CHAPTER XXXII.—MRS TRAVERSS ANSWER.

Otago Witness, Issue 2509, 16 April 1902, Page 59

CHAPTER XXXII.— MRS TRAVERSS ANSWER.

S.ivillp turned pale with emotion on receipt of this fond, pathetic, little note, with its absurdly feminine postcript. He gnawed his moustache ; he felt like crying, too. She was a proud girl, and she had sunk her pride to write to him like this ! She loved him, indeed. It was bitteily h<->rd. His inclination was to obey her instantly, and take her in his arms and tell her the truth. She could not help him, but she would understand and pity him. But war it fair to her? He was in a mood for martyrdom. There was more than a little of the idealist in his temperament. He miiit pay for the cost of his own folly ; lee him be the only one to pay. If she knew the truth shr> would bleak hei heait over him : if .'he thought him fickle— a blackguard, lo put it plainly — she would give <t big gulp, and there would be a week of anguish, and then her pride would come to her ie«eue, and it would be a harder woman, but on the whole a happier one. who had bzen betrayed, than whose love had been widowed by adversity. He might suffer •i little more Ui.m wa.-> absolutely necessary for her sake. What a temptation to a hue lover! With every additional pang he could hug to himself the consciousness that his agom was her gain. She should think rhe worst of him. and find comfort in the conclusion that she had lost nothing wort! <i single regn t. "Oh. Hilda 1 " he gioaned. A gWm of hope. Mrs T ravers might lefti'-e him. In that case he would have to leave England. Perhaps one day he might be able to pay 'us debt I T ilda might elect to wait foi him Xo, it 11.1.1 impossible. If --he weie co iiKike the offei in liei '•eckless. girlish genei<.sit\. it vw.iild be hi> duty to lefuse. Could he !<■ t hoi waste her youth, half her life, pi 1 haps, in expectation which might nevei bt.ir fiuit? Besides, Mrs Travers wou'd .iccept. Something told him so. The whole cuiieiit of his life had changed a*- in an hour. He dared not (rust himself to see Hilda If he conceived it to he his duty to destioj hei love for him lathei than to let her frel over the inevitable, he must keep aw.iv fionr her and ask Dalbiac and the otht'i men td hold their tongues. A look from lici would kill his resolve— he knew it — and make ? whining coward of him ' His answer on paper was bi ief His de cision was not the woik of iinpuKe : lie hat given the matter hi<> mo<-t ( v iie^-t confident tion. and felt that he should re^iet it after w«ird-» if lie allowed I » i — feelings to over come prudeme. She. In- nctd not icminr her. could do imn li better in thf worldl' seiwe, and, after all. the petty discomfort: of poveitv kill romance cruelly <oou. 1. tht se thoughts had not occurred to him m time, they might have lived to realise the bitterness of disillusion when it was tot. l.itf. He hoped thni 'he would see his point of view, now that it was placed before her. Nevertheless, he would always think

of her as the only woman he Jhad ever loved, and regret that circumstances had separated them. f : '"It :s a beastly letter," he said, summing •it up truthfully, when it wa.s done. " A beastly letter! The letter of a hypocrite, an egotist, a cad! What will she think of &c ! " ■J It would kill her love as quick as a pannon ball, and he sat long with it in his hand before he could raise the courage to jleal it and let it go. { , '" Will somebody tell me whether I am doing at kind or a brutal thing?" he asked. \\ But nobody answered. It was one of the questions which a man must decide With his own soul. ' "It must be kind," he thought, " for it will turn her love to contempt-, and she will Wot know this agony of useless longing Iwhich will curse my life for years. She 'will only have to regret a broken ideal — a thing that never lived. I shall have «.u iegret the loving, breathing woman who loved me. Oh, God ! " , He leaned his forehead on his hani*. What a ruin, what a ruin he had made of Iris life ! How would he have the nerve to 'go through with it? The ambition to do something worth doing, which had awakened during the last few weeks, was dead already. Hilda's husband would have been capable of anything which effort could attain ; it was a worn-out man who sat with the letter in his hand which was to close the door upon his youth for ever. A sort of restfulness. the peace of a numbed spirit, came over him when the letter was gone and the thing was done. "I suppose," he mused, "that it is time I went to see Mrs Travers."' A few days ago she had not existed for him. Now Hilda stood aside, and it was this woman who held his fate m her hands. )3e was glowing tired of looking backward, forward, or anywhere, indeed. His sole comfort was that the days and years of the future could only come one at a time. ■ Once more he made his way to Rossmore Mansions Mrs Travers was awaiting him to-day She greeted him with .» smile trhch revealed a row of dazzling teeth. . "Well, ardent suitor." Her raillery irritated him. Could s-he rxpect him to smile? "Have you made up your mind?" he »sked her. gravely. " I dont know. ' "You proBM-sod," he said, looking disippointed. " Don't you eve. break your promise?" 1 " No, not when it v possible to fulfil them." " Then if I want anything of you I must make you promise it," she said. "I shallTilways be happy to «erve you," he said, soberly, "by every means» in my power. lam sorry you haven't decided." t '"I was teasing you," she said. "I have 'decided. I could not bring myself to say it tit onrce in cold blood. It shall be at, you j>lease." I • • "Thank you," he said, with a lightening ' of his eyes. " Thank yon very much. You j can't realise what a favour it is that you ' are doing me."' "Can't I?" said the woman with sudden intensity. "Perhaps I realise it betUr than you. Oh, you man! You aie taking j Vny life in exohange for three hundred a year, and hi your secret soul you think me well paid, no doubt! I wonder if I '•hall ever live to curse you . " He was silent for a moment ; perhaps --he Btartled him. Then he leaned forward regarding her earnestly. "You mean that I am selfish?" he said. "It may be that I am. Why, if you feel •like this, if you doubt yourself, do you •Kicept my offer? Think — think w hile there is time." i "I was thinking all night.' she <M)d ,"•1 am thinking now "' Her white hand, •which had been playing with her hnir, «ank and rested on his knee. "I would not «Jo it for every man," she said, "poor as I am. But I like you, and I am sorry for you " Her eyes, large, lustrous, alluring, held his. He sat very quiet, but the hand ujiou nis knee burnt him like the touch of flame. t "It is good of you," he said, steadily. *' But is it wise to ibe moved by generosity in. a matter which, I repeat, is entirely oiie of business? You see how fairly I wish to treat you. Although so much depends upon your consent. I would not accept it as • a charity Does the three hundred a year make it worth your while? If not, don't do it." "How hard you are ! " the paid in an undertone, scarcely above a whisper. His face was like a sphinx. He did not move a muscle. She rose, and moved away with a shrill laugh. " I believe I am talking nonsense." rhe Raid. "Of course, it is a mere matter of business, as you say. Why should 1 do you a favour? I cannot afford to be onerous , us a matter of fact, or I might feel quixotic enough to decline your three hundred a, year. What a fortunate thing for you ili-it lam poor enough to yield to temptation ! ' "It seem* io me that we have nothing to wait for," he said. "If you are willing I will go to the extiavagance of procuring n special licence in order that the aff.iii may be over and done w ith as mjgii ;i<« po.~Bible '" " Ju^t as you like." "Then shall we say Wrcln^Mlay? " he lsked, naminu an eaily dat<-. " Very well." "Concerning the nnmagc -lUlement, will you meet me at my li\\\ei'- mi Imsilay morning? "' She acquiesced, and he pave her tiie address. "I will instruct him in the meantime," he added. " to have everyth ry prepared." " You are so business-like that one wouM think you were used to getting nicmcd! " This is the first time. I assure you," said Saville, with a dreary smile "Does the girl know Vet?" ?he a<-kcd him abruptly. " I have told her that I cannot mnrry her ; that is all that it i« ne.ce--.u-y to say '" "You haven't told her why?" she asked ia % tone of incredulity.

" No. I thought it better not." " Then what on earth must ?he think of you?" " The Avorst, I hope — that I no longer care for her." " You are letting her think that ! You I have had no tender farewells, no last kisses? " i '"I wrote to her," he said, controlling his voice with an effoit and turning away. I '" Why should I break her heart V I w ould I rather she despised me. I have not seen her '' since my return." | The woman gazed after him with a softening of her velvety eyes which was almost passion, which was certainly ad- ! miration. "I am sorry for you," >he murmured. He did not speak. He stood on the hearthrug. his> back to the room, gripping I the mantelpiece with both hands. ! She approached him with unusual timidity. and touched his sleeve. " .foor fellow! " she whispered. "What a shame ! " " For God's sake don't pity me ! " he cried, hus-kily. "I can't bear that. It is my own fault." "Is it?" she said, with an enigmatical expression he could not see. " It's only Hilda — Hilda, poor child ! " '" You love her so dearly? " " With all my heart. There i.s no other I woman in the world for me." ! The woman beside 'him, whom he thus spurned, withdrew her hand — and her sympathy. For a moment the sight of his grief had awakened a generous, throb in her heart — a generous impulse which might have borne the fruit of her own sacrifice and his salvation. It was not likely, but it might have been. But he disregarded 'her ; he did not even seem to leeognjse the fact that she was beautiful, too. Her face changed The passion which he wa.s beginning to awake in her breast still lived, but the altruism wa,s gone. She did not care for this girl she had never seen ; why should she? It was to her own interest to distract him and teach him to forget. " All the same," she said bitterly. " there ire other women in the world. ' You are young; and men aie not faithful for ever. The wound will heal, mv friend. She will console heiself. and «o will you." " Never! "" he vnd. " Nonsense ! " she answered, laughing softly. "You think so now, but tune "cure* all such griefs as yours, take my word for it." " I suppose I ought to hope so. at any late," he said; "and yet at present it •^eems to me that I would rather "be faithful to the past than forget it for any present which is possible for me." ' You will change, ' she in&r-ted. He. iaiscd Ins head. " What a boy you must think me," he said, "to air my grievances like this? Why did you make me talk?' "Because it is good to talk when there is a weight here," -' s-.iid, pointing to her bre:ts-t. "lam a stranger to you, after all It is good of you to be so sympathetic." "Pj 'endship cannot be measured by time," she said. " Oms is a peculiar connection ; and one forgets to be conventional. 1 feel as though I had known you for years. Shall 1 see you between now and "Tuesday ? " "I think the arrangements aie complete," he said, hesitatingly. "But why .shouldn't we be fuends?" .'he asked. " Sunday be>res ma to death here in England ' 1 have lived -o much on the Continent. Dine with me. and let v- help each other to pa-« a tew of the dieary hours away You shall talk about your Hilda all the. time, if you like ' ' I!- w.i-noi -ure th.it she was not making fun ci him and stiffened under the uti-ci-iia:nu " 1 have almo-l promi-ed tb pa-- the evening w ith a iiiciid." "Oh, veiy well if you don't want to come." she .-aid, in an offended tone. "Of course you will not trouble Io put yomself out in the least to please me. Forgive me if I foi get for a moment that oui connection i^ niervly for your convenience ' "1 beg your puidou. ' he said, gently. " Of course I shall be pleased to come. As yon say. -nhy .should we Hot be friends? " She was -miliiii» again, but after he had gone she took her han<Jkerc'net — a scrap of cambric and lace —and tore it m halves. She could be liy>terieal. She quivered with nerve- from head to foot, and hi'i dark eves burned "He doesn't raie ; but he '•hall tare 1 After all. I am beautiful -till, anel il is such an oppoitututy a.s 1 have nevei had befoie. He :> clev. r ; he will get on; and — I like inni Why -.houid not this mai ri.-iu'- 1 end m the !i-;ruril v. '\ "' One d«iv he w ' J w a po-.tion — v\h:c'.i I must share It i only i iid in one way He is a man. .<n<, n< 'ii are all alike He think- now that it '- due to his durnin te> be faithful and broken he ii ied Hut (hat mood won't la^t." When DaJb: il biel pioposed the infamous bargain to iur. - i. had laugbe.l and con-sf-nteel for the s ike e.f the bribe. When she saw Savillc, whom she i-ecogni-e/1 fiom the photograph ahich had been 'he>w*ii to her, for the tir-t time at Soulh-pa. 'ii.- ap pcarance h.id ainu«-id hr mtt- e^t But it wa- not till he came to see hci that she had made up hfr mmd to -nbjug;;tp him. The failure of br, fiist w.le- had onl\ stinmlited hfi .lc-iu He wa- -o faithful tn the irir' h.' h\d ' ist - ln d s., piiidi-ii. the fool ' Tv i' iv ji"Mie and i>.'i-'>r>ii mtenvt weie -lib' 'dP :H t. i (! -Anir^ ctrotii'i whi ii h,! i hecn st'.in,-e •(,! main \tai^ tei {' - '•■ i W.<- t „o- ,k th.. '-'ie v.. U -,11.1111^ iO L.llL' StllOil-lv foi th'- llKlll. \oi".i'_'ii •'••mi li':-f'f. w'>r-:n -he Im 'l e,,i!v ■ -tin ih: .c t!i>k «."' AnU'.inj «,f th' k •,(' m,. , i --i'i>i ■ to .in | imp '-sii.neii ieippfi jmji; iik Le;- Si, ■ ! knew now tii.it ■-he sa'icil to v. vi S'\il!' becu-f he .UTi-i tiri h> i : bf m--, jnnrm! on^lv. "i" ii ' 'L"l hfTYi : I1I I ' en- -Iv b >.i\ bren Miimiirt' •! i. ■ i."'-'i \, bo v, ne ihiefi bl. ck gu.uel- . ', r 'if", i .el th -on•!, ul the instinct- >' <1 -elf ii riiioi di a tii.e v!• -i .'. i t« l with the miiiper- of a in ir of tlir w < rid t»Slie a(!inii"cl him, <thi-\e all. bf-e u'-r- he waold tate iu> notice ci liei. A cad wuuid

have flattered her and made love to her to gam his own end. He had told hei, with a frankness, almost brutal, that he wanted nothing to do with her ; that her consent must be given under no misapprehension of the position «he was destined to fulfil. He had declined, in fact, to be anything but honest towards the woman who held his fate in her hands, although his straightforwardness might have cost him dear. " Ye*., he shall care." she repeated to herself, and her bosom heaved and her cheeks glowed. "My poor boy, I will console you against your will ! (To be continued )