"IF SHE SO ABIDE."

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14017, 24 March 1909, Page 10

"IF SHE SO ABIDE."

BY VIOLA TYRELL, Author of " A Russian Romance," " Master and 1 Han," etc CHAPTR XIII. ' UNDER THE PROTECTION- OF THE CHURCH. Four grey walls and four grey towers Overlook a space of flowers. ■„ ■'" —Tennyson. The marquise pondered long that day over the oddness of the now tutor whom Father Goupil had recommended for her little son. How quiet arid grave was his mariner—with a great dignity about it which had a certain charm of its own. Certainly Raoul would never venture to disobey him, but then Raoul never was a disobedient child. He was too gentle for that. She had vaguely expected someone younger, handsomer, more boyish. Yet Father Goupil had only acted with his usual discretion she knew. Monsieur Polet was, at an age when the fire of youth has been replaced by the wisdom of maturer. years. Yet ':\ he was a man in the prime of \ life, and no doubt was a good rider -and fencerthese ; being two 'qualities the marquise had insisted on her son's new N tutor possessing. It would not have been quite wise cither to have a too attractive man under her roof. The tongue of scandal is ever too, ready to make light of a woman's reputation. '~;'.". "■ ;v'; v ; - .; Father Goupil had chosen well. Yet something seemed to have disturbed the usual serenity of the marquise that day, for when-Raoul went to say goodnight to her after dinner—her solitary state dinnerhe found her pacing up arid down with a wildly restless step. She stopped on his entrance and held out her" ' arms to him. When at any time excited, the scar on Irma's cheek and forehead became red and discoloured. It was red arid discoloured now. Little Raoul climbed into her arms and nestled in the silken lap. For in her utter solitude at her hermit-like repasts, where was never other guest than herself, Irma • dressed herself as richly and carefully as though she were going to some State ball. Raoul put his little > hand to her face as she rocked him and crowed over him. " It is red and hot, mamma, darling. Are you angry?" ' . "No, Raoul; I have only been thinking." - ' ';;;■:>• >k . . " When you have been thinking you very t often cry, dearest," said Raoul quaintly, in his wistful little voice y She pressed him passionately to her. " I have not been crying, sweet. It is a long time since I ; have cried. Tell me, Raouf," she said, with a sudden desire to hear the truth from the lips of her child, "am I so very ugly?" / sShe bent her head down and her eyes glittered with excitement as she listened for his reply. : .' : ' "N— said Raoul, with some hesitation. It was; a i hesitation that tore her heart, but he went on of his own accord with infantile frankness. " . " You are not such a pretty mamma as you were when Uncle Gaspard came* to see as"— had been taught to call Monsieur Duchene so—"but you are pretty still sometimes." He traced his little fingers thoughtfully down the scar that had flushed again. " It is this that is not pretty," he said, putting his other arm around her neck, "but your eyes are s the same, and your mouth. You are the dearest, sweetest mamma in all the world." , She had her child's love—-her child's assurance that she was still fair in his eyes. Why, then, should that fierce pulse in her heart throb more bitterly and heavily than before? .-- .'.'Uncle Gaspard never comes to see us now. Nobody comes to see us," went on Raoul. ; Why/ is it, mamma,? I asked Father Goupil, and he said it was a judgment of heaven, and that we must be patient under it. Have you been wicked, mamma , : : She kissed the little curly head. Had he looked up* he could have seen that the scar was white now. . ;' " Not wicked, Raoul. Father Goupil did not mean that. He only meant that I had been unfortunate, and that I must try and bear my misfortunes bravely. Uncle Gaspard will never come again. Will Raoul try and remember not to talk about him?" ._•..• Raoul had not understood the existing relations between Gaspard and his mother. "Does it hurt you?" he asked innocently, raising his head. j " Yes, dear; it hurts me here," and she touched her heart lightly. It was fluttering in a palpitating, suffocating sort of way under the costly silk and priceless laces. v ',--'" , f l - " I ;' will never speak Of him again, mamma. " How you are trembling! ! he cried in surprise, raising his head from that white, heaving breast. She put him off her knee and looked at him steadily.- , ' V " Raoul, you are only seven, but you know that the word of a de la Valle is to be trusted, do you not?" "Yes, mamma," he answered, his little face flushing proudly " Will you promise me never to mention Uncle Gaspard's name to any living soul ? Not even to Father Goupil or Monsieur Polet?" ";:.;■ ".-; y- : "Yes, mamma. May I not pray for him still '!" he asked in an awe-struck voice, his little soul dimly wondering what was the awful mystery that now surrounded that gay and good-natured and handsome Uncle Gaspard, of whom he was so fond, and who often bought him expensive bonbons in a careless, goodhumoured way. Irma's heart almost stood still. What should she say ? Raoul's childish prayers every night wrung. her already tortured soul. She always trembled a little before he came to "Uncle Gaspard." And yet it seemed hard to stop his little childish lips from praying for the man whom she had so dearly loved. And, perhaps, for all she knew,' he might be sad arid lonely —he might need the prayers of her little innocent child. ' v "Pray for all friends, Raoul, dear," she said quietly. Then Uncle Gaspard will be included among them. God will know whom you mean, darling." "And if—if He didn't, if He' wasn't quite— sure," said Raoul, diffidently, " I ought to say his' name quite low— under my breath, so that nobody could hear memayn't I] mamma?" She kissed the little wistful face; in silence. How pure, and sweet was the fair soul of this little child ! Mamma, you do not hate Uncle Gaspard. do you?" he asked wistfully. : " No, darling, of course not," she answered hastily. But in her heart of hearts she was not sure whether she haled Gaspaid Duchene or not. That she despised him was certain. ; ■ , "I am so glad," said Raoul, with a sigh .of relief. .

; "' Father Goupil says it is very, very wicked to hate people." '-■"'" That is true. ; Very wrong indeed. ,But ; then we are none of us perfect, Raoul, and » sometimes we do wrong things, although we try our very, very .hardest not to do ! so." ,' -■ . ;. ■ ;--':-/ :c ■ ' ■-.■' ', ';; •■" "Is very difficult, mamma?" r, , "So difficult sometimes, Babul, that one •; 'has to pray one's very hardest not to enter I into temptation." ' "I pray hard sometimes to be good , when 1 have been raughty over my les- > sons."-' ' > - "You must not bo naughty over your • lessons any more, darling. Now that Monl sieur Polet has come to teach you, you ' must try your very best to bo good, for Monsieur Polet is all alone i and without - any friends." .:.'"/ ;; ■";'■■-,.' ■"-.•..' -.'■''■ , "I will pray for Monsieur Po'et, too, • mamma, and then perhaps he will get some i friends.'' * - ',;■ ;. t> [ Perhaps he does not want any, dear," • said the marquise, with a half sigh, as she - recalled Monsieur ■ Polet's bitter little i speech. , "Not want friends, mamma? Oh, every--1 thing is horrid without friends," said ■ Raouli gravely. "I; miss all my friends dreadfully. There is no on© to play with." Again Irma's heart smote her. "In the spring when the nice weather comes again, Raoul," she said, " you shall have your little friends to stay with you, but I am afraid that they would not come just now. It is so cold and wet. ,; And there are not little , children near here for you to play with. Monsieur Polet will ride about with you and be kind to you." " But that is not playing, mamma," obi jected Raoul. Do you think he will play with me?" " I daresay he will sometimes, Raoul, but you must not be always teasing him about it," she added,; after a pause. ;' " If—if anybody, Monsieur Polet or anybody, asks you why we never tee any visitors, you will say that it is because I am not strong, Raoul." r ■;■-, And once more he crossed his little hands and answered obediently that he would re-; s ' member. ' "■ ;., r C Irma eat up late that night brooding • over the ashes of her past life. They t would never live again—never warm her , with their fire, yet it seemed hard to realise it. She was still young. Life coursed like quicksilver through her veins. 1 Was she to live alone always? Never to f know what it was to taste that sweetest • thing in life— love marriage? At eight , and twenty, with all the goods of this world l at ones feet, it seems hard to say good-bye to the one thing that makes all those goods worth-having. At eight and twenty, with • wealth and glowing healthy it seems passE ing hard to live alone, 1 But, then, had she not her child ? v . True./ She had, and > dearly did , she , love him. But a child of seven, however, sweet, is no companion for a woman of eight and twenty. Irma required thought for thought, heart for heart, soul for soul. f She could not rest. With the stranger, r grave and cold as he was, there seemed to > have come some odd, exciting influence be- . neath her roof. Why did he recall to her so vividly those old, never-to-be-forgotten days, when life was a dream of beauty for her, and Gaspard's heart was all her own? - Why did the very tone of the stranger's t voice strike so odd a chord in her heart - that it ached with bitter sweet memories? " ■ The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the I hour of two, with variations that made it i. a little difficult to 'tell the time. The fire A was dying down. Irma shivered a little. , She felt cold and solitary. Suddenly she 1 thought she would go and see how Father I Goupil was. She had forgotten that the doctor had told her he was worse, and that I hie nights were restless, sleepless. Full of • remorse, she slipped a light shawl over her J wire arms and shoulders, and hurried along i the corridors that led to his room. i The door was ajar, and she paused, for . ebe heard the sound of voices. She looked " in, in the semi-darkness, expecting to see the nurse usually in attendance, but she . was not there. Instead, on stepoing softly forward, she saw the figure of the new - tutor kneeling by the priest's bedside, and Father Gpupils shaking hand was resting Jon his head, and Father oil's failing f, voice • was saying : • ,•" ° ;" Heaven* bless and reward you, my son; you have my full sanction and ap- • provaPfoi? what you are about to do." • She stole back to her room unobserved, » wondering greatly. «, / ' What was Monsieur Polet about to do I that required the sanction and approval of ' Father Goupil ? rr (To be continued daily.) I