IN HER OWN RIGHT.

Otago Witness, Issue 3035, 15 May 1912, Page 62

IN HER OWN RIGHT.

By LADY TEOUBRIDGE. Author of "The Soul of Honour," "The Cheat," "Love the Locksmith," <r The Girl With the Blue Eyes," Etc., Etc.

THE HQVEIiIST. [Published by Special Arrangement.']

[Copyright.] CHAPTER XV. *fWJg&k ROM the very first moment sm&mw J- 01 'd Rollesden took the a'ttitude that the neglected child was now &!!> everything; her wishes were law, her presence was sunshine, her future his 6 °l e care, and from it he fJsJSI never swerved. WherP Ivy spoke hesitatingly of the loan of the hundred pounds, wondering how to account for it, he stopped j her at once. i "Five times that amount shall be paid | into your bank every quarter," he said. "My heir must not come to me for I charity; she must be able to be charitable herself. Do what you like with it —give it to the poor or spend it on yourself; it is j nothing to me. Garrett will see to it for ' you." | "Father," said Ivy, when she had ' thanked him, "Mr Garrett is not coming back. He told me to tell you so, as he did not wish to trouble you when you were ill. He has urgent private reasons for leaving you, and—and—so he hopes that should he need it you will speak for him." "J leave it all to you," said Rollesden. "It was considerate of the fellow not to worry me with his resignation, and if you approve of his reasons that will do. I'm going to give you a great deal of power in my household, Ivy, so long as you are in it, with your mother's full consent and mine." "That sounds as if I should not be here long," said Ivy, faltering as. she fondled his hand. This conversation took place on the terrace of Rollesden Castle, where they had been now for some months. "Remember," she added, "I have sworn thau I will never leave you." Rollesden turned round in the low deck chair that was like a couch, and looked at her face. ! It was very pale indeed, and there were yiolet shadows under her eyes, but no one could doubt the sincerity of her ' soft voice thrilling with feeling. Whatever the motives that had brought this father and daughter together, they were one in heart at last. j ''No, my darling-, no," he said. "I did not mean that; you shall stay with me while I live, but, deafr child, that won't be for long." "Oh, father, don't; I can't bear it, nor could mother." I "My dear girl," said Lord Rollesden, and there was a touch of the old firmness in his voice,' "we Rollesdens, and the women we marry, can bear what God sends, that is a mark of the true aristocrat, my darling. It is the cry of the Socialist that we are wrapped in luxury, that we are smooth, pampered creatures who can only look on the fair side of life; but with all our faults that is not so. It takes blood and breeding to bear a knockdown, crushing blow, as I may say that we have borne our sorrow." Ivy was silent. "Then; too, dear child," he went on, "you know very well that I shall never be the man I was. Public life is closed to me, my work is done, and my day is done too. When I can see you happily married I am ready to go." "But father dear, that could not be for a long, long time." He looked rather wistfully at her. "Don't forget, Ivy, that in your position, and in face of what I've told you, you must put aside a girl's shyness and timidity, and choose as the royal women do, acknowledging their choice without fais© modesty; or, perhaps, you will let n*3 choose for you, let me have one more chance of feeling that I can do and be something in the world." Ivy shivered slightly. She felt that something was coming that she might have foreseen. He looked at her intently, rather disappointed at her silence. I have never reproached you, have I?" ho said. "Never said one word to you 1 sino9 the day you asked me to forgive ! vou; but if you want to blot out all the | suffering as though it had never been, I and to let me have once more a sensation of liappiness, you will try to fall in with my views, and like the choice that I have made for you." "The choice, father?" she faltered. "Yes, my darling, I have chosen a man in every way worthy of you, a man you cannot help but love." "But, father, who is this man?" "A man you know and like," replied her father. "But father " "Let me just tell you a little story," interrupted Lord Rollesden. "You have been most attentive to me, dearest, and you have hardly ever left me; but one day before we left London you may remember that you went into the country foi' the day." "Yes, I came here, father." Both avoided the reason of her coming —tho wreaths of lilies laid on the tombs of her brothers. "I was left alone," went on Lord Rollesden. "but I was not lonely, for during your absence I bad a visitor—Lord Strevelsea. We were together for two or three hours; it was 3 o'clock when he came to me, and the daylight had faded wher. he went, and all that time he spoke of yon."

Ivy gave a kind of gasping cry; then she stifled it, and listened with wild eagerness to her father's feeble voice; bat strange lights seemed to flash before her eyes, and the peaceful garden in its summer glory seemed half blotted out. "He told me a great deal that I had not known before. Told me where he had met you again, and how the evening had been spent; told me, too, that at the first interview at the Palaoe he felt you were the one -woman in the world he woidd care to win for his wife, and when he sa-w you again the feeling deepened, and he knew that he was madly in love. You were like a white lily, hesaid, in a bed of dahlias, and the gaudy things made you look fairer and sweeter in contrast He also confessed to me that his feelings carried him away, and that on that very night he made you a proposal of manriage, an offer that you vwy rightly would not be hurried into. It was from no disrespect, he.said, that he spoke so soon, but he then believed our quarrel —yours and mine, my darling—to be irrevocable, and he longed to take you away from the false position in which he found you. A man who thinks, and speaks, and feels as he did, Iw, is' a man who means what he says, and' there is no doubt that if he loved you then, he loves you still; in fact, I have the proof that he does, because he has written to me." Ivy covered her face with her hands. What had her anguish of mind been before compared to this ? Nothing! She feit like a trapped, hunted animal, and for a moment she opened her lips to speak, to tell her father the whole truth, and throw herself on his love and on his pity. Then her eyes fell on the worn, suffering face; she knew that it was utterly impossible to do this. He would forgive her—oh, yes, that she knew instinctively ; but it. would kill him with the certainty and sureness of a sword thrust. Whatever happened this one thought dominated; he must not be agitated, he must never know. The cunning of all Eve's daughters filled her; whatever happened she would go through i(, trusting that a way of escape would somehow be found. "Do you mean that he's coming?" she questioned, forcing her .white lips into a smile. "Yes, he's coming to-day," said Rollesden, relieved at the submission in her face and voice. "Be kind to him, Ivy, and remember that I shall not allow you to be too easily won, or let him feel that in any way we hold our beloved child cheap But I want him to see you now, surrounded, as you should always have been, with love and tende'rnees; and then if you can listen to him, you will not keep him waiting too long. "But, father, mayn't I stay with you until—until you don't' want me any more?"' "No," he replied firmly. "Not until then The last few months must belong to your mother, to the faithful companion of my whole life. Besides, if you stay with me, I shall miss the sight of your happiness. Listen to me, child; a man in my position can consult all the best doctors in England and abroad; I have done this, and their opinion is unanimous. Th-i disease of the heart fronr which I suffer has made such great strides that I can only count a few short months, which may be even weeks. I don't wish to think about it; I have put my house in order, and I am ready. But before I go I want to see you happy." What answer could there be to such an appeal? If there was one Ivy could not make it; her mind refused to frame and her lips to utter it. She must go'on with whatever, her father wished her to undertake, and trust at the last that something might happen to help her to escape. A confession to Strevelsea would be possible, if the worst came to the worst; and if not, there was always death. A" strange bridegroom for a girl to contemplate, but one that she might turn to in her hopelessness. "I will do whatever you wish, father," she said, and her reward was to see the faint colour come up into his cheeks.

"Make yourself beautiful to-night," he whispered. "You will meet him at dinner."

CHAPTER XVI. Strevelsea himself stood transfixed as he saw her that night. He had come to see a simple girl, who had made a mark on his heart that was ineffaceable, but he found himself face to face with n brilliant woman —a woman to worship, almost to die for. Ye* such are the conventionalities of societj that .not one of these thoughts could be traced in the first few words spoken, as in obedience to Lord Rollesden's direction he his arm to Ivy and led her into the dining room, a noble room furnished in the style of Louis the Fourteenth, and where pictures by famous masters were grouped in panels round the walls, which were of a restful pale green colour. "It is like a room in an old French chateau," said Strevelsea, as he looked round him. "This is English enough," said Rollesden, as he pointed to the firep&vtf of carved wood, ''and I think it gives just the touch of dignity that one wants." The meal was an intimate one, almost embarrassingly so, for no one was there hue Lord and Lady Rollesden. The latter had suggested asking some other people, but very half-heartedly, and Rollesden had shaken his head, intimating without words that the cloud which hung over the house was still too great to admit of careless comings and goings. An exception had been made, for the sake of Ivy's happiness and there it must end; no expense had been spared, however, to honour their guest The food was of the richest, and the centre of the table was piled with red rose.?, while the best wines that the Rollesden cellars contained were placed before the young peer. He drank but sparingly, however, for the heady wine_ of love had so mounted his head as to intoxicate him sufficiently.

EL> felt that the way was clear before him: he must, he must realise his dream, clasp her in his arms, hold her and feel that she was his own. Yet there was none of the self-confidence of the favoured lover about him, as he sat watching Ivy, her small head held high, her eyes proud and dreamy, her speech reserved and yuiet When the dinner was over she went awa) with her mother, but Lady Rollesden left her in the drawing room—a room that led on to the terrace and the gardens.

"I must go upstairs," she said, "and see that everything is ready for your father. He insisted on dining with us tonight, but he is not fit for a long evening. You must entertain our guest." Left alone, an immense languor came over Ivy. She had suffered so much in combating these terrible thoughts of hers that now she asked nothing better than to sic looking into the moonlit garden with the soft cool breezes lifting her hair, dreaming of what might have been if she had understood the great joys that life has to give to an awakened soul. Foi a long time she sat without stirring at all, and then she fell asleep, looking so pal e> that Strevelsea was almost afraid as he watched her. Then he seated himself beside her, folded his arms, and sat motionless; until at last Ivy's eyes unclosed themselves, and she smiled.

"If it you?" she said as though she had been expecting him. "Yes, -Ivy," he answered under his breath. "I am here."

Thei she suddenly looked down, -while a lovely transparent pink flushed her cheeks.

"I thought you would come out here," she said still sleepily. "You"knew that I should," he returned. "Sleep on, my sweet lady, and feel that you are with a friend." At that, woman-like, she woke entirely, and there was a little silence between them full of meaning. Then he looked at her again, his big blue eyes misted over with feeling. "Do you mind my being here?" he asked.

"No, I knew you were coming." "And you were glad—or sorry—which ?" She was silent for a moment.

"I am glad." "Thank you so much. That gives me courage to say something to you—something that you may not wish me to say, but that yet has to be said. Lady Ivy, dc you remember that night at Miss.Gaythorpe's, and what I told you then?'' "Yes, I remember." "Have you ever thought of it at all?" "Yes." "Yet you never wrote to me. Day after day I sat wondering, waiting, looking for the letter, but it never came. Ivy, why did it never come?" "H was too scon," she faltered, longing to say to him also, "and now it is too late." Strevelsea was moved as he had never ye : ; been in all his life. "Yes, it was too soon,' he said. "And now that I see you here, safe, sheltered, and happy, I feel that it was an insolence of which I had no right to be guilty; but you will forgive me, you will understand." ''l do understand; you wanted to help me." "Not altogether. I loved you, but I should not have told you so if you had been in your home. Yet now, Ivy, that you are, may I tell you just a little of wha*. I feel? May I tell you how, when we ar.>. here together, it seems to me as if the whole world is throbbing with romance, as if there was no one else at all in it but we two. Oh! my dear girl, I could make you so happy. Won't you—won'r you let me try?" The shadows were deep about them as he spoke, and the great trees bordering the terrace seemed like sentinels guarding them and their love. "I care for you," he whispered. "Oh, so much, so intensely. I want to take you in my arms, find to keep every trouble from you. You have had trouble, my sweet—l know it, I feel it, just as I feel that you you know the sadness of life; but what you do not yet know is its joy, the perfect happiness that comes when two people live for each other. Darling, let me teach you that!" Ftw one second their eyes met, and then his young strong arms went round her, and held her close, so that she could not struggle or move. "I love you! I love you!" he said. "I will make your life a dream of joy; you will forget everything else and trust to me." Then, as her head lay on his shoulder, he clasped her still closer, while the soft zephyrs of the wind seemed like a gloriour orchestra playing wild love-music that echoed in their souls, and the stars in the sky above that mirrored themselves in the lake far below seemed like the dome of some great church where their love was to be blessed. "You must be my wife," he whispered. "W-3 must live out our lives together." As for Ivv. she was possessed, held motionless with the joy of it all until their lips met. and then she pushed him away from her and started back. "No —no." she cried, "you mustn't kiss me ! Not that—never that!" "Why?" he asked, deep distress in his voice. "Don't you love me. mv darling? Oh. Ivy, don't play with me! Don't trifle with me any longer." "Yes, I love you." .<?aid Ivy, and the mere speaking of the words was a happiness. "But—but—or. Guy you will humour me; you will wait—'you will be patient! I cannot tell yon why, but it is my one request to you that 'you should wait.' He looked at her silently, and almost sa'dl'- "You don't want me to kiss vou ?"

"No," <shc answered, her Voice falling softly on a note of intense earnestness. "Guy my father has told you to come: h" wishes me to be your wife, and I—l—l cannot say that J do not wish it too. But

I ask you to be patient, to understand that in the soul of everyone there are mysteries that cannot be explained. I love you—yes, Ido not deny it—but as yet I cannot show my love; I cannot even explain what I mean. If you will not understand, then I must go to my father, and tell him to send you away; but "you wait, perhaps—perhaps all may be well.

Hej- words, her look, were strangeness itself to the simple-hearted man who loved her. He had no clue to guide him to the mysteries of a woman's soul, only he kne%v that come what might he could not let her go. That was impossible, a thing not to be dreamed of. Even if she denied every happiness but the joy of seeing her/and of hearing her speak, then he must satisfy himself with that alone. Presently it came to him as he watched her that "she was in the grip of that maidenly modesty that cannot voice its love, however deeply it feels. Her father had been too quick and too sudden, and that in combination with his own premature proposal had startled and upset her. Patience was his only chance, and must be his watchword; and so although the blood rushed to his face, leaving him deadly pale, he controlled himself. ""Dear little Ivy," he said. "I will try and understand; yes, I really will, but it all to me so simple: you love me, I love you; we are both free. Why cannot we come together and make each other happy?" He saw a pale shadow of distress fall over the face he adored, and he ventured to move his hand to her and to take it in his strong, Avarm clasp—a clasp that somehow communicated to her a strange sense of protection and peace. Then his very voice attracted her; it was deep and resonant, and had a note in its that seerm-d to reach her heart. "I don't want to be unkind," she said softly* "indeed I don't; but it is not so simple as you think. I wonder if I can tell you how I am situated, and if you would really understand." Strevelsea devoured her with his great grey-blue eyes, and in his look ther was an immense tenderness, and a respect as great. "Tell me anything—everything," he said, "and be sure that I Avill always ■understand."

"Then it is like this," began Ivy, speaking very quickly, "you went to see my father—oh, yes, don't start, it was your own doing—and you told him what you felt for me. If you had not done so I should not bear to allude to it, but you did tell him. did you not?" "Yes, I did," he answered. "I am not ashamed of it. because I meant every word, my darling." "Yes, I know, I am sure of it," said Ivy, looking down. "But you see, my father—oh ! how can I tell you—he is dying."

Stievelsea started, and leaned forward from his seat. "You surely do not mean that' I cannot bear you to have any mSrt; trouble, my poor little girl." She thrilled, less at the words than at the tone. "It is true," she answered gently "and it is very dreadful. We have come so near together that! it is not so terrible for me as it would have been, only it is difficult to say to him what one feels, for he has to be humoured, just like a child, you understand. Any shock would be fatal to him, and I simply could not do or say anything that would add to the great troubles he has had." "Of course not," said Strevelsea, and he lifted the hand he held to his lips and kissed it. "But, you see," she went on, "I am faced with this problem : he wishes me to marry you; he says he must see our happiness before he dies. But I do not wish it yet. She stopped for a moment to draw breath, and looking at her lover she saw that she had stirred very deep waters. His face wore a look of profound elation; the mobile lips trembled. "I am glad that you have said 'yet,' " he murmured. "For that shows *me a clumicc of paradise one day. Go on, my dear one; let me look deeply into your heart; tell me what you wish.'' "Then, Guy," she faltered, "I am afraid that we must play a part before my father —pretend to be affianced, and—and —do anything he may wish us to in the way of fixing the day. And yet I ask you to bind me to nothing in reality; to me free to look after this deaf father and devote myself to him until—until—you know what I mean." There was a long silence; it was indeed a strange request to make to an ardent lover, and one that an ordinary man would never have understood. Strevelsea, luckily, was not an ordinary man. For a moment he leaned back in his seat, a prey to tumultuous emotion, and then he«turned towards her. "Count on me," he said. "Use me as you would your servant, your slave. Before the world we will be betrothed, if it will make your father happy; but so far as you and I are concerne'd, I will ask nothing whatever, except the right to comfort you when God takes him from you. Ivy laid her hand in his. "Oh, Guy!" she said, struggling against the intense feeling she was experiencing. "If you only knew everything you would understand." "I will wait," he whispered. "I will wait in patience for your first kiss." (To be continued.)