at aorao time or other, we stand at bay with Fate, and fight him toolh and nail. Gaunt was fights ing Pate for all he knew. The dinner-bell rang, and ho went and dressed. Hobson looked at the haggard face imxionsly and wondered what was amiss. Hβ knew nothing of the great mistake, but he suspected theexistonce of some hidden sorrow in his master's life, and he wondered whether it had cropped up again, for he had noticed the change of late for the hotter in Lord Gaunt'e manner and appearance. (jaunt went down to the elaborate dinner, but he could not eat, and presently he rose and went out into the air.

There was a faint moonlight; a nightingale was singing on one of tho trees on the lawn. Ho saw Decima's face in the soft light, ho hoard her voice speaking through the bird's. Presently he gob his hat and, half mechanically, went up tho avenue and along the road to the Woodbines. As ho reached the house and stood in the

shadow of the trees on either side of the road, he heard the piano, and then her voice—the clear, sweet, girlish voice which echoed in his heart all day. She was singing ono of the simple songs she used to sing to Lady Paulino, and every note, as it floated out to him, struck upon a chord in his heart and filled him with the pain of intense longing. Ho went home again, with the sweet girlish voice ringing in his ears. But he would not iro into the house, and lie paced under the firs in the plantation until the dawn began to gleam beyond the hills. " 1 love her!" was the thought that ached in his heart. " I love her; but she shall never know. She shall nevor know." In the morning some plans cainedown by post. lie had promised to take them to her. Should ho do so? He prayed, thirsted for a sight of her, Why should he nob go? He would begin the watch over himself. After breakfast he went, with tho plans in his hand, up to the Woodbines. As he reached the gate he heard voices—Deeima's and a man's—and then he saw her and Air. Mershon in tho garden. He had met the young man onco or twice, and exchanged greetings with him; but it had so chanced that ho had not ;een him and Deciina together. He looked over the gate, and there was Mr. Mershon holding a chrysanthemum while Deoima tied it to its stick.

Decima wore a sun-bonnet like—and yet how unlike—Mrs. Topper's, and, as she bent over the plant, she was laughing, evidently at Mr. Mershon's awkwardness. And the young man, with hie hat on one side, was looking up at her with an intent expression in his small, sharp eyes. A pang shot through Gauut's hoart. "My God! I am joalous!" ho said, betwoen his clinched teeth, and his face

grew set and stern. Hβ tried to soften ib as he pushed the gate open and entered, but Decima, as she looked up and uttered a faint cry of wolcome, saw the look and opened her innocent eyes upon him.

" Oh, Lord Gaunt, is it you ? And have you brought the plane—is that them in your hand ?" " Yos, I've brought them," he said, trying to smile. " But ib doesn't matter. Don't let me interrupt you." Sho looked at him with a faint reproach In the lovoly eyes. " Why, we are only tying up somo of the chrysanthemums. As if they were of any consequence! Let mo seem them ! Ido so want to see them! Bub what is the matter?" she broke off, as she looked up at him with a sudden grave questioning. " Nothing — nothing," ho said, nastily, for he felb Mr, Mershon's sharp eyes upon him.

Thab gentleman dropped the string and glanced at his watch. He disliked, and was a little afraid of, Lord Gaunt, of Leaf-

"I—l think I'll be going," he eaid, looking at Decima. She had opened the plans and seemed quite absorbed in them. " Oh, will you not stay 1 Well, good-bye, and thank you. Wo liavo tied up erer so many, haven't we?" "Yes," said Mr. llershon. "Goodmorning, Lord Gaunt." As he went out of the gate Gaunt looked after him. " Do you see much of Mr. Jlorshon J" he asked, and cursed himself for asking. Decima looked up from the plana absently. " YOB, oh, yes. He is here nearly every day. He has business with father. I don't understand what it is; it in all a mystery to me—and to father also, I expect. But what is tho matter? You—you look so pale and tired," She drew nearer to him, with child-like affection and confidence, and laid her band upon his arm. And the strong arm, lean and muscular, the arm which had known no quiver nor uncertainty even when it had been raised in tho face of death itself, had hard work to kcop itself steady under the fingers which touchod him so innocently. "I've—l've had a bad night," he said, forcing a smile. "I used to suffer from insomnia, and I gdt an attack of ib last night." " Oh, lam so sorry," shesaid. " Come and sit in my arbor and rosb for a little while. Her hand closed on his arm, and she led him gently to a rustic summer-house in the worst state of repair. "Sit there and rest," she said. " You ehall nob talk, or even think. And I will look at the plane. Say I" she ran to one of the garden borders and picked some sprigs of lavender, " smell those! Are they not sweet I" She held them up to him, and, unseen by her, he touched them with his lips. Then, with tho innocence of a child, she sat dose beside him and unfolded the plans again. Her arm touched his—the summer-house was a small affair-he could almost hear the beating of her heart; and his own heart throbbed in harmony. " They are beautiful!" she said, nodding at tho plans, as a child nods at a picturebook. " How clever a man must bo to draw

them like this. Look at that tower," She opened out the plans so that they rested on her knees and his. " There's a bell in thab tower, of course. Will 'it run,' as Bobby would say, bell, Lord Gaunt f " Oh, yes; id will run to a bell," he said, mechanically, for her hand was touching his arm, and all hie senses were throbbing. "Willit? I am eo glad! And that is the big schoolroom. What is the size? Bub I am worrying you, and I meant you to rest ?" she exclaimed, remorsefully. "It is not worrying mo," he said. " There are the plans. If you like them, we'll pass them."

"Oh, I think they are beautiful t" she said. " And tho schoolhouse is too sweeb for words 1 1 should like to be school.

mistress 1" " Yes ?" ho said; then the green jealousy gnawing at his heart forced him on. "Do yon like Mr. Mershon ?"

Deciraa opened her eyes upon him innocently, " What lias Mr. Merslion to do with the schools?" she saia. "Like him? Oh, yes, I suppose so. I never thought, never asked myself the question. ■ But now I come to do so, yes, 1 think I do. How foolish that sounds ! Aunt Pauline used to say (bat I should never master syntax, He is very good-natured, yon know; , only this morn. ing he promised me fifty pounds ■ toward the boys playground and gymnasium." .' " Why did you ask him he said, almost roughly. " I would have given you all you wanted." :.:-,■ u-^-. •,/ v : '.. > '" I know you would, , ! she said, simply; "and. that is why I didn't, ask you. You, have done eg much, . fiotidee, it is only fair

that Mr, Mershon should apend some of his money for the benefit of the people among whom he. lives. Hβ is very rich, you know."

"Ishe phe said. " I don't know anything about) him." Then he gob ashamed of his petulance, of his jealousy, for her eyes were seeking his with a rather pained eurpriie. She had never before heard him speak in this tone. " Oh, I daresay he is a very nice young fellow. I'm—l'm rather boorish and ill-natured this morning. ,1 always am when I don't sleep." In an instant her face melted, so to speak, with a tender sympathy which smote him to the heart.

"I know. You could not be really un. kind or unjust to anyoney I think, Lord Gaunt."

"Oh, couldn't I?" he mid, grimly. " No. It was only because you are tired that you were hard'upon Mr. Mershon—if you were hard. For, after all, what have you said? Lean baok-see, you can just lean back—and rest, quite rest." She leaned back to show him the way, and the branches of the ivy and clematis caught in her hair. She laughed as she tried to disentangle them. " I forgot my hair; but you need not be afraid—yours is too short." "Can't you get it undone?" ho said. " Let me try. will you!" " Thanks," she said at once. "Mind you do not bring it all down; it is apt to come down at a touch. You see, I've not had it up very long," (To be continued. 1