LOVE SHALL PREVAIL

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIX, Issue 8794, 25 July 1914, Page 10

LOVE SHALL PREVAIL

[Published bt Special Arrangement. J

BY ARTHUR W. MARCHMOXT. Author of “The .Case of Lady i Broadstone,’’ “The Gable House,’’ ‘By h'i-iit of Sword.” "A lleritase of Peril,” “In the Grip of Hate,” etc. etc.

[COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER A r .—Continued. “I recognise your right to decide what is to bo done, Olive. AVhat is it you wish?” Olive had also had time during tho interval to think. She recognised dimly that she had been visiting upon him some of the anger she felt against Lady Mountrath, and already regretted some of the bitter things she had said. Her wild Irish blood had been roused to white heat, and now that her passion had cooled, she saw that in her fury she had spoken recklessly and at random. She could not believe him to he the hypocrite her charges had declared. Aloreover, she did not know what she- wished to do. The impulse of her passion moved her no longer, and she had no reply ready for him. “I offer no excuse for what I have done,” he said very quietly, when she did not answer. “But while I have no wish to extenuate my act, it is only common justice that you know plainly what that act was. I did nolt know everything of your—your feeling for Air Rochester; I did not send for the news of him with even a passing thought of separating you. Had I known what you feel, I should not have asked you to be my wife. That is the truth: and we are face to face with a crisis in which nothing but tho truth must be told. I did conceal from - you the fact that you were—that you are indeed—wealthy. I knew it only a fortnight before our—our marriage. I admit that my motive was the fear that you might not marry me if you knew. I had no right to keep silent; but the temptation was too overpowering. I acted dishonourably, ’ I know it. I knew it then. Heaven knows, I am punished now; for I have spoiled your life as well as my own. But for the barrier between us—the news I have learnt to-day, 1 mean—l would ask your forgiveness. But I do’not. Feeling as you do for this other man, you could not forgive. I could uot and I should not.” Ho waited in the hope that she would say a . word to show that she believed 1 his statement of his act; but none. came. “I will do whatever you wish,” he repeated then. “Of what use is any wish now? I am your wife—at any rate in name.’’ “I have had time to think; will you let me think for you? The world is far harder on the wife than on the husband; and if you act as your words suggest you wish to—refuse to live as my wife —the burden will press ' far more hardly upon you than upon me. Bear with me a moment,” he said as she was about to interpose. “I will go away and remain away for as long as you please. Aly business will always afford a pretext. I wil r go to South Africa; and the war will be a sufficient reason for your not accompanying me. In the meantime take your place in iny house, and let things remain so until we can think of somp solution of this most tragic tangle.” “There is no possible solution.” cried Olive, miserably, moved in spite of herself by his offer and not un ; touched by the prospect of solitary wretchedness which it afforded. “I see uo other course,” he replied, shaking his head. “I caii offer a further suggestion. I could not leave England for at least a week, as I should have many arrangements to. make. But during that time you could remain here on the pretext that you have found your mother ill.” A long silence followed. Olive thinking dejectedly and wrestling with the baffling problem. “I must have time • to think,” she said. “But what you say will probably be the best thing.” “You will arrange with Lady Kilkelly. and of course explain what has occurred, or as much as you deem necessary?” “Yes.” He took up his hat and moved to the door and then hesitated. “I should like to be able to think that you will try to believe I have told you the full truth about what I did and that I—that I did not know about —about him?” He paused, but she made no reply; and with a sigh he opened the door, looked back at her, tossed up his hands, sighed again, and went out. She started up directly, and her lips framed his name, but did uot utter it aloud; and she sank back again in her seat, burying her face in her hands. Only to rally again the next moment, when she rose and with firm step went to seek her mother, CHAPTER VI.—NO GLIAIPSE OF HOPE. Donald’s suggestion proved to be impracticable, as he found it impossible to arrange his. affairs in time to admit of his leaving England for some weeks at least. Another expedient had therefore to be contrived; and Olive’s own health provided the excuse. Tho strain of the trouble told upon her nerves, and when absolute rest was enjoined by tho doctors, it was ariranged that fiho and her mother should go down to Donald s country house, The Fyldo, Lukington, in Berkshire, and that Donald' should remain in the Park Lane house until such time as ]io could leave England. Before going into the country, however, Olivo stayed two or three days in JPark Lane, in order that tho estrangement should not be made the subject of public gossip; but the barrier between them was complete. They met once or twice when others were present, but were never alone together. . ' Donald went down twice to The Pylde for the week-end; but on the first visit he was careful to maintain the same relations as in London. Olive, however, had in the meanwhile received a second letter from Ohris, in which he explained that he had been cruelly duped, and that, having lost everything, he had been compelled to volunteer for the. war. The letter influenced her greatly. It was a confirmation of what Donald had told her, and she felt bound to let him know. She found the task difficult, and Donald did not make it any easier by the way he received the news. ■ , , “I am glad that the news has reached you in this way, because I know you needed confirmation before yon could believe me,”, he said. And with that the interview ended.

His second visit was some two months after their marriage and on the eve of his departure for South Af-

rica; and this time he sought her voluntarily to explain personally the arrangements he had made for her, his previous communications having been made chiefly through Galthorpo or Mawson. Ho made tho explanation as if it were a purely business matter. He had secured her possession of the South African lands, and in a year’s time she would bo in absolute control of a very large income, and this would be iu addition to the income from the marriage settlements. “Mr Lappin, my solicitor, has all these matters in hand, and you will find him entirely reliable. He also has my will, under which you will, of course, benefit very largely. You will thus have ample funds at your disposal in any event.” She was chilled by his tone. Ignorant of the real cause of his coldness—his discovery of her love for ■ Chris—she attributed it to his resentment of her bitter words on the day of tho quarrel; and thus, although a new hope was in her heart which, if fulfilled, might change everything, her pride prevented her from making tho first overture. “I leave everything of that sort to you,” she replied in a tone as cold and formal as his. . “1 am going away this week,” he said after a pause. She started and flushed slightly. “That has always been agreed,” he added, noticing this. “How long shall you be away?” “It is not possible to say until I get out ,there.. Three or four months —or possibly longer.” “I should wish to know.” “I will let you know, then, when 1 get out.” There was a pause until he added: —“l shall probably have left The Fylde to-morrow morning before you are up.” Her eyes looked troubled as she hesitated, and he was perplexed. “It will be better to say good-bye now,” lie went on. He doubted who ther she would even wish to shako hands. Ho hold his out, and then half-withdrew it. “AYe are not strangers, Donald.” she said with a sad smile, noticing the gesture, but quite misinterpreting it. He winced at the word. “It .might be better if we were,” ha murmured as their hands met. It was an unfortunate speech, as it fitted so closely to her misunderstanding of him; and instantly tho pressure of 11 r fingers relaxed. “Good-bye, Donald,” she said, almost coldly. The, touch of her hand thrilled him. “Good-bye,” he answered in a low, unsteady voice. He dared not raise his eyes to hers lest he should' lose his self-command, and with a deep sigh he hurried away. Thus he did not see her wistful, yearning look, nor the flush of crimson which flamed in her cheeks at tho bidding of her unspoken thoughts. They did not meet again before he sailed. He cabled from Capetown to announce his arrival there, and afterwards from various places; always with the most literal interpretation of his promise—that he could not yet decide the length of his 1 absence, but would do so when he knew; and ho gave no address to which she could reply. She could have obtained this from tho office in the city, but was too proud to take a step which would have revealed the fact that he kept his address from her. Aloreover, she read his act to mean that he did not wish to hear. At length even tho cables ceased. Thus, when the great hope she had had in her mind at the moment of parting was fulfilled, she could not send him the tidings. As she strained tb her heart tho wee mite whose coming had opened the gates of a new world for her, her thoughts were full of bitter self-reproach for that moment of silence; and for the first time she began dimly to understand herself. Her first overt act of repentance was to send to the city for news of Donald. But they had heard nothing from him for “over two months —about the time of his last cable to her. And many more months passed without bringing any tidings of him. She was profoundly distressed; for gradually the conclusion forced itself •upon her that ho had had this in mind before his departure. She fastened upon his reference to his will as evidence of his intention,; and that he had deliberately chosen this grim method of solving the tangled trouble of their marriage. For the first time she realised that it must have been her admission in regard to Chris Rochester ’ which had determined him to take this fatal resolve; and the belief caused her heavy hours of anguish and unavailing remorse. Adding to the. bitterness of her selfreproach was the thought of the consequences to her child. Born to an inheritance of great wealth and farreaching power, the boy would now be deprived of what he would most need —the controlling hand of his father, his influence, example and counsel. Her unavailing regret for that. moment of silence at parting was inexpressibly torturing. The hoy was two years old when sinister news came from South Africa threatening to confirm her worst fears. Galthorpo brought it to The Fylde one dreary November day. He had been left in charge of matters in the city, and had been unremitting in his attentions and kindness toward Olive, studying her every wish and seeking every possible opportunity of ingratiating himself in her favour. Business affairs afforded a ready excuse for constant visits, and the rela-. tions between them had become very confidential and friendly: and never, once had he dropped a hint that he knew of the quarrel between her and Donald. “ I am afraid that I shall be a very unwelcome visitor, Airs Armytage,” he said. “ AVo have very disquieting news about my cousin.” “You are too good a friend to keep mo in suspense Air Galthorpe.” “ I wish witli all my heart I could make it beter news. There is now no doubt that Donald, wheu the cables ceased to arrive from him, did start on an expedition up country, and that the objective of the expedition was fhe wild and hostile district, Alnabongaland. He had one white man with him, tho Rev. Charles Bulstrode, chosen no doutit because he had been in the country before on missionary work. They had a strong party of natives; but I am afraid there is no possibility of doubting that they were soon in trouble.” “There was fighting, you mean?” “ Either that, or the two were deserted by their men. I believe there was very serious fighting, however. At any rate, Donald and Bulstrode were taken captive, and were carried away into the heart of the inaccessible region where the natives had their chief kraals. And there they were kept close prisoners.” “There is still worse to' tell?” murmured Olivo, in great agitation and dread. • (To be continued.)