SERIAL STORY.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 6315, 16 September 1907, Page 2

SERIAL STORY.

FAIR MARGARET. (By H. Rider Haggard.) CHAPTER XXIV. THE FALCON STOOPS. It was the marriage day of Margaret and Peter. Clad in white armour that had been sent to him &s a present from the queen, a sign and a token of her good wishes for his success in his combat with Morelia, wearing the insignia of a Knight of St. James hanging by a ribi;« ■ from his neck, his shield emblazoned with his coat of the stooping falcon, which appeared also upon the white cloak that hung from hie snoulders, a squire behind him of high degree, who carried n> plumed casque and lance, and accompanied by an escort of the royal guard*, Peter rod frotq hi# quarters m the prison to the palace gates, and waited there* as ho had been bidden. Presently th opened, and through them, seated on a palfrey, wonderfully attired in white anc; silver, but with her veil lifted so th/ her face could be seen, appeared Margaret. She was companioned by a troop of maidens mounted, all of them, white horses, and at her side, almost outshining her in glory of apparel and attended by all her household, rode Betty, Marchioness of Morelia—at any rate for th© present time.

Although eH© could never be less than beautiful, it was a worn and pale Margaret who bowed her greetings to the bridegroom without those palace gates. What wonder, since she knew that within a few hours his life* must be set upon the hazard of a desperate fray.' What wonder, since she knew that to-morrow her father was doomed to be burnt living upon the Quemadero. They met, they greeted, then, w silver trumpets blowing before them, the glittering procession wound its way through the' narrow streets of Seri I e But few words passed between them, whose hearts' were too full for words, who had said all they had to say, and now abided the issue of events. I * however, whom many of tae populace took for the bride, because her air was so much th© Jiappier of the two, wnot be silent. indeed, she chid Margaret for her lack of gaiety upon such an occasion.

"Oh, Betty!—Betty!" answered Margaret, “how can I be gay, upon whose heart lies the burden of to-morrow?"

"A post upon the burden of, to-mor-row!" exclaimed Betty. "The burden of to-day is enough for me, and that is not ©o bad to bear. Never shall we ha\o another such ride as this, with all th* world ©taring at us, and every woman in Seville envying us’and looks and the favour of th© quean/’ "I think it is you they stare at and envy," said Margaret, glancing at th© splendid ; woman at nor side, whose beauty she knew well overshadowed her own rarer loveliness, at any 4 rat© in a street pageant, as in the sunshine the rose overshadows the lily. . . "Well," answered Betty, "if w. it *• because I put the better face on things, and smile even if my heart bleeds. 4 At least your Jot is more hopeful than mine. If your husband has to fight to the death presently, so has mine, and between ourselves I favour Peter’s chances. He is a very stubborn fighter, Peter, and wonderfully strong—too stubborn and strong for any Spaniard," "Well, that Is as it should be, said Margaret, smiling faintly, "seeing that Peter is your champion, and if he loses, you are stamped as a serving-girl, and a woman of no character."

"A serving-girl I wee, or somethin? not far different, replied Betty in a reflective voice, "and my character is a matter between me and Heaven, though after tall, it might scrap© thrcmgh where others fa*l to pass. So these things do not trouble me over much. # WV troubles me is that if my champion wins he kills my husband” "Ton don't want him to be fa*Jen then?" asked Margaret, glancing at her. "No, I think not/' answered Betty with a little shake in her voice, and turning her head aside for a moment. 1 know he is a scroundrel, but. you see, I always liked this scroundrel, just as you always hated him. so I cannot help wishing that he was going to meet some one who hits a little less hard than Peter. , Also, if he dies, without doubt hie heirs will raise suits against me/' "At any rate your father is not going to be burnt to-morrow," said Margaret to change the subject, which, to tell ttu truth, and an awkward one. “No, Conan> if my father had his deserts, according to all accounts, although the lineage that I gave of him is true enough, doubtless he was burnt long ago, and still goes on burning—in Purgatory, I mean—though God knows I would never bring a faggot to hie Are. But Master Oastell will not be burnt, so why fret about it." ‘ "What makes you say that?" Margaret, who had not confided the details of a certain plot to Betty. "I don't know, but I am sure that Peter will, get him out somehow. B is a very good stick to lean on. Petej although be seems so stupid and silent, Which after all is the natur© of sticks But look, there is the cathedral— \e it not a fine place?—and a great crowd of people waitihg round the gate. Now ©mile. Cousin, Bow and emile «8 I do." They rode up to the great doors, where Peter, springing to the ground, assisted his bride from her palfrey. Then the procession formed, and they entered the wonderful place, preceded by vergers with staves, and by acolytes. Margaret had never visited it before, and never saw it .again, but all her life the memory of it remained clear and vivid in her mind. The oold chill of the air within, the semi-darkness after the glare of the sunshine, the seven great naves, or aisles, stretching endlessly to right and left, the dim and towering roof, the pillars that sprang to it everywhere like huge trees of the forest aspiring to the

skies, the solemn shadows pierced by Hnes of light from the high-cut windows I the golden glory of the altars, th© sounds of chanting, the sepulchres of the •'dead a sense of all these things rushed in upon her, overpowering her and stamping the picture of them for ever on her soul. Slowly they passed onward to the choir, and round it to th© steps of the great ; altar of the chief chapel. Here, between the choir and the chapel, was gathered the congregation—no ema 11 one —and here, side by side to the right and without rails, in chains of state, eut their Majesties of Spain, who had chosen to grace this ceremony with their presence. More, Q 0 the bride com©, the queen Isabella, as a special act of grace, rose from her seat and, bending forward, kissed her on the cheek, while the choir sang and the noble muao rolled. It was a splendid spectacle, this marriage of here, celebrated in perhaps the most glorious fan© in Europe. But even as Margaret noted it and watched the bis-, hope and priests decked with glittering embroideries, summoned there to do her honour, as they moved to and fr© in the mysterious ceremonial of the Mass, she bethought her of other rite# equally glorious that would take place on the morrow in the greatest square of Seville, whore these same dignitaries would condemn fellow human beings—perhaps among them her own father—to bo married to the cruel flame. Sid© by side they knelt before th© won-, drous altar, while the inoense-clouds from the censers floated up on© by ofie till they were lost in th© gloom above, as the smoke of to-morrow’s sacrifice would lose Itself in the heavens, she and her husband, won at loot, won after so tp-any perils, perhaps to be lost for ever before night fell upon the world. Th© priests chanted, the gorgeous bishop bowed over them and muttered the marriage service of their faith, the ring wo* set upon her hand, the troths were plighted, the benediction spoken, and they were man and wife till death should them part, that death which stood so near to them in this hour of life fulfilled. Then they two, who already that mom.ing had mad© (Confession. of their sins, kneeling alone before the altar, ate of the holy Bread, sealing a mystery with a mystery. , , , All was done and over, and ri«tng* they turned and stayed a moment hand in hand while the sweet-voiced choir sang some wondrous/chant. Margaret s eyes wandered over the congregation till presently they lighted upon the dark face of Morelia, who stood apart a little way, surrounded by his ©quires and , gentlemen, and watched her. Mere, he came to her, and bowing low, whispered to her:

"W© are players in a strange game, my lady Margaret, and what will be its end, I wonder? Shall Ibe dead tonight, or you a widow? Ay, and where was its beginning? Not here. I think. And where, oh! where shall this sOed we sow bear fruit? Well, think as kindly of me as you can, since I loved you who love mo not." • And again bowing, first to her, then to Peter, he passed on, taking no note of Betty, who stood near, considering him with her large.eyes, as though she also wondered what would be the end of a. this play. Surrounded by their courtiers, the king and queen left the cathedral, and after them cam© the bridegroom and th bride. They mounted their horses and in the glory of the southern sunlight rod© through the cheering crowd bank to th© palace and to the marriage feast, where their table wae pet but just below that of’dheir Majesties. It was long and magnificent; but little could they cat, and, save to pledge each other in the ceremonial cup, no wine passed their lipa. 'At length some trumpets blew, and their Majesties roeo, the king saying in his thin, clear voice tb/nt he would pot bid his guest® farewell, since very shortly they would all meet again in another place, where the gallant bridegroom, a gentleman of England, would champion xho cause of his relative and countrywoman against one of the first grandees of Spain whom she alleged had. done her wrong. That fray, alas! would pleasure joust, but to the death, for the feud between thee© knights wes deep and bitter, and such were the conditions of their combat. He could not wish success fb the on© or to the other; but of this he was sure, that in all Seville there was no heart that wou'd not give equal honour to the conqueror and th© conquered, sure also that brib would bear themselves as became brave knights of Spain and England. Then the trumpets blew again, and the squires and gentlemen who were ohoeen to attend him came bowing to Peter, and saying that it was time for him to arm. Bride and bridegroom roe©, and, while all the spectators fell on * of hearing, but watching them with curious ©yes. spoke some few words together, "We part," said Peter, "land I know not what to say/* , "Say nothing, husband," she answered him, "lest your words shotlTd weaken me. Go now, and bear you bravely, as you will for your own honour and that of England, and for mine. Dead or living you are, my darling, and dead or living w© shall meet once more and be at rest for aye. My prayers be with you. Sir Peter, my prayers and my eternal love, and . may they bring strength to your arm and comfort to your heart. 9 Then she, who would not embrace him before all those folk, curtesyed till her knee almost touched th© ground, while Tow he-bent before her, a strange and stately ceremonial, or so thought that company; and taking the hand of Betty, Margaret left him. (To bo continued in to-morrow's issue.)