[COPYRIGHT.]

Otago Witness, Issue 2358, 4 May 1899, Page 49

[COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER XXV.— THE MASTER OF t HARKAWAY. Itt ERHAPS never was the news of K> accession to a fortune received & - with so little pleasure as stirs' red the heart of Kit Mallinder Mg when she heard that Gregory's $ff godfather had left him the r-rrw^ whole of his property. . \£o^» Gregory himself was all in a bustle, and took everything very much as a matter of course.

""I shall have to go off at once. Oh, there will be no difficulty about leave — there is never any difficulty about leave in cases of real necessity. I must send a telegram to Searchem, and I think I ought to let the people at home know." "Oh, yes; you ought to let them know at home, certainly."

"And you'll go with me, of course. By-the-bye, have you any black clothes?" " Oh, I can't go with you," said Kit. " I have a letter from Aubrey Brandon, and I must get back to London at once, dear." " Get back to London? Oh, to the theatre? "

"Yes, indeed, I must."

" That's a nuisance. However, perhaps it's as well that you should not show ; perhaps there won't be any women at the funeral, as there are no near relatives. Then we'll go across together, and I shall have to go to London in any case ; so I will go right back to London with you. We ought to get away at once. Can you start tonight?"

" Oh, yes, Maitland will soon pack me up," she replied.

She said nothing more to him about leaving the stage. She felt that it was a natural .first instinct with him. She was glad for his sake that he would have plenty of money, and a charming place of his own ; Gregory was not suited to be a poor man, nnt even to have to endure the comparative poverty in which he had been reared. They parted from the regiment with many expressions of goodwill, and on both sides' a demeanour in which congratulation and solemnity were curiously blended.

"I wonder if I shall have to take the name?"' said Gregory, some hours later as they sped towards London.

" Oh, it is to be hoped not. It's not half such a nice name as yours."

" Oh, Harkaway is good enough. Anyway, it would have to be Alison something — Harkaway-Alison or Alison-Harkaway — in any case* I shan't refuse the property because of that ! It is such a pretty place ! Gad ! I never thought it would be mine ! It is astonishing to me that the old man could have kept his intentions so dark; I always thought that Lucien Meredith was first favourite ; I suppose the truth is Lucien offended him."

They went straight home to the Belvedere, and after a meal Gregory went to h's lawyers and an hour or two later stiaight down to Haikaway Castle, where his godfather was lyinc^. That night Miss Mallinder went down to the Grosvenor, not to take her usual part, but dressed in a little plain black gown to occupy the box which she called her own. Iv was arranged, with little open-worked screen so that she could sit there and hide herself at any time from the public gaze. It' she had had any doubts as to the advisability of girin" up her career as an ftefcrass, they wera all disDelled hv that even-

ing's performance. She watched it as only a woman accustomed to play the part could do She saw how point after point was missed, how line after line fell flat and dead, how Gifford Cox's best efforts were all thrown away because of the lack of understanding and intelligence of the girl who was her understudy. " Such a chance ! " she fumed to Aubrey Brandon, who was in the box with her. " Why did you let me go on idling my time away while the- piece was going to rack and ruin like this? I- trusted in you, Aubrey; I never thought that you would keep me in the dark and let everything go to pieces liko this ! "

"My dear Miss Mallinder," said Aubrey Brandon, "you had got to such a state of overstrain that you were simply not fit to go on longer without a holiday. Miss Croft does extremely well, considering that she is understudy to the — well, I won't say the first actress of the age, but one of the most distinguished actresses of the day. It doesn't give Cox quite the same chance. I w.is talking to him' about it yesterday ; but, as he said, very sensibly, I thought, it was ■ much better that you should get a thorough holiday as you had broken away from the theatre. You will play to-morrow?". j " Oh, yes, I shall play to-morrow, cerI tainly. It is' dreadful to see everything going to pieces like this. Besides, t^should like - to get my hand in before the Czar comes." So. the following evening saw the re-, appearance of Miss Mallinder in her great part in " A Harvest of Roses." She was ! si nervous about herself that they called a j rehearsal ioi the morning. She did not stand really in need of it, and that evening the audience found the old fire and vitality, the same grace and charm, as she had ever. put forth for their delight. I "You are glad to be back?" said Gifford ! Cox tojier, when they came to the terrace j scene. "Oh, so glad! It has been purgatory to be away ; although lam all the better for | my rest and for the change I have had." I " I heard, by-the-bye, that Alison had i come into a fortune." I " Yes. He has gone down there now. It is a charming place, he says. It was really quite unexpected." " He is awfully set up about it?" "Yes, I think so." "And you? " "I? Oh, yes; I am glad for my husband's sake. " It is always well for a man to be comfortably off and not to have to think of money at every turn." ! " That is very horrid for everybody." } She gave him no chance of saying anything but the most absolute commonplaces ; and &he went home to the Belvedere when all was over feeling that the old state of affairs was at an end, that he had seen that the idea which had taken possession of him during the summer on the river was a preposterous one — one that could not for a single moment be entertained by either of them. And the next afternoon Gregory returned,very full of his new possessions, a little important, and with every arrangement for their fufaire life- cut and dried. " Of course," he said, " you' will make arl rangements for getting out of the theatre at once." ' Oh, no ! " " But what is the good of keeping on now? We have as much money as we shall ever need to spend. As you have practically broken the ice with the public, Jet Miss Croft go on and take your place permanently. You could not break the run of the piece, of course not ; but you can slip gracefully out of it yourself, and there is not the least occasion for you to appear

again." "My dear Gregory ! " she exclaimed. " Why, I played the part last night ! " " You played last night ! " "Why, of course I did." " You played your part in ' A Harvest of Roses' last night? " he repeated ; "the night that my godfather — the same day that my godfather was laid in his grave? Why, it was not decent ! " " I did not play the part as your wife, but as Katherine Mallinder," she said quietly. " The public does not wait for private affairs. I never saw your godfather — I should not have known him if I had met him in the street — and there could be no reason why I should not do my usual work because he happened to be buried yesterday." " Your work ! " he exclaimed. "Yes, my work, Gregory. One does not work for one's pleasure, excepting that one may find pleasure in one's work. Ido not consider that you are reasonable." " I suppose, then," he said with a sneer, " that if I had died you would have continued your work just the same?" "That is a different question altogether," she said quietly ; '' I would rather not discuss it. If I liad thought that my appearing last night would annoy you, I would, of course, have let Miss Croft go on playing tha part ; although when the night before last I saw her doing so I felt a traitor to niy&elf and a traitor to my partner. I am sorry if it lias annoyed you ; I never thought of you one way or the other, not having known this poor old man who has left you his money. As to giving up my work becau.se you have come into a fortune, I should not dream of doing such a thing. That would be to tell the world that I have only acted for money ; it would be to make all the world understand .that I am a thoroughly mercenary woman, which I am not." " All the world will understand that I object to your playing in public any longer." "Then it is a pity you should so give yourself away, Gregory. If you had met me for the first time now, and I had j married you on condition that I gave up my professional career — yesr, well and good ; everybody would understand it, and some people would honour you. But to allow you wife to do for money what you object to her doing when money is no longer an object is a confession — a confession that I am not willing you should make for me." " And you persist," he said coldly, " you persist in keeping on this — this — this work of yours? " Yes." she replied: "so loua. as tko pub-

lh wants me, so long as success waits for me, I shall not be willing to give up my chosen career.*'

'" Look here. Kit," he said, " I don't think that j'ou and I understand one another. So long as it was a question of money, of showing the" world what you could do, 1 was willing and glad enough that you should try your luck and continue as an actress. Well, you have tried your luck;' you have succeeded to the very height of youv ambition ; you have gone straight to the top of the tree" ; you have set the world on fire, madt a big name, run your own theatre: you have been one of the stars of the world i Well, have you not had enough of it? Now there is no 'need. You can retire into private life with the advantages of a thoroughly comfortable income, of a charming place, of a good county position, and all the lustre that a great name can give you. Is not that enough fo;' you? Are you. so greedy of admiration that you want to. go on? Haven't you had your "fill of public applause and glory? " She looked at him half-doubtfully, halfimpatiently.

'"You rlon'c xmderstand." she said. "If you had over been an actor yourself you would realise how we actors feel aboufc thest. ihings ; that it is not th: money, noi the running one's own theatre, nor even what the public say that keep us at it night after night, month after month, yearafter yeai ; it is Iht feeling of getting out of, oneself— the feeling that we may go on for a week or a month at a time and work like a galley slave, and then there comes a night when one is no longer Kit Mallinder or Mrs Gregory Alison, a night when one never heard of tht Mallinders,- nor the Alisons, nor the White Horse, noi Harkaway Castle, nor anything else ; there comes a night when one has gone out of, oneself into a new body — when one has gone out of this life into another — when one lives ! — when one feels that the one night has been worth the' week's grind or the month's grind or the year's grind that' went before it : there comes a night when one , feels that every man. woman, and child in the house is here — in the hollow ol one's hand — tc do what one likes with, to sway to laughter or to tears as one chooses. It is that that I cannot give up ! " He looked at her half in contempt, half in wonder.

" I wish you had never seen ,or thought of the cursed theatre!" he said at last., " I ought to have stopped it at the beginning. And so I would have done if I had known how completely it would take you apart from me, as it has done, by Jove! Who to look at you now would think that you were the 'little Kit, the little trusting, innocent girl whom I married. Look ■ here, Kit ; I . am a rich man now : everything that I havf tr am is yours — on certain conditions. I am as much yours to-day as I was that day we flighted our troth in the garden at Little Gracethorpe ; but I am not content, any longer to be just the husband of Miss MaJlinder, J .,he actress. Rome fellov;.-! might ba proud of it — ■! am not. T'"ath -proud of being what I am ; I Jim proud of being, the master of Harlrawav : but I want my -wife _to bemv wife. .J'wanfc my wife to "be content with the position of. mv wife."- .»

"■And I." said .Kit, '" could never no\y ba content with the position of your wife only. It is no use asking it. I went on the stage with .your, consent, not for a term, not as put tint; in the time, but because it was here — in me. I might, have given up for you before I succeeded, because I had only the feeling that it was there. T had only the feeling that I might bf able to do ifc ; but now — now it is too late ; T could not change my life or myself or give up my place so long as I am able to keep on ; you consented to my actions and gave me to the public. Gregory, and if you take me away you will wrong the public who have made me what I am ! "'

He drew a long breath

"My dear child," ho said, suddenly dropping his offended' tone, and speaking in his own everyday accents. " I never had such a high-flown idea in my life! You had no money, neither had I ; you wanted to toy what you could do, and I consented. You mado a big success, and Heaven knows 1 have never stood in your light from that day to this. Why, the only time I ever objected to anything that you did I gave way, T laid aside my scruples and objections because — well, because you. all convinced 'me that I was unreasonable. But as to giving you to the public — I never thought of such a thing ; as to adding to the glory of your career — that nevei entered into my mind, either!- I nevei'. was moved by any but the most mercenary motives, and now that I have plenty of money I only wish you to come and share my affluence with me, and, frankly, I cannot understand that you are not willing, ay, and eacer to do so."

She did not speak for a moment, then another idea came to her. "You are going to give up the Service?" "Give up "the Service! What an extraordinary idea ! " " Oh. you are not going to give up the Service? " " I never thought of Mich a thing ! " " But, clear boy, there is no longer any need "

Gretjorv Alison burst out laughing.

" Ah. there you smite me hip and thigh. Well, T suvmose some fellows would feel that there was no need to go on, buj; I want to have the command. I will give up the Service when I have had my five years of command, and not before." She moved from where she was standing close up to him.

" And does not that make you feel a little for -me? "she asked. - He caught hold of her and kissed her with an outburst of passion not very frt'-< auent with him now.

"'"lf you put it like that," lie said, ."oi course I will do anything you like, and consent to anything. I hate having you away from me — isn't it natural that- X should? And if I say no more about yout giving- up your theatre and living yout own life, you will remember that if you. have a duty to the public. Mrs Gregorj Alison has some duty to her husband."

" I have never forgotter the obligations of Mrs Gregory Alison," said she. He bent and kissed her. " So long as you remember them xre ttiual

agree, not to_differ — no, I won't call it to differ, but to" 5 go our own ways for a while longer. It is hard upon me not to have my wife with me, and perhaps it is hard upon you to haye a husband who is not. quite at one with you. I used to wish that I !had chucked the Service, followed my heart and tried to make an actor of myself ; but as things are they are best. I should never have been any good in that line, and I should never have had the patience to go on when the way was clear in the matter of money. And so it was all for the beat that I kept to the sword and resisted the temptation of the mask." So the breach was healed over yet once again. He left her palpitating in body and mind alike. What did he mean by the obligations of Mrs Gregory Alison, she >sked herself. Had he any suspicion of her feeling for Gifford Cox? No, no ; her feelings had never been defined, even to herself ; if I speak quite truly, they had gone Jio further than a vast qualm. He bad Spoken of the temptation that had assailed him to give up the sword for the mask. iWell, it was a pity, yes, it was a thousand pities that he had not yielded ; because if he had once been bitten with a love for the stage, whether success had attended his efforts or not, they would have been of one mind ; they would have shared the same hopes, held the same opinions, pressed to the same ambitions and to the Same goal ; he might have been holding the place in "A Harvest of Hoses" that GifFord Cox filled to-day And then something in her heart said 1' No, never I " Something within her said trenchantly, forcibly, and incontrovertibly, that Gifford Cox and Gregory Alison were too utterly different men, drawn from the same class, fired by the same early ambition, yet standing utterly and irrevocably apart. Something in that hour of self-exa-mination told her that there was a yet more subtle difference between them ; for had Gregory deserted the sword for the mask, had he followed where his heart had for the moment yearned to lead him, and had he succeeded to the very highest summit of his dreams, he would still never have succeeded in taking quite the same place *hat Gifford Cox had taken without trouble jand without effort.

CHAl J TEjft XXVI.— MONA BERESFORD.

When Gregory Alison returned to his regiment he found a budget of invitations awaiting him. Among others, with a few .words of congratulation, was an invitation to dinner from the Duchess of Bandon. iThe dinner was for the evening following 'the day of his arrival, and Gregory sat clown at once and wrote an acceptance of ,«t. ' " I hear," wrote the Duchess, " that you ihave unexpectedly come into a fortune ; accept my sincere congratulations. Mr Fingal told me. yesterday that, you would be jback on the 10th ; do come over and join us at dinner on the 11th. We have a house full of people, and shall be delighted to see you. I understand your wife is not iWith you ; so I will not go through the ' ( tence of including hei, as of course I would do if she were here. — Yours truly,

" Cecilia Bandon."

"What, a pity it is," said the Duchess to her husband on receiving Gregory's letter of acceptance, " what a pity it is that CapJain Alison is married." t "Why? You have no daughters to think X)f."

"No, dear, I have no daughters to think of at present" — the Duchess had two little Bons of thee and four years old — " but with that nice property and such a good-looking fellow, he would have made a good match for Mona."

The Duke laughed. "Ah, well, little woman, it is too late for that now, and Mona is so pretty that you won't find any difficulty in placing her successfully."

If the truth he told, the Duchess was Inclined to be extra cordial to Gregory Alison, not because he had come into a few thousands a year, but because she liked to ihave a smart and safe man about on her own account. The Duke was very much in love with her, but he was devoted to sport of all kinds, and had an invincible objection to degenerating^, intc a mere squire of dames. Gregory Alison, on the contrary, was not an inveterate sportsman. He liked a day's hunting, he liked a day's shooting, he liked to be in the swim of everything that was fashionable and not over easy of attainment ; but for its own feake he was not enthusiastic over any form of manly amusement. He meant to stay on in the Service until he hid enjoyed his command, but he was not an enthusiastic •soldier any more than he was an enthusiastic hunting man or an enthusiastic shotIt was some strange feminine instinct which told the young Duchess of Bandon that Captain Alison would be a safe and useful man to have on her list — a man who was good-looking, well-bred, and well off, young and in every sense presentable, a man who .■would always make even numbers at dinner, who would always help to fill up a ihouse party, who would be useful in a thousand ways.

But for once the young Duchess, who was an extremely astute young woman, who had established herself Very well in the world with a quite extraordinary cleverness, had reckoned without her host. For Gregory Alison did exactly the opposite to what she had intended him to do, that is to Fay. he at once attached himself to her beautiful young cousin, Mona Beresford. as if no such person existed in the world as Miss Katherine Mallinder, otherwise Mrs Gregory Alison. And, if the truth be told, he did it so cleverly that not even Miss Beresford herself was at first aware of his admiration for her.

She was very beautiful — beautiful in the real Irish style of abundant dark tresses, brilliant grey-blue eyes put in with a dirty finger, and was, moreover, possessed of a dorely figure and all that is sparkling and iVivacious in the Irish character.

"What a pity he is married, Mona," Said the Duchess that first evening when .Gregory Alison had bidden them adieu. "Oh, I don't know; he seems happy Knough," said Mona Beresford, carelessly. '■ Did he speak to you of her? " theDuch; fcsjs -went on.

" Oh, yes ; he seems quite devoted."

As a matter of fact Gregory Alison had never mentioned his wife ; and Mona Beresford, who had been away during most of the time that Kit had stayed with the regiment, now learned for the first time that such a person as Mrs Gregory Alison existed. -

"Why didn't she come? " she asked rather abruptly. -

" Come ? She doesn't live with him ! "

" Oh, really ? " " She was here with him — she has been here — she was staying here a little while ago, when you were away; but she is an actress."

" Oh ! "

" A very proper, swagger kind of actress," said the Duchess. " She is Miss Mallinder. I can't think why she doesn't give up the stage now that he is so well off. I suppose she is fond of it ; or not fond of him, or something."

"Is she pretty?" Mona inquired. " Yes, more than pretty — there is something more out of the common ; something very distinguished about her appearance. She might be a queen by her looks." " A stage queen," cried Mona, with her sollicking Irish laugh. "At all events, with ca* not with him, Cecilia, he seems very -■i 'ell satisfied with his lot. Perhaps she is r iot going to remain long on the stage." AfiS then she turned away singing, as if the subject no longer interested her.

But Mona thought a good deal more -about Gregory Alison than she would have liked anyone to know.' He attracted her, jjfld never having se'en~ his wife, it seemed to her as if there was no -such thing as a wife in the background. ' He spent a great deal of his time at Bandon Towers, paying much deferential court to the young Duchess, and seeming to*fill the exact position for which she had destined him. The regiment was veiy gay at this time; there were many .dances, formal and informal, many entertainments of different kinds, and at each and all he met the Duchess and the beautiful Mona Beresford. The Duchess was not dancing that autumn, but Captain Ahson frequently took her in to supper, and acted as her squire in other ways. And for reA\ ard he" had always several dances on the programme with the beautiful Mona. And let it be clearly understood that they were friends, and nothing more. Not one word passed between them to which the most rigid and .puritanical of chaperons could have objected. They talked on the most serious subjects; they discussed earnest problems ; they were the closest of friends — as two men might Have been. He told her that he liked tolking to her because she was so sensible, and she told him, that&he preferred talking to him because he never said stupid' things — like other men. And through "that winter they contrived to see a good deal 'of each other, and Gregory Alison quite forgot to urge Kit to give up the stage and to settle down in her proper place as his wife. Tie seemed "to get out of the way of writing to" her as often as he had been used to do ; he frequently now apologised for the length of ' time 'which slipped by between his letter's, and for their baldness and paucity of news when lie did write them; And when he had a few days' leave, lie spent it at Bandon Towers. " I have only got seven days' leave," he wrote to her, " and shall not have my long leave until about the middle of January. It does not seem worth while going to London in this weather for such a short time,, especially as you cannot go anywhere with me in the evenings; so lam going -to improve the shining hour at Bandon Towers instead. But, of course, darling, when I come to town for my long leave, it Avill be all different. Then perhaps you will be able to make more use of your understudy, and you may even get a few days' holiday so that we could go off to Paris or somewhere together "

But^ to tliis Kit did not commit herself. She told him that she thought it was a long way in such weather for only a few days' leave, and hoped that he Avould have a lovely time at /Bandon Towers, and she asked a few questions about the Duchess, whom she had seen, and with whom she had dined during her last stay with Gregory. And so the reign of Kit began to wane and the star of Mona Beresford to rise into the ascendant.

It was about this time that Constance Alison became engaged to be married with the prospect of consummation at a very early date. The man -was a county magnate in the neighbourhood of Little Gracethorpe, and the whole Alison family were very pleased at the new turn of events. Naturally this prevented Constance from visiting her sister-in-law, excepting for a few days, when she required to be in London for the purposes of shopping, and equally she did not wish her sister Violet to be parted from her during the few weeks that were left to them of their hitherto unbroken life together. So, at this time, Kit was living a very lonely — indeed, I may say an isolated — life. I have explained before that it was instinct with her to keep the majority of her acquaintances from going any nearer to her heart and life. On the rare occasions when she showed herself in public, it was part of her burden of popularity to receive the homage and attention of hundreds of men and women who must be as a matter of course wholly indifferent to her. To her private life she had from the very first admitted but very few persons, and of those extremely few were men. Aubrey Brandon came and went on matters of business 01 policy only; the Duchess of Aberdeen was her most intimate friend, and naturally the intimacy was not one of anything approaching to daily intercourse, for the Duchess was a woman beyond a leader of society, a woman of great anxl philanthropic ideas, of enormous influence, of numberless and pressing engagements. It was one of her sweetest relaxations when she could spare an hour to lunch with Kit Mallinder, or to go and sit by her cosy fire and talk of subjects quite outside her own daily life over a uup of fragrant tea Many other women there were who would gladly have found themselves in the position of Miss Mallinder s most intimate woman friend; but Kit was very difficult to become intimate with, <%nd the Duchess of Ahardeen remained the

only one who could claim with truth that position. When first Kit had returned to her work after her visit to Ireland, she had felt a certain shrinking from a formal renewal of intercourse with Gifford Cox. Gifford Cox had, however, with infinite tact, put a bold face upon the situation from the very beginning. He had steadily ignored that scene in the train down to Kingston — that scene, you know, when he had been foolish enough to tell her that he cared for her, and to challenge her to say that she did not care for him; he had accepted her tacit refusal of his advances in the most absolute way, and by dint of always speaking to her with the utmost formality, by dint of carefully blotting out any expression of feeling from tone or face, he had quietly slipped into the place of her most intimate friend and most valued adviser.

And Kit was wholly unsuspicious. Yet I must tell the truth and admit that to Kit this friendly intercourse was wholly sweet. It was such a relief to her at first to find that he had entirely ceased any attempt at love-making, and she congratulated herself that she had taken such a sensible, strong-minded, and high-handed course from the very beginning. She ought to have known that a man who had once 'told his lovje would not be content to go on the level road of friendship and have no further thought of the heights and valleys of passionate love. She might have known, had sh%been older and wiser, had she been ■ more versed in the ways of the world and less wrapped up in her beloved" art, she • might haye : known that there is nothing so impossible as friendship between lovers; that friendship is a possibility between all sorts and conditions of men and women, excepting those who have once dreamed of a closer an.l dearer tie.

I can hardly tell you what was in Gifford Cox's mind at this period. He loved her with all the strength and ardour of a young and fervid nature, of an artistic and strongly poetic temperament. I can hardly say that he had faith in the future or any hope thereof, but he had ever the feeling that if he kept long enough hei friend, he might in time become her lover. He was strangely patient, doggedly determined, full of resolution to lose nothing for want of patience and waiting. So lv had gradually retrieved the mistake he had made earlier in the year, and had slipped quietly into the position of intimate friendship.

And Kit was more than content that it should be so. At first ,she had just mentioned him in her letters to Gregory. "Gifford Cox came to tea with n c yesterday.,'.' ! she said in one of them, and Gregory in [ reply said, "I am glad you art seeing something of Cox. He is one of the few men. 'that I don't mind your being on \r-nv.a with. I am just oft' to dine and felcep o J , Bandon Towers — a house full of people. 1 wish you could sec Monet Beresford ; she is certainly extremely good-looking." Then, after ~ a time, he would tell her that he was off to Bandon Towers, but .' without mentioning I Mona Beresford ; and Kit, on her side, i would forget to. tell him that Uifford Cox j had been to lunch with her, or V *'•'.■ she had been oii, some little jaunt witii G'ifi'ord Cox. And so these two, who should liave been all the world to each other, drifted o/i their separate ways apart. It was just at the end of January that Aubrey Brandon and Kit put on a new piece.

"Of course," wrote Kit to her husband, " j'o\i will be able to get over for the first night. It seems as if we actors can. never tell what a piece is going to be until it has actually been before the public ; but so far as I can tell, this is quite the most wonderful play of modern times. It is, not exactly a religious play, but ie is next door to a religious play. It involves deep questions of faith, great human interests, and has the strongest love-story that you can ima.gine. There is great excitement over it in the theatrical world, and the demand for seats is beyond anything that we have experienced before."

In reply to this he wrote back that he was more than sorry that he would not be able to get over for the production. " I shall come later on," he said, " and will sec it then. V. 011 know lam not very fond of premieres, so do not worry about my non-appearance, but give my seat to some more worthy occupant."

This letter, charmingly, brightly, apparently lovingly written as it was, struck Kit with a sense of chill and of misunderstanding. He had liad very little leave of late, she thought. How strange that he could not get leave for such an important event as it first night at the Grosvcnor ! Then f-lie opened her drawer, and took out a letter of his written some weeks previously. She kept all his letters, kept them as a sort of religion. Yes, surely, she had not been wi*ong. " I am sorry, darling," she found in one of them, " not to spend my few days' leave with you, but it scarcely seems worth while to go over for so short a time. I get my long leave in the middle of January "' • I get my long leave in the middle of January ! Then he was actually on leave at the time — on leave, and spending it with the regiment. That was very strange. She turned and looked at the envelope in which the letter had reached her. The postmark was not that of the town in which he was quartered, but a name which she did not know. Bally, she made out — Bally-iv-i-n-c-h — Ballywinch — was that it? She eagerly turned over his other letters. Ah ! Here was one written from Bandon Towers ; Ballywinch was the postmark — it was more distinct. So he was actually staying at Bandon Towers, and had begun his leave and gone on a visit without so much as apprising her of the fact ! She set her teeth hard. It' was not that she cared what Gregory did, that state of mind had gone by for ever ; no, no, it was not that she cared for his love — he had killed that long ago by his indifference ; but she did care for her just rights, and being his wife, it was her right that- she should know at least the main lines on which he chose to sketch his life. Gregory, meantime, was comfortably established at Bandon Towers, if the truth be told, unable to tear himself away from die love which had taken complete possession of him ; ay, of his very body and soul. The Duchess thought that he was hers — that he was her " best man." as ahe put

it ; and, truly, he was always ready to do her behests, to be at her beck and call, to squire her here,^ attend upon her there, to .be, in- short, an excellent substitute for his Grace of Bandon when that noble sportsman had others matters with which to occupy Himself. And the Duchess's world looked oh and smiled indulgently, regarding Gregory as a lucky man to be> the husband of- "Miss Mallinder, the great actress," and the favourite swain of her Grace the Duchess of Bandon, to be a joung man of extreme good lucks, master of a jharming place, possessed _bf> a handsome income, to be a general favourite wherever he Avent. " I don't think that I will dance with you again to-night, Captain Alison," said Mona Beresford one evening, when a big dinner at the Towers had evolved into an informal dance. "Not dance with me again! And why? What have I done? " he exclaimed. " Ohj it's not what you have .done, but I don't think that I had better. 1 I saw Cecilia looking at us just now." "Well, and if she. did?" "Well?" And Mona Beresford laughed. " I think- we shall be wise if we do not dance any more." "What nonsense! You are engaged to me for two dances more, and I mean to have them! " " No, I think we had much bettei not." "But" why?" " Because, I tell you, Cecilia has her eye upon us." " The Duchess is nothing to me," said Gregory, rather haughtily. "No, perhaps not; but she is to me. She is my cousin, and I live here. She has always been very good to me since she married the Duke, but if I get interfering with her men I don't think she would be quite as nice. "I am not one of the Duchess's men," said he, flushing indignantly. " She js my hostess — nothing more." " Oh, you think so ! Well, I know her better than you do, and I don't think that Cecilia looked pleased when she saw us dancing together just now. I would rather not dance with you again." " Surely you are not afraid of the Duchess? " " Afraid ! No 1 , not in that sense. But lam a poor relation, you know ; and poor lelations get to watch which way the wind blows and the stream runs." For a moment he looked at her incredulously. "My God ! " he said, at last. " Has it come to that? That you are afraid to dance with me — that you are afraid to come and .sit out with roe — that the Duchess thiifks I belong to her ! My God ! Look here, I never intended to say this to you ; I intended to go away ; to go — to go — to go home to • my — wife — tc do the dutiful husband— to tiy and forget you. I had no business to come here to spend part of my long leave. I fried to go ; I tried to steel myself against you ; I havo tried- to set. my heart aiid my eyes and my teeth "upon mv tongue ! But it is of no use. Mona, Mona, you and I were made for each other. What does the world matter against love? Corrre with me 1 I promise you that the devotion of my life shall reward you for anything that you may lose, but don't," don't stay in this bondage of poverty any longer! "

(To be continued.)