BY THE LIGHT OF LOVE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13414, 16 February 1907, Page 3 (Supplement)

BY THE LIGHT OF LOVE.

BY ARTHUR W. MABCHMONT, Author of " By Eight of Sword," " For Love or Crown." " In the Name of a Woman," " The Greatest Gift," etc.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

[ALL EIGHTS RESERVED.]

CHAPTER XVIII. AT COLLI NO WOOD AGAIN.

For nearly a fortnight Eleanor scarcely left the sick-room, and Dr. Mayhew was not less astonished at the progress which the patient made than at the ease with which the nurse endured the confinement, without showing the least sign of either weariness or pallor.

" You seem made of iron, nurse," lie said once, admiringly. " You forget that I have plenty of fresh air sitting here by the window, and have plenty of sleep. I never get stale." " Lady Gorham is much better, mind and body. That may well encourage you. But I think you should go out. She is well enough now to be left to less competent hands occasionally.'' " When she knows the truth about her wrecked looks 1 shall be easier, but I am afraid to leave her until then."

Sir Ughtred had also pressed her more than once to go out and take exercise, offering to remain while she went out. But Eleanor had a reason for refusing. Lady Gorham was always restless and nervous' while her husband was with her, and had spoken of this to her. " When he stays with me I am full of my old thoughts, nurse," she said, anxiously. " I get morbid ; and am constantly imagining what his thoughts about me must be; and I can't bear it."

And on one occasion an incident had occurred which illustrated this peculiarly morbid frame of mind. Eleanor made it a point to leave Sir Ughtred and his wife alone when he visited her, and she had barely left the room when she was called back suddenly and found Lady Gorham in a dead faint. "I don't know what caused it, nurse," declared Sir Ughtred in alarm. " I had hardly spoken to her, and was stooping to kiss her when she threw her arms excitedly round my neck, burst Into tears, and fell buek suddenly in the state you see her." "May J suggest yon leave her to me'.'" said Eleanor, and he went away at once. When Lady Gorham recovered she was very agitated, and clung to Eleanor, weeping bitterly. " Something frightened you." said Eleanor, tenderly. " Tell me freely what it was." "It is always frightening me, nurse. 1— I cannot bear it. And when Ughtred came just now, and spoke to me, and kissed me, I thought— She broke off suddenly, and buried her face in the pillow, and .sobbed passionately. "We'll speak about it when you are calmer. Don't give way now ; • but when you feel able to speak, "tell me about it," and turning away she busied herself with other matters to give Lady Gorham time to recover herself. The heart weakness which had caused the sudden fainting lit was a very disquieting and somewhat alarming feature of the case, indeed, and Eleanor took a very serious view of it. '" I can speak of it, now, nurse. I want to speak of it, but I — am so afraid. Will jon tell me the truth—not as nurse only. but as friend?" She spoke wistfully, and put her hot and trembling hand into Eleanor's.

" Certainly. I will tell you the truth, whether as friend or nurse.'

"I have had a horrible thought for two days. It occurred to me the day before yesterday, when the doctor was "dressing my—face. 1 was watching his eyes, and when they looked at the wound on my face they seemed to fill with pity, I have been thinking of it ever since."

Her voice was hushed, and almost awestricken.

"They only spoke of sorrow for your sufferings, dear, and admiration for the "courage with which you have borne them," replied Eleanor, gently, but beginning to take alarm.

"Are you sure that was all? Yesterday the thought was haunting me all day, and last night— know when I started up and cried out, and you came to me: you are always so good and watchful—l had been dreaming. Oh. Eleanor, 1 think it would kill me, or I snould kill myself." "You had better not try to speak any more now. And you need' not attach the slightest meaning to a dream. The strongest and healthiest of us have- dreams that frighten us at times."

" But this was more than a dream; it was so real. It was the cause of what, happened just now when Ughtred came. I dreamt that I was well again, and that Ughtred had been away somewhere while J.

met. I* was in the drawing-room* and you were with me—you're always with me somehow in my thoughts—and you had been urging me in your sweet, way to nay a word or two of prayer, and I had been trying to pray, and just succeeded whew someone said, 'Sir Ughtred in here.' I jumped up from my knees, and ran to him with such gladness in my heart, and he was coming toward me when he stopped dead, turned as white as a corpse, and with a, .shudder pointed to—to my face, Eleanor, where it. is burnt, ; and putting his hands before his eyes, as if to emit out the sight of me. bo turned away. 1 screamed then, and woke, to find you bending over me in the night."

"Frightened, like a child, by a mere dream," said Eleanor, with a cheering, chiding smile. "Just think a moment, and you can, see exactly how the dreum none. You misread a look, fastened your thoughts upon it, brooded over it, and magnified it into a fear; and then, being restless and sleeping unsoundly, your brain put the thought into an impossible picture, just as it will with us all, and frightened you." "But is it true".' Is it true? Is there any fear of that'.' Don't play with ray fears ; don't, think you can silence them with a smile: don't try and deceive, me. Shall I —oh! God, have mercy on me, I cannot think of. it without shuddering— will my face be, disfigured like that? 1 have never seen my face since it happened, fur, you have; you know. Tell me, tell me, for "the love of heaven, tell me the truth."

"My dear Lady Oorliam. you must not harbour these morbid thoughts,'' said Eleanor, in a strong, firm tone, as she pressed the trembling hand she held. " You know Sir Ughtred too well not to know, that such a thing as you dreamed is a sheer impossibility." " But my face, my face. Shall Ibo horribly marked'.' Give me a glass, and let me see for myself. You promised you would tell me the truth. You promised." She was like an eager, distracted child. "1 will tell you all there is to be told. Dr. May hew has from the very first moment made it the great point of his treatment that every possible sign of the injury shall he removed. He hopes, as we all hope, that he will he entirely successful. But these things take time, often a long time, before all traces are quite removed ; and until that time comes you must have patience."

"Give me a, glass, and let me see for myself. Why have all the glasses been taken out of the room?"

"For the very reason that you must- not see yourself until all the traces have, been, removed, and. until time and the doctor can' let me bring you a glass, and say: 'There, Lady Gorliam, now you can see you are yourself again.' But it would not" bo fair to him for you to judge his work until "it* is finished." . — •••■

"You think, you really and truly think, there will be no scars at ail left?**' ' " '

"If you breathe a doubt of that kind to the doctor he will scold you unmercifully," and in this way, gently and perseveringly', she soothed, hei fears and calmed her, and dissuaded her from attempting to see her face at present. Eleanor told the doctor what had passed, however, and he looked very grave, and when he saw Lady Gorhatn lie went much farther with assurances than Eleanor had gone, and left her brighter in consequence. But the shadow of the fear lay on all alike. " Everything will depend upon how and when-she learns what she must learn some day," was the doctor's verdict. 'But her heart is so weak that I fear."

And the fear proved to be only too well founded.

There camo ill news one morning to the Tower from Collingwood. Sir Nugent Temple had been taken ill suddenly, and lay likely to die, and had asked for Eleanor, and all agreed that she must go at. once. The tears were on Lady Gorham's eyes as Eleanor kissed her. " Good-bye. I will try to do what you asked me about praying," she said. "I have done it already,, and know it has helped me. Good-bye." " Sir ghtred offered to drive with her to Collingwood, but Eleanor would not let him.

" There is no need. There is one regret I leave with—that I have not yet been able to break the news to Lady Gotham about her altered looks. I have been endeavouring to prepare her by making her see God's hand in this, and to lead her to pray for support and strength. She has prayed, she just told me so; and if I could have been another week with her I think I could have done much more. I—. I hardly know how to speak to you of this —but 1 feel it so earnestly." "You can speak freely. If you knew, you would not hesitate." She looked up in surprise at him. "If she can be brought to trust entirely in God, to feel that, however great the punishment for what she has done, it is infinitely merciful compared with what it) would have been had she succeeded in doing what she attempted—she has told me all freely—it will lead to a mood of resignation, in which even this blow might be dealt safely." ' b "I know, how you have been leading to this, and I will endeavour to carry forward your work." "You?" she cried involuntarily, and instantly t egret ted the word. "I beg yomr pardon. 1 had no right to say that," Ho smiled gently. "I.have not lived the last five years in vain, El—nurse," he answered. Her name had all but slipped from him when he checked himself. "I will not thank you now for all you have done here, but you must leel how much 1 think of it. £ hope you will not find matters at Collingwood so bad as we fear," and so they parted. J _ At Collingwood Mrs. Freshfield, Mattie, and her husband were waiting for her in the library. ry-.':;, " I was wondering if you'd be able to tear yourself away from your new friend, Eleanor," said Mattie, kissing her frigidly, - " How is father?" she replied, ignoringthe remark.

" It is always a pleasure to see you, Eleanor," said .Mr. Stanlake, shaking hands cordially. " Even though the occasion, like this, is bo sad a one. Dr. Mavhew is with Sir Nugent now, and, ] regret 'to .say, gives a very bad account." " Can 1 see. him?"

'He lias lapsed again into unconsciousness. It is paralysis, and Mayhew fears this is a second stroke. He rallied after the first, and it was then he a.sked for you." " I should like to go to him." " You can do no good, Eleanor," said -Mat tie.

" We will see what Dr. May hew says," answered Eleanor.

'" You're surely not jealous because Eleanor knows more about the sick-room than. you, Mattie," put in Mrs. Freshfield, indignant at her reception of Eleanor. "This is scarcely the time to quarrel, Aunt Gertrude; and really you must allow me to express my surprise at such a remurk."

"You brought it on yourself, Mattie," retorted Mrs. Ereshfield.

"If we can't agree in reality we might at least at sv/cli a time protend to do .-c>." '•Then you shouldn't insult Eleanor m; you did the moment she came in." ".You're upset, Aunt Gertrude; your intense affection for papa has overcome you. and made you unduly susceptible." " Mattie!" said Mr. Stanlake, quickly. "Don't he dramatic, Ted. Wo. all-know perfectly well that none of us care two straws."

"You might at least be decent, Mattie " said Mrs. Freshfield.

"It's- a sweet word, 'decent,' when wo want to condemn in others what we know is true in ourselves," retorted Mattie as Dr. Mayhew entered. "I am glad you have come, nurse. We want your help upstairs badly ; I am soar to say Sir Nugent is much worse." "I will come with you at once." said Eleanor.

'" Hadn't we better have a specialist down from London?" said Mattie, who did not like Dr. Mavhew.

" I whs going to suggest it." he answered, quietly. "It may be a satisfaction,to all concerned. I would propose Sir Grainger Smythe; though I fear he can do little good. "Will you wire to him,.' Mr. Stanlake? 197, "Harley -street. Come, nurse." "Is my father in great danger, doctor?" asked Eleanor, as they went upstairs. "He is dying, I , fear," was the reply. " You will soon be mistress of Coilingwood." This unexpected suggestion and a vagua consciousness of all that it might mean was heavy upon her as she went softly to her father's bedside. (To be continued on .Wednesday; m%,ti " '■'"'