Chapter XI.

Otago Witness, Issue 1752, 20 June 1885, Page 24

Chapter XI.

A Passionate Pilgrim.

CdQiioln had a terrible time of it that day. She could not sleep much, although she had not gouo to bad until tha dawn. Ia hor heart, as in Hamlefc'a, there was a kind of fighting that wcukl nob lot her sloop.

When she got up, hoping to find .that everyone olsa was still in bed, she became acquainted v/iLh tha fact that George Lisle was up also. She could uot escape him, and he told her of his love all over again. Ho was more feverish and impassioned than ever. He seemed to have lout nil power of self-rastraint. Ha pro tsated again and again that he could aoi, live without her, and tha'a if she would not love him ha would kill himself.

Sho tried to roasou with him ; tried to laugh him out of hia madness ; tried to make him believe, to make herself believe, hut he was not serious ; that he did not mean whac he said.

" I am dying of love for you, Camiola," he passionately declared.

Sha made vain appeals to his courage, to his manhood, to his spirit. Sho grew angry with him, and spoke hot contemptuous words to him,

" I wouldn't aak a girl to marry mo who didu't love me," shs said, "if I wero a man; I would die first, I wouldn't have a girl who was willinß to marry me on such terms. lam ashamed of you, Goorpio ; you ought to bo ashamed of youi-solf. Do you want to drive me out of the house ?"

" I don't care," waa all he could say. "If you leave the houso I'll go' after you. I can't live without you, Gamiola, and I will not live without you. If you don't have me I'll kill myHPlf."

" I wish you would kill mo," C uniola said. " Would tlust carve your purpose as well, Georgia ? It would bo bettor for me to be dead thaa to be the causa of all thia trouble."

Then she burst into tears, and begged of him to leave har, and for the moment he became alarmed at the tempest of grief he had brought up, and he laf fc her. Camiola could think of nothing better than to go and see Mrs Pol en. Mrs Pollon seamed a kind woman, and she knew something about Cdmiola which others did not know. ■ Lady LetiLia was not up yet, nor Jauette, and Camiola knew that Mrs P.ollen was an early riser. Gamiola was a spoilt child in the Liale household, and was allowed to go where she would and t»s she pleaded. So she left tho Rectory, aud sped to Fitxurse House in a faint hope that Mrs Pollen might have remained there all night.

She found Mr Pilgrim arranging aud trimming flower bods on the lawn. Pilgrim, it waa now understood by everybody, was to be retained by Mrs Pollen aa perpetual caretaker of Filzurae House, whether she should inhabit; ii or not. He was by temperament and habit a " handy man," and could do almo3t anything that wanted to be done. One of the reasons why he admired Romont so much was that Romont, too, was a " handy man." An uneasy light came into Pilgrim's eyes when he saw Mißß Sabine. He seemed at once delighted and alarm9d. Mrs Pollen, ha told her, had not remained in Mtzurse House ; she had gouo to her hotel in Dover street. But she would be certain to bo in Pitzursa House somo time that day.

Then Gamiola had, better have gone back at once to the Rectory. But she did not. She had always been in the habit of talking in fr<ao and friendly fashion to Pilgrim, and sho was glad to be away from the Rectory just now, at lea9t until Lady Letitia and Janette were up. It was a relief to her to listen to Pilgrim's slow, quiat, molaricHoly sentences after Gaoyge Lislo's wild and aickening ravings. So they walked about the grounds together, and sho askod him questions about tho place and its history, and she sot him talking about Romont. That, waa a dangorous subject for her—dangerous especially because Pilgrim was ro much of a horo-worahippor that he made of Bertie Romont a positive embodiment of all that is bravo, and generous, and thoughtful, and unsolfish iv man.

It was delightful and it waa torturing to Gamiola to hear such word 3 Bpokan, and it made her foel very tender and kind to poor Pilgrim. She turned her eyes ou him with gratefulness and sincere regard, and their rays penetrated to hia very heart of hearts, Some-

thing he said about Romont drew from her a little outburst of feeling which alarmed her ; it might almost have betrayed her, she thought, to anyone with quicker perceptions than poor, quiet Mr Pilgrim. "Let us go dowo to the river," she suddenly said, determined to turn off the conversation,

There was an ancient water-gate which opened on the river and tho strand. A flight ot" crumbling oozy stops of stone led down. Gamiola and Pilgrim wont down the steps and stood upon the edge of tho water. The sun was sparkling oa the rivor. It was a morning to fill the heart with poetic tanderneag aud pathetic feeling Oamiola's nerves had been all unstrung. She foued, she could not tell why, tha tears oaaio iuto her eyes. " Let us go back," aho said. Thßy turned, and as they turned sha saw Pilgrim's pale, grey, and wasted face looking paler and greyer and more wasted than ever in the pitiless play of the sunlight. The morning aaamed so youthful, and his face seemed so old ! A great rush of pity came up in h&v heart. He S3emed so lonely, so wasted, and so worn. He had no son or daughter to care for him. Now a3 she looked on him, full of those thoughts, he even appeared to her to bo very feeble. Sho longed to do something for him— to help him in some way. The lowest step of the flight was high, was broken, was slippery, and not quite easy to mount. Camiola leaped up lightly, and then, turning round with tho impulso of one who is conscious of the full possession of youth and strength, she held out a kindly hand to help her elderly companion up. If she had struck him with, that band sha could not havo brought such a look of sudden furious anger into his face. He flung back ihe hand she offered to him, and gave a cry as of pain.

" What did you do thai; foi ?" he exclaimed, with a flagh of strange pala light in his eyea. "Da what, Mr Pilgrim ? What do you mean ? Why aro you so angry ? I thought you might stumble, that Bfcep ia so slippery, and I wanted to give you a helping hand." " Gome down," said he.

As her hand was still outstretched, he caught if; and drew har towards the strand again. She leaped down. She felt that otherwise she would havo been pulled down.

" Do you think I am an old man?" he cried. "Do you think I am crippled with age ? Do you think lam palsiod or. a dotard? Look here!''

He suddenly caught the girl up in his arms as if aho were an infant, aud ran with her up tho steps, loapad from step to step, taking often two steps at a time. When ho had reached the gate he opened it with one hand, holding her firmly to hia brsast with tbe other. He strode among the paths and the flower bads and across tha lawn until ha reached the ontrance to tho house, and there at last he put the girl on her feot. He did this with ease and care at once. She touched ground so lightly that she hardly Mh it. All the time he wan carrying her she had uot made the slightest resistance • aha bad not soreatned or remoEslrated, or indeed uttered a word. She held her breath and kept her presence of mind. Of what avail a scream, a struggle ? The place was lonely — not a creature was to be seen. If ho had gone mad — aod at first she felt sure he had gone mad — there was no help for her but such as her own courage and her own wits could find.

Now she wa3 oa her feet again, and she looked int^ his eyes. They were wild indeed, but shs saw no madness there.

(To be Continued.)