THE WHITE GAUNTLET.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 1514, 9 November 1912, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE WHITE GAUNTLET.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY PERCY JAMES BREBNER, Author of " The Brown Mask," " A Royal Ward," - A Gentleman of Virginia," " Princess Manilas," etc., etc. COPYRIGHT. CHAPTER XVl.—(Continued. " Diank, I swear it is as desperate as a gambler's last throw. You show me a losing game, and you laugh at me. I tell you it is for you to make or mar me. Those little hands of yours hold me, and at- this moment are all powerful." " No worthy man would ever allow any woman such power," she said. "You cannot judge. No woman can judge that. When God gave you your beauty. He gave you the power. You may deny it, you may call the man a fool, but the power is there. For every man some woman holds it. For good or ill, you are my destiny." " Indeed, Sir Charles, you have my only answer." " 1 will not hear it. To-morrow —a week hence —" J " It would be the same." j "Are you sure of thatV' "Quite sure." " To-morrow is the unknown, he an- j swered, with a short laugh. "You may j make what arrangements you will for it, but to-morrow is never as to-day. Some- j tiling in it, great or small, will be altered : I a ioy turned into sorrow, a ' No' made Yes,' death instead of life. There :s no certainty in to-morrow. "I will take the dog to Lady Sophia," Diane eaid, and she took up the cushion. He touched the dog; the action brought him close to the woman—perhaps that was why lie did it—and the dog licked his hand. "The dog understands me," he said. She did not answer. There was nothing to say. To speak might only be to hurt him more; and she wanted to avoid this. Instinct had made her shrink from this man. Much that she had heard of i him had seemed to prove that her instinct | was right. Yet to-day he had shown her [ another side of his character, and she was i willing to alter her opinion. Yet, as she i stood there, instinct again made her shrink. Perhaps his short laugh as ho spoke of to-morrow was the cause. " So, instead of heaven, you give me hell," he said, speaking quietly, but with fire burning fiercely within him. The fair means had failed, and all the lower instincts in his nature became strong as he tinned to the foul. In her silence he found a sneer. Desire, devilish and insane, held him, and hate and malice were the reality of what he called love. " I do not pretend to understand such words. Be a man, Sir Charles—a worthy man!" And she made a movement to cross to the door.

" Stav," he said. "It is- well you should hear me out. I will not hear your answer. I am man, enough to us® every weapon that lies aear my hand. There is one I may use r.gainst you." " Yours is a strange love," said Diane. " The love of a strange man, if you will; one who does not know how to accept defeat. You would do much for, Monsieur Sauveron?" "I would do much for any friend. -

" Or lover?" he asked. " Or lover," she said. "And Paul Sauveron plays mm any a j dangerous game. There are many who would call it treason." "You probably know far more of the Court gossip 'than 1 do," she answered, the light of challenge in her eyes. " I do not think you will serve any end by discussing my couein with me." ~ Perhaps not; but you may be wise to j listen. Treason, some call it; and they ! grow* weary -of treason, and would make an example to hinder others. I think Mademoiselle de Mornay knows that much can b« said against Monsieur Sauveron, and easily proved. 1, lor one, can prove it, and I should be gladly heard." "You threaten." "I wain you." t; (i I never listen to a coward." 41 1 think you will remember to-morrow. That is why I will not hear your answer now." "I will try and remember only that you were kind to the dog. ft is strange that one who can treat an animal so gently is ready to treat a woman so ill. Ihe dog thanks vou'the woman will-— "Curse the dog!" he said, his temper mastering him. " And the woman?" " I love the woman!" And then, coming close to her, he paid fiercely. other man shall win her whilst I live. There is nothing I will not do. " Will you please open the door forme.' "Nothing. Do you understand?'''The door." He opened it, his teeth set and an ugly look in his face. "Do you understand? As surely as vou cross this threshold defying me, 111 work vour ruin until you shall be glad to turn to me. A strange love, ;f you like, but you have crossed the path of, a desperate man." . On the threshold she stopped and turned, to him ; . . ~ T "Neither for lover nor friend would I make a bargain with you, and I would not marry you to save my immortal soul! "Wait. There is always to-morrow." She did not look ab him again, but passed out of the room, carrying the dog with her.

CHAPTER XVII. THE mUTBESS. Two days after this interview Seymour returned to London with, despatches for the Queen and a letter for the Duchess. He h<ad been so little in town lately that he was entirely ignorant of the gossip which made hiin the go-between from the Duke to the French King, but the fact that the Queen received him. rather coldly did not .surprise him. It was beyond quest that Mrs« M&&h«un 6 influence was working successfully against Marlborough ; no one realised this more clearly than Marlborough himself; and, since it was known that Seymour was m the Duke's favour, lie naturally shared in the displeasure against him. Tho Queen was at Kensington, and only Mrs. Masham was with her when Seymour was admitted to her presenoc. "Do yoa know the contents of this despatch?"' the Queen asked when she had read it. "No, Your Majesty." "It speaks of a rising in Scotland." " I heard the rumour whilst I was with the army, and some talk of a French expedition to support it." " The blood and money we have allowed the Duke to spend in' our foreign wars should have crippled Louis," said the Queen, with more energy than was usual with her. " I presume that, has been his Grace's intentions?" "Ye? Your Majesty: an intention which has been achieved. The expedition is talked of, hut I think it will end th^ro. ?> "Why, so savs the Duke!" And the Queen 'turned "to Mrs. Masham who laughed as though there were much wit, in tho remark. "Master and man, it seems, think alike, which i£ reassuring. Have you any more to toll us.' "The Duke spoke of coming shortly to Fnaland." Seymour answered. "1 do not know whether that is mentioned m the ' letter, Your Majesty." "No, no; there is nothing of it. I suppose he will then explain how it is that such news always seems to reach him in Flanders before it comes to St. James's." Seymour was dismissed, and on presentiifg himself to the Duchess he aid not tcfi her how cold his reception had been. The Duchess was out of temper, and everybody about her was miserable in consequence. Few women could he more outrageous and unreason able when it so pleased her, and Seymour took his leave as toon as possible. On the following night Diane was at Court, and Seymour approached her at the first opportunity, wholly unconscious of the many eyes that watched him. She seemed glad to sec him, yet she looked egmewbi^t

troubled, ho thought. He had not seen) her smco parting with her at Lainswood, and ho had a great desire to continue the conversation which had been interrupted then. This was impossible just now. and, indeed, hev first words almost .set his thoughts in another direction. "Did you chance to meet Monsieur San-* voron_ abroad?" she asked. '* No, mademoiselle; nor did I hear of) hira." " I had hoped—" and then she paused.- " Sir Anthony, should you meet him iit ! town, would you tell him I am most) anxious to see him?" ' " I will do my utmost,- to meet him/' ; , "Thank you. ] —" "Something is troubling you," lie said. She laughed. "It may be uiy dress. It was not quite to my liking when I put it 011. £• have seen several people glance at me, and fear something wrong with it. That* i« enough to trouble any woman. TelE me. is it as it should be,?'' " I never saw you look more beautiful,, mademoiselle." She made him a little curtsey. " And you know, mademoiselle, that i£ or when you are in trouble, there is onrf man you may command." "If I am to believe all I am told, dura must be scores, Sir Anthony; but I thank! you. And listen—l would not confess it> loudly-I believe only very little of whato' I am told." Tlio next moment she had turned to greets someone else, and Seymour knew that sh» did nob wish him to stay bsside her. H« knew, too, that she had" spoken about her dress merely to put him off. Something; was worrying her, and her question about* Sauveron easily showed him the causa of' her worry. This rising in Scotland must* be known to Paul Sauveron. and after* what Sauveron had told him, to mademoiselle also. She might be so deeply coin ceroed in it that failure would mean ruin.i. In Flanders the attempt was considered) futile, hardly definite enough to' causey anxiety; but mademoiselle might know fanmore about it than the vague rumour#: afloat in the army. Possibly it was not/; so futile as was imagined. Mademoiselle, might at last have persuaded Sauveron to be as desperate as she was herself, teinpt-ecK him to stake everything on the hazard of! a die, and hence her keen anxietv to seer him.

Seymour wished to leave early, but iirsfe one acquaintance and then another stopped' him, and when at last he thought He had escaped, the Duchess of Marlborough wag beside him. " I have; been waiting for you, Sir*" Anthony. You must give me a few* minutes. Tell me, how was the Duke ft On this occasion lie says so little in illletter." She led hiui slowly apart. " I was ill-tempevad when you brought me the letter," she went on. " Indeed, Sir Anthony, I have much to bear which hinders me from developing whatever ofi the angel there may be in my composition.! An angel never had false friends, I think, or she would be no longer an angel." "Your Grace has many true friends a#' well."

"Have I? Sometimes I doubt it, and often I swear they are as hard to find as needles in haystacks.' "I tim here," said Seymour. '' And I have no commission to give vo< at the moment, only a timely "A warning?" " Some people waste their time reading books; I spend mine reading men—and cards. There's as much luck in one as the other, I think. I can generally, tell a false friend, Sir Anthony, but sometimes I fail. Lately I have failed, and there is a breach in my defences which is serious. 1 , have noted that some of my enemies hava grown bolder. Now I know the reason." " And I can help to repair the damage ?'* SeymouD asked. "You can know of: it, and will doubtless appreciate the danger. , You remembea) the despatch you carried to the Duke be* fore Oudenarde?" ' "I do, your Grace." , ] " It, contained as doubtless von know or have, guessed,, certain information -which! caused the Dukes to alter liis plans and bring matters to the issue of .'battle? speedily.'' "Yes, I understood so." • " You can understand what defeat would! • have meant. The very rabble of the • streets would have insulted the Duke ate . the bidding of his enemies. The moment was ripe for such a catastrophe. Now, Sir Anthony, there had gone into the hands* of Louis's generals a complete plan of th® ■ Duke's operations. The French were aware of the disposition of his forces, of I his strong positions and his weak ones* his most secret intentions had been be* trayed. Had the Duke remained in ignorance of this it might have been a very, different tale which the first messengers from Oudenarde would have had to bring.'' " How did the knowledge come to you I"* Seymour asked. " Strangely. In a letter most illwritten and with no name to it. Certain) facte were mentioned which would be. known to the Duke, and by these he might know that the information given was genuine." " At least that proves that, your enemies are spied upon," said Seymour. "I am not no sure of that," she answered. "The letter may have resulted from some eavesdropper but I have tin* other idea. Some conspirator was v coward at the last moment, and reflected that, in injuring the Duke, he was run-* ning a risk of ruining his country." "Then there is hope for him; he hi\s some honour." That is one. view," the Duchess re« turned. "But for my part I like a man, or a woman, to be definite, true or false, one or the other absolutely." "I fancy there is something of both ia most of us," lie returned. •" I speak of politics, not of morals f they, are not the same thing," she said quickly* "If politics suddenly became moral v»a should have to change the whole Constitution. But we get from the point, Si«! Anthony. Such intimate knowledge of the Duke's intentions can only mean one thing: a traitor very near the Duke's person, possibly of his household, possibly-—i Why, you look very grave. What is it ?'" " Your Grace seems almost to describe • my own position.' . "La, Sir Anthony! Should I make at confidant of you did I not trust you ? Believe me, audi is not my method. Were you to shake my confidence you might, order post-horses for me forthwith. I would retire into the country, cultivate village acquaintances and a garden, and never see town, again. Besides, I know for certain who this traitor is." Seymour bowed in acknowledgment or her fconfidence, and waited to hear he* name the traitor. At that moment, in a. distant- doorway, three figures lingered for; a moment. " , ... " I vow Lady Sophia grows more rustic* every day," said the Duchess. / She, cultivates a garden, I hear, and then cornea, to town pretending to be » cobl «-,„ ' true she is to marry Mr. VI barton . " A the moment the thought does nob seem to make him happy, does it. He has as miserable an air as the town puts oil after a week of rain, and seems to look for sunshine from his other companion rather than from Lady Sophia. The third person in the doorway was Diane. Seymour looked at her, and was jealous that Wharton should be so much) in her company. "As for Mademoiselle de Mor nay, shst grows more bewitching every day," said) the Duchess. " Indeed I think so," said Sir Anthony. "There never was a woman who madeJ _ fools of so many men," the Duchess went, on. "A word, and they are captives; a. smile, and they are mad; a favour, and it is through fire and water they will g<* for her— hell itself, if necessary." " I suppose there is some truth in wliatj you say." 44 Some truth! lam old enough to corn - fess that I never was as beautiful a$ Mademoiselle de Mornay. Had I been —" " You. could have been no mom tharf you are," said Seymour: "the Duchess of Marlborough, whom men either love or feat* ■, indisputable evidence of you*; beauty ana ( your power." « . i • " I would I could blush .as I Used 4o.de, Sir Anthony; your compliment doservftJt the tribute. Mademoiselle attrac you. You need not answer—l have watch jog , together. At which stag«L y ' tJ L live, a roadman, or » looker i"v° th* : m °£ lafd tir hand '• i«' Her lover—n» ore '; "? l 08 8» * II answered simply. , .; J.