ASSOCIATION FOOTBALL.

Southern Cross, Volume 11, Issue 17, 25 July 1903, Page 12

ASSOCIATION FOOTBALL.

Notes by “ Socker.”

(Continued from Page 7.)

For the first time in the 'history of Southland association local teams met on Wednesday last to fight out conclusions. The game was played in a most friendly spirit, each man playing to the ball instead of trying to maim his opponent. Both clubs were fully and ably represented. The Celts if anything were the heavier team, but the long standing play of the Reds evidenced itself in a fair show of combination among the forwards, and this more than counterbalanced matters. What the Celts will do when playing with combination will be hard to imagine. They are a splendid body of men, well set up, but in want of training. Thegame could hardly have been played under better conditions. The ground was firm, and overhead matters were satisfactory. Harlow won the toss, and elected to play facing tfce sun. Space this week will not admit of a detailed report of the match, which ended thus —lnvercargill, 3 goals ; Celtic nil. Mr Jno. Brass officiated as referee, with Messrs Morrison and Leek as umpires. All hands played up splendidly. Allan (Reds) in goal, though suffering from the effects of a nasty cold, played a magnificent defensive game —the best he has ever played since his initiation as custodian. He was sure, and kicked with great precision. He seemed unable to go wrong. Morgan and Chapman, the full-backs, were frequently called on, and responded every time with safe kicking and judgment. This was Chapman’s first appearance on the socker field, and he is to be congratulated on his play. Paterson was by far the best of the halves, and made very few mistakes. Centre half is no soft billet, and he was equal in all resnects.

Harlow played his greatest game in Southland. On the Northern field he has shown splendid powers, and his nomination as a representative player stamps him above the ordinary. In Wednesday’s match he was all out, and shone as a player, brilliant in interpretation and splendid inform. He grafted like a Trojan, and handled his men as he had never done before. Hay, England and Broad were in splendid form, while Webb was safe at all time*. Adams, the ex-Northern (Dunedin) forward, in goal saved his side repeatedly, and when he changed to forward showed his old dash and skill, working his forwards well, and to the best advantage. Mulcahey, at full back, played the game of his life, kicking with great precision and power, McDonald showed well at first, but went off in the second spell. Wallace, at half, has played better games, but did what was required of him fairly well. Whittaker, for a new chum, played well, as did Oavanagb. Both men have the making of excellent forwards, being possessed of the requisite dash and judgment. Neil showed fine form, but was unsupported in his attack work. He is a good scoring man, and must have made a credit side for the Celts bad he been recognised. Keane, Ashley and Bell deserve praise for their play, all these men being particularly sure.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS Chapters I and II. —Lady Archie Cadogan is a pretty, worldly woman. Her husband is an easy-going man, who does not interfere with his wife in any way. Clement Price, the cousin and adviser of Lady Archie, is a great lawyer, who thinks a lawyer’s duty is to uphold truth—not merely “to get people out of scrapes.” Miss Rosalind Guest is the companion of Lady Archie, and is of gentle birth.' Lady Archie seeks Mr Price’s help to induce Rosalind Guest to throw over Philip Wingate, her husband’s stepson and heir to property over which her husband exercises complete control. Mr Price refuses, and reads her a lecture ; she departs in anger after extracting a promise from him to “do what he can." Rosalind seeks an interview with the great lawyer. He receives her confession “ as a priest,” but is considerably disturbed when the fact is confided to him of the marriage two years previously of Rosalind and Philip Wingate 1 Rosalind proposes to Philip that they shall conspire to deceive Lady Archie—tell her they agree to part ; Philip to go abroad for two years, until he attains the age of 28, when his step-father’s control ceases. Philip, however, disagrees with the proposal, and would rather Rosalind told the truth, even though his fortune is the price. Rosalind is influenced by the fact that her mother and invalid sister would suffer ; and they agree to defer the matter until the morrow.

CHAPTERS 111. & IV.—The past of Philip Wingate. Lady Archie appeals to Sir Charles for help to part Rosalind and Philip. She is again disappointed, and formulates a scheme of revenge on Philip, as well as separation. In searching Rosalind’s portfolio for the address of her mother, Lady Archie finds evidence of (she hopes) insanity in Rosalind’s family, which would be sufficient to disinherit Philip, if he persisted in his love for Rosalind. Lady Archie, armed with this knowledge, and accompanied by Sir Charles, journeys to Birmingham. She visits Mrs Guest alone, but the result of her visit is uncertain, and she is very much upset by the infirm girl, Cecilia, calling her ‘ an angel of darkness.’ CHAPTER Y. ‘ Charles,’ said her ladyship when she entered the hotel, ‘ come straight upstairs with me ; I’ve something to tell you.’ * My dear Archie, you look very ill, what is the matter F ’ ‘ I’ve had a terrible shock, darling. I went out seeking adventures and I have surely had one—one I little expected. My dear Charles, the unfortunate mother is coming to see us this evening, and we must both interview her. I always feared there was something wrong, and now I know it.’

Sir Charles stood perfectly still. He adored his pretty wife, but he. also, up to a certain point, understood her. She was fond of getting into hysterics and of exaggerating matters, and the only thing then was to give her, as he expressed it, rope enough. ‘ Let her run on in her own somewhat inconsequent style and she will pull up at last,’ the baronet used to mutter to himself.

So he now waited, and after a time managed to get a coherent account of her interview with Cecelia.

‘ The poor little girl is quite daft,’ she said. ‘ She suffers from delusions. It is awful to listen to her. And she called me, Charles, me —an angel of darkness !’

‘ Oh, my darling, bnt should you mind what a poor little creature of that sort says P And from what you tell me her delusions are beautiful ones.

‘ Much I care for her delusions,’ said Lady Archie ; ‘ the point is that we have gained what we want. Philip, under the conditions of his uncle’s will, must never marry a girl with insanity in the family.’ ‘ I did not think of that,’ said Sir Charles ; ‘ certainly he must not —it would never do. How clever of you, Archie ; this does make an insuperable objection.’ ‘ Doubtless, there is a great deal more to learn,’ said Lady Archie, ‘ and as I absolutely decline to set foot in that house again, for if I heard that child’s voice once more I should go mad.’ I have asked the mother to come here this evening, and we will both see her. I propose that we shall ask her the truth, and tell her the position of affairs.’ ‘Very well, dearest, but is it necessary for me to be presen t ?’ ‘ Oh," you darling old coward, of course you must be present. Would you leave your Archie to the tender mercies of a person of that sort ? And she looked quite common, you know, Charles—not the least like our dear

Rosalind. I suppose the father was the superior person. And the cottage —oh, it was quite neat and clean, but it was a workman’s cottage, and they absolutely keep no servant.’ ‘ The poor little girl—the one who is ill,’ said the baronet; ‘we ought to help h#r, Archie.’ ‘Ob, give her a hundred pounds — five hundred if you like,’ said Lady Archie, ‘only never, never ask me to go into her awful presence again.’ Sir Charles sighed and left the room.

‘Perhaps you had belter get ready for dinner,’ he said, looking suddenly looking back at his wife.i ‘ Can you manage without a maid ?’ ‘Yes, pet, if you will come in presently to lace my dress.’ ‘ Of course I will, dear.’ ‘ Then stay here, old darling, and when I ring the bell come to me.’ Lady Archie patted Sir Charles on his shoulder. He smiled at her and sank into an easy chair’ Between eight and nine o’clock Mrs Guest called. Dinner was over, and Lady Archie and the baronet received her with great cordiality. A waiter was desired to bring tea immediately, and a comfortable chair was offered to Rosalind’s mother. ‘ I am so sorry,’ said Lady Archie, who was in her most gracious and bewitching humour, ‘ to ask you to leave your dear, beautiful, little girl even for a short time.’ ‘ I cannot be long away from her,’ replied Mrs Guest, who did ndt seem at all overcome by the unwonted attention of Rosalind’s rich employers. ‘ A neighbour, Mrs Girdlestone, who lives two doors off, has promised to sit with the child until Igo back. Now please may I know what you require with me, and as quickly as possible ?’

Neither Lady Archie nor the baronet replied to this query at once. They neither of them in their heart of hearts approved of Mrs Guest taking the initiative in this way. Notwithstanding her plain dress, however, she looked not only the lady but also a woman who could be determined if necessary—a certain weakness wbich had seemed to characterise her when in her own bouse had now vanished. The fact was that she smelt mischief, as she expressed it, in the air, and was prepared to fight for her children to the death.

‘ Has Rosalind done anything wrong, anything to displease you ?’ she said when the silence became slightly oppressive. ‘ Ah, that is just it,’ said Lady Archie ; ‘ it is so good of you to help us as you are doing. After all there is no one like a mother to understand. Rosalind—yes, I will call her. Rosalind for the time being, for truly in many ways I love her almost like a sister—has displeased us. You will understand how grievously when I tell you that she has conceived an unfortunate attachment for my husband’s stepson —a very wealthy man out of Rosalind’s position in life.’

‘ Indeed !’ said Mrs Guest, colouring angrily, ‘ I do not understand. My daughter is poor, bnt she is a lady.’ ‘ That is quite true, my dear madam,’ said the baronet, motioning to his wife to allow him to speak. ‘Rosalind Guest is a perfect lady, and my wife and I are much attached to her, but that is not the point. My stepson is peculiarly placed. Under the conditions of a will, by which he inherits a very large property, he is forced to be peculiarly careful with regard to the wife he marries. I’m his guardian, and it is my painful duty to inform you that circumstances have come to my ears that make it impossible for me to permit a marriage with your daughter.’ ‘ Before I ask what those circumstances are,’ said Mrs Guest in a very haughty tone, ‘ may I ask the name of the gentleman who aspires to my daughter’s hand ?’ ‘ His name ! ’ said Lady Archie. ‘ Philiy Wingate, of course.’ The widow suddenly rose to her feet.

‘ Philip Wingate ! Is he your stepson ? Why Rosalind has known him

for years! * I always felt she was a deep one,’ said Lady Archie. ‘lf you mean any sort of reproach by that,’ said Mrs Guest, ‘ I cannot listen to you. Rosalind is as open and transparent as the day. She happened to know Mr Wingate and told me so. At the terrible time of my dear husband’s death he was her friend, and she certainly didn’t push herself upon him in any way. J’m sorry that he should be your stepson, Sir Charles, because I know that Rosalind loves him dearly.’ ‘ May I ask you a plain question, madam ? ’ said Lady Archie. Mrs Guest bowed. ‘ Do you, who are a mother yourself, honestly think that your daughter is a fit wife for my husband’s stepson ? ’ ‘ Rosalind would make an admirable wife for any man,’ was the mother’s answer. Lady Archie sprang to her feet. ‘Don’t interrupt me, Charles, the matter is in my bands. I’m really sorry to hurt you, Mrs Guest, but as a rule the owner of a very large property does not care to have his heirs tainted with insanity ! ’ ‘ Insanity ! ’ said Mrs Guest with a start. Her face turned from brilliant red to deadly white. ‘You need not attempt to deceive me,’ said Lady Archie. ‘ I saw your little girl Cecilia. Ybu can’t even pretend to deny that the child suffers from delusions of an extraordinary and appalling character. I told you, my dear Charles, didn’t I, that she spoke of me as an angel of darkness P —You can imagine my feelings.’ ‘ Cecilia is not as others,’ said Mrs Guest, gently. ‘ But the doctors have never called her insane. She has only too much of the heavenly about her for this mortal life. She is endowed also with a curious sense, which some people call second sight —but she’s not mad. There is no madness in my family.’ ‘ Oh, don’t talk nonsense, my good woman. If you consider us in any way unfair or prejudiced, I am willing to bring an excellent doctor to see your daughter.’ ‘ I would rather you didn’t. I’ye had the beat advice for Cecilia, nothing can be done for her. She is easily agitated and upset. As to Rosalind, I’ll write to her. Poor child, her affections are very deep and real. This will break her heart, but I’ll tell her that she must give up your stepson, for I, too, Lady Archie, would rather not be connected with your family.’ As she spoke the widow rose. She did not hold out her hand either to the baronet or to his wife, but bowed distantly to them both. When she got as far as the door she turned. ‘ And what time am I to expect my daughter Rosalind home ?’ she said, quietly. ‘ Oh,’ replied Lady Archie, ‘ I hope sincerely she need not come home at all. I should miss her very much. Now that we have proved to ourselves that there is an insuperable objection to her marrying Philip, she will doubtless come to her senses. In that case, I trust that Miss Guest will long remain in my employment.’ Mrs Guest left the room and went quietly home. There was not a vestige of apparent emotion on her face. The shabby mantle she wore was drawn closely round her shoulders, and although it was a hot summer’s evening, as she got out of the tramcar at her destination, she was noticed to shiver. She arrived at her little home. Mrs Girdles tone was in the kitchen. ‘ You can go now,’ said Mrs Guest. ‘ And I’m much obliged to yon.’ ‘ The child was singing all the time,’ said the good woman. * She didn’t seem to want me.’ ‘ She never wants any of us,’ was the mother’s answer. ‘ What do you mean, Mrs Guest ?’ ‘I mean she has always the best of company with her, heavenly company. Perhaps you understand ?’ ‘ j don’t, ma’am ; bat you’re greatly blest in such a child.’ ‘ There are others who don’t con-

eider tny angel a bussing,’ said poor Mrs Guest, and now for the first time large tears fell from her eyes. Mrs Girdlestone looked at her with pity. ‘Anyone would be proud to have a child like yours,’ she said at last. ‘Why, she is more of an angel than ‘Around the throne of God in heaven, Thousands of children stand,’

sang Cecilia. ‘ Aye,’ said Mrs Guest. 1 And she’ll soon be among them. Well, good night, Mrs Girdlestone. I’m much obliged to you for looking after her.

Mrs Girdlestone took her leave, and Mrs Guest went into the room where Cecilia lay. She did what was necessary for her child for the night, and promising to return by and by left her.

‘lt is all right. The good angels have come back, and I’m so happy,’ whispered Cessie. Mrs Guest kissed her and went into her little kichen. She sat down with her hands clasped together and thought. ‘ What am I to do ?’ she said to herself. I never supposed that a burden like this would be thrown upon me. And so Rosalind must suffer —she who is healthy and Sound and strong and brave in body and soul. She has no taint as far as man can tell. And she loves him, 1 saw it in her eyes two years ago. She only spoke of him as a gentleman and an honest man. She never said he was rich, nor great, nor anything of that sort. Poor Rosie ! My own Rosie too ! 0 God help me. But I said, I always said, she must bear the burden with the rest. I must write to her at once. ’

Trembling a good deal, the widow took down her writing portfolio from a high shelf. She dipped her pen in the ink and wrote ber letter. She began : My darling Rose,

A dreadful thing has happened. Lady Archie Cadogan and Sir Charles are in Birmingham. Lady Archie called on me to-day, and she saw our little angel Cecelia. She forced herself into the child’s presence, and frightened her a good deal, and Cessie, who, as you know, always seems to see more than others, called her an angel of darkness. You, who know Cecelia, will smile my darling : but it is no smiling matter, I can tell you. Lady Archie asked me to call at the hotel. I have had an interview both with her and Sir Charles and have just returned. They told me that Sir Charles’s stepson, Mr. Philip Wingate, is in with you, and you with him. They do not wish the marriage. Oh, my dear, nor do I wish it either. To think of me planting a blow in your breast, my Rose I, who adore you with such a passion such a depth of love—but I must, my dear one. I must take the joy out of your life; I must, my dearest. I guessed two years ago that you loved this man, but then I thought nothing of what now is, and must be, an inseparable objection. Rosalind, 1 the stock from which you spring 1s not healthy. There is no insanity in the ordinary sense of the word —Lady Archie imagined there was when she saw our dear* Cessie —but there is consumption fh its most acute and most terrible form. You have often wondered why of all my large family you were the only one spared, with the exception of little Cecilia. But you were away from home when they died, one after the other, my pretty blossoms. Quickly they went to their long home, and all from the same fell disease. The man to whom you are engaged is the heir to a great property, and in all fairness to yourself, Rosalind, yon ought not to be the mother of his children. My dear, come back home. We will manage between us somehow. Do not stay with that haughty and proud woman. Some day God will punish her, for she has no kindness and no charity in her. I pity the man who loves you, darling, bqt it is better for him to know the truth at once. Oh, you will hate me for keeping it from you, but

I didn’t dare tell you. Now I must — I must. Your broken-hearted Mother. CHAPTER VI. Mrs Guest posted her letter that evening, but Rosalind did not receive it until the mid-day post the following day. When she got it she did not even wait to read it, for she was very busy, as Lady Archie had telegraphed to her that she was returning to Hans Place at an early hour, Rosalind generally kept her mother’s letters until night. They were interesting, of course, but not of the most vital importance. The news of little Cessie and of her mother herself could wait. She had passed an anxious time wondering what she had best do, and more and more inclined to the belief that she must bide her time and induce Philip Wingate to do likewise.

During Lady Archie’s absence, an extra refined sense of honour prevented her meeting him. She wrote him an excuse deferring their meeting until four o’clock the next day. Lady Archie arrived at Hans Place about mid-day. She greeted her companion with effusion, and did not say anything at first about her visit to Birmingham. The two ladies had lunch together, and when the servants withdrew from the room, Lady Archie burst forth. ‘My husband and I spent yesterday in Birmingham,’ she said.

‘ Oh, indeed,’ answered Rosalind. ‘I went to see your mother.’ ‘ How kind of you ! But how did you know her address ?’ ‘ I happened to find a torn sheet of paper in your waste paper basket,’ said Lady Archie, not colouring in the least, and raising her tranquil eyes to Rosalind’s face. Rosalind’s brown eyes met hers just as tranquilly. ‘ I saw your little sister, too,’ proceeded Lady Archie. ‘ Cecilia P’ said Rosalind. ‘Yes, your little sister Cecilia. She is a strange child.’ ‘ She is out of the common,’ replied Rosalind. ‘ Taking things all round, there is no one in the world whom I admire so well. Her beauty and her goodness are above the average.’ ‘ There is no doubt she is a beautiful child, and out of the common,’ said Lady Archie. I was alone with her for a few minutes. She sang to me.’ * Isn’t her voice marvellous ?’ was Rosalind’s reply. Then she turned the conversation with a certain haughtiness, which surprised Lady Archie. ‘ Was my mother well ?’ ‘Your mother seemed to be well. But my dear Miss Guest, I was shocked !’ ‘ At what ?’ ‘ She lives in a mere workman’s cottage !’ ‘ It was a new house when she took it, and no workman had ever lived there,’ replied Rosalind in an angry tone. ‘ Why it belongs to a row of workmen’s cottages !’ ‘ I can’t see how that matters,’ answered Rosalind. ‘ She gets it for fifteen pounds a year. That is the utmost she can afford to pay out of the hundred pounds a year which is her income.’ ‘ I am| given to understand that you allow her that sum out of your own salary,’ said Lady Archie. ‘ That is so, madam,’ answered the girl. She then added slowly, ‘ I have endeavoured to dress to please you, and to work you, but what I do with the rest of my money is my own affair.’ Lady Archie’s face now flamed with colour. I’ve something further to say,’ she remarked. * And what is that, madam P ’ ‘ I must allude, however much it may pain you, to your little sister’s condition. When you come to me you had no right to —’ ‘ To what ? ’ said Rosalind, sharply. ‘To conceal the fact that you are the sister— ’ ‘ Yes, go on, please.’

‘ Of a confirmed lunatic.’ Rosalind sprang to her feet. ‘ I’m sorry to be rude,’ she said, ‘ or to forget my place even for a moment, bat you’re telling me a direct lie. Cecilia is no more insane than I am.’

4 Perhaps she is not nearly as insane as you will be,’ < thought the elder lady, but she kept her remarks to herself. ‘ I can understand you, losing your temper for the time being,’ she said aloud, ‘ but it does not alter the fact that the child is not in her right senses. I should prefer, however, not to discuss this matter any farther just now. As you have chosen to conceal this fact so sedulously from me, you are doubtless shocked and overcome at my discovery of it. We will talk of this matter when you are cool and your first excitement has subsided. By the way, you ought to be careful never to excite yourself unnecessarily. People with such a tendency in their family can never be too watchful on this point. But I was going to say that I don’t require jour services any longer for the present. I’m going out again to visit several friends. ou can spend the rest of the day just as you please.’ Rosalind bowed. Her face was very white, and her eyes were dark with a mixture of passion and agony. She glanced at the clock as she left the room. It was now between one and two. Her appointment with Wingate was at four. She went steadily upstairs and stared at herself in the glass. Notwithstanding her pallor, her eyes were steady and bright. Her whole face bore evidence of a mind and body nicely balanced. She gave a half-laugh. 4 Am I utterly heartless, am I incapable of feeling P ’ But the next instant an expression in those wideopened brow eyes caused her to shudder for she read the agony in them which must break her heart by and by-

‘How dare she insult our little angel!’ thought the girl. ‘“Oh, there’s mother’s letter a long one, too. She’ll tell me about her. What an insulting, impossible, dreadful woman she is. Ob, I can’t stay here for another two years. I can’t, I can’t endure it. I must go away—go away with Phil. I must tell him the truth. My darling little sister—to speak of her in such terms.’

Rosalind flung herself into a chair and opened her mother’s letter. She read it quite quietly. When she had read it once she turned to the beginning and read it through again. Her face did not change colour, nor did she betray the least emotion as she coolly perused the letter which in her present state was a death warrant to her. ‘ Mother is right,’ she said to herself, and then she glanced at the clock. She had spent the greater part of an hour reading that letter bit by bit; and bit by bit as she read great drops of blood seemed to come from her very heart itself. Row she pot it into her pocket, crossed the room, put on her outdoor dress, and left the house. At four o’clock precisely she met Philip Wingate in that part of the Park which the pair had elected for their conference.

She saw him coming to meet her. His upright figure was clearly silhouetted against the summer sky. He walked as a man with wellbalanced mind and body trained in all manly exercises would walk. When he saw her he slightly quickened his pace. Rosalind on her part stood still. Just for an instant she was conscious of a keen stab right through her heart. Her eyes felt dizzy, the face of the man coming to meet her became slightly blurred, there seemed to be an indistinct haze round the figure so clear and brightly defined a moment before. ‘Heis my bnsband. We vowed to be true to each other in the sight of God,’ thought the girl. *Heis my husband —till death us do part. Oh, my God, my God ! And I must give him up.’ Wingate came close to her and took her hand. She allowed him to clasp it, and she even smiled faintly back

•when he smiled at her. *My sweet darling, he said, ‘l’ve been nearly mad with impatience. I feared that that dreadful Lady Archie would make a pretext to keep you. But it is all right now that you have come.”

‘ls there any place where we can be quite absolutely alone, Phil ?’ said the girl, looking up at him. ‘ls not this part private enough for you F’ he askedShe looked around her. ‘ Ho,’ she replied ‘ Kensington Gardens would be better. Let’s go there. And Phil, I’m in no hurry, no special hurry. Lady Archie has given me the rest of the day.’ ‘ How marvellously considerate of her !’ said Wingate. ‘ Then suppose we do enjoy ourselves, Rosie. Let’s stay just as long as we like in Kensington Gardens, and afterwards we will go and have dinner somewhere; and, if you care about it, we can go to a play.’ ‘Ho, not to-night,’ she said, and she shivered faintly ‘ But I’ll stay with you, Phi), just as long as ever you like in the Gardens, and I’ll have dinner with you if you’ll let let me, and then afterwards •’ ‘Yes. afterwards ?’ be said, and he looked full at her, puzzled by the expression of her face. ‘ The Gardens are not shut at this time of the year till late,’ she said ; * afterwards, we will come back, and ’ ‘ Well !’ he said. ‘Ho matter, Pll tell you when the time comes, Philip. It is not a quarter past four yet, let’s be happy—absolutely happy for two or three hours. It is all I ask, Phil, let’s try to go back in thought to the dear, sweet, happy days in Cornwall before we were married, Philip.’ ‘ I am all too willing,’ he said. ‘Do you know that I dream of those days, morning, noon and night. I recall every little event —I think I can remember each word that fell from your lips —I know the dress you wore, the flowers you carried in your hand —and that quaint little sailor hat —don’t you remember it, Rosie, how we used to laugh at it because it bad grown so shabby ?’ ‘ Yes,’ she said with a smile, ‘ was it not funny ?’ And she laughed and helped him to recall the memories of their golden time. They went into the Gardens and sat down side by side. They behaved almost like children out from school. Rosalind led Philip on to forget his six-and-twenty years. He laughed and joked. They were both vastly interested in the little boats on the Round Pond, and Rosalind instructed Phil in the art of getting pebbles Jo skid across the water. ‘Do look! do look!’ she cried. ‘ That little craft will never reach shore. Why, dear,’ she said, suddenly, ‘ I could almost cry —it has gone under. Poor little thing ! And it was So brave when it started on its little life’s voyage five minutes ago. How it has quite disappeared. But no ! It s owner is dragging it out with a bit of string. Oh, look at the poor wretch—drowned, destroyed, dripping—’ ‘And yet alive,’ said Phil. ‘lt is brave; it will start on another voyage.’ /It will never be the same again, said the girl. 4 All its youth is out of it now. I could almost wish— ’ and she sighed. ‘ What, Rosie, my darling ?’ ‘ That life could come to an end with some of us in that fashion. Just a brief, gay, dancing moment, the sun shiniug on our decks, the summer breezes inflating our sails, and then a sudden gust of wind, the flash as we go out of life, and then —rest.’ ‘You’re talking in a strange way, my darling,’ said Philip. ‘ You’re only to endure a little longer ; perhaps you have not to endure at all— ’ , ‘ We must not talk of our future or any of our plans until we come back after dinner, I shall enjoy dining with you so much, darling. And will you do me a great, great favour P ’ ‘ What is that P ’ he asked. ‘ Take me to a restaurant, where no one is likely to find us.’

1 ‘ I can take you to plenty,’ he re plied, ‘ Choose one, and let me wear my wedding ring; and call me Mrs Wingate to the waiters—or better still, your wife. Will you, Phil ? Will you ? ’ ‘ I should love to,’ he answered, and passion sparkled in his eyes and he took her hand and. squeezed it. The day was a perfect one, and when the sun was going slowly in the direction of the brilliant west to set in a great beauty of glory, the two left the Gardens and went in the direction of the town. Wingate hailed a hansom and they drove to a quiet little restaurant which he knew of in a street off the Strand.

In the hansom Rosalind managed to slip her wedding ring from the narrow chain which kept it round her neck. She put it on her finger and smiled at it. Then she looked full at Wingate and raising her hand she kissed the -ring. There was no one looking. He caught her hand which wore the golden circlet and pressed it and the wedding ring to his lips. ‘ This little ring is the symbol of eternity,’ he said ; and it means, my darling, that you and I can never, never really part.’ ‘ Ho more we can,’ she said, and she gave something be&veen a laugh and a sigh.

They reached the restaurant, and Wingate did all that Rosalind desired. He ordered a private room upstairs for himself and Mrs Wingate, and when the waiter appeared for orders he chose some very delicate and particular vintage for his wife. There was one gentle sad-looking man to wait on them, and there was no noise, no confusion at the dinner. The wheels were all well oiled, the meat was excellent, the repast of the best, and Rosalind did not hesitate to sip that rosy golden nectar, which soothed her pain for the time being and gave steadiness to her serves —for the time of joy was passing so quickly, and the time of fear was so near.

At last there was no longer an excuse to linger. ‘ Why shouldn’t we go out and walk about the Embankment ? said Wingate. 4 Why should we trouble to go all the way back to the Gardens ?’ 4 Why should we indeed ?’ said Rosalind. 4 But, stay, I should like something else better. How long would it take as to drive from here all the way to some little country place some country lane some country road —where we could be all alone for a very short time ?’ 4 We’ll go in the direction of Highgate and come back by train,’ said Wingate, 4 lt is not yet eight o’clock, there’s plenty of time.’ So they had another long drive in a hansom together, and presently alighted where the trees were thick on the Finchley Road, and where they were practically alone. Then Rosalind knew that the moments of joy had altogether flown. Sbe lifted her face and looked full up at Wingate. 4 Phil,’ she said, 4 I’ve been making my plans. They were all made and I felt happy and contented. Content to go through another two years without you, knowing tbat at the end of that time you would come back to me and we should never be parted. All yesterday I thought that this deceit was allowable; thjt this sin, if you can call it a sin, was not a grave one. I felt that it was best lor you and best for me. And last night I lay down to sleep in peace and I awoke this morning— ’

‘How?’ he asked. ‘Just a little troubled, sweetheart? Just a little unstable in that iron resolve of yours —with just a desire to go away with your Philip out of cold England, to seek your fortune with him, and—•’ ‘ No. ’ she replied. ‘ No, I didn’t think so. There’s a worldly side to me* Philip, and I don’t despise the world, nor position, and I thought of the mother and the little angel Cecilia and I could not do that which I know you tempt me to do. ’ ‘ Well, darling, you’ve come to another decision. I see it in your face.’ ‘Yes, I have,’ she said, and now her voice was broken and tears seemed

to drown it. She looked fall an at him.

‘ Still it is only right. Lady Archie is right, Sir Charles is right, they are all right. Only believe one thing of me, darling, I didn’t know it. Until I read my mother’s letter I didn’t know it. Here is her letter ; take it, keep it, readmit; and good-bye, my Philip, good-bye.’ Before he could interrupt her she had darted from his side. She had thrust her mother’s letter into his band and was gone. He looked around him in a sort of! stunned astonishment and called her name. But the road was dark and the trees full of heavy shadows over the path and he could not see her. He ran down the road looking for her, < but she did not appear. He wandered about for a couple of hours like a man distracted. His feeling was that Rosalind had suddenly gone mad. He could not find her anywhere. It was darkness—for the moon had long set. It was night—beyond the middle of the night and yet far from the dawn —when he got back to his own rooms; and even up to that moment' he had quite forgotten the letter, so stunned was he by Rosalind’s swift disappearance. (To be Continued.)