CHAPTER II.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 11024, 15 September 1897, Page 4

CHAPTER 11.

"oood evening, Miss Hardy !" said a clear, manly voice, with a ring of truth and honesty about it. "Your father was saying yesterday how much he should like to see a map of tho county; I happen to have a very good one, and as the evening is so fine, I have brought it down.*' The blue eyes that laughed in his faco said clearly as words conld speak: "What a long excuse and no exense nt all i 3 needed." "Papa will be very pleased with the map of the county," she said; "ho is there by the sun dial, Mr. Danvers." She made way for him, as though he wanted to join tho goo r l enrato at once, "There is no such immediate hurry. Miss Hardy," he sniil; nnless, of course, yon want me to go." She looked up nt him with a smile that seemed to daze him. "Why should I want you to go; ah, here is Mr. Btjwe." "Good-avening, Miss Hardy !" said lover number two. "Yonr father asked me yesterday if I would bring down a volume of Kingslake's "Crimean War." This time the girl's silver laugh rang out like a chime of be'ls, and Arthur Danvers, the first comer, turned impatiently away. "Papa will be pleased with the book," she said; "be is there, by the sun dial; will you give it to him 7" "There is no hurry," said Philip; and he wondered why the girl's sweefc laughter rang out again. "I have a leisure evening, Miss Hardy," he said, "and if yo.i do not object, I should much like to spend it in this beautiful, old-fashioned garden of yours. 1 know no other like it." ''I am glad you admire it," she said; •'I have never been away from Inglewood in my life, but I am sure no place conld be like this. I always fancy that Herrick and Waller, and the sweet, quaint poets who wrote as poets never write in these days, walked in just such a garden as this, and gathered oldfashioned flowers which they immortal, ized in vorse. You remember Waller's lines: " 'Go lovely rosebud! toll her what wastes her time and mo.' " "I always fancy that he stood near some lovely old rose tree like this, and that he gathered the fairest rose upon it." "Yes, and Herrick, when he wrote: " 'Gather yo rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And thi*3 same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow may be dying. " "He mu3t have had sorno such rosebuds as these before his eyes," said Philip Stowe. "Shall we walk to the end of these roaes? What a variety you have !" It was not that ho cared so much really about tho roses, but, looking ncross at the sun-dial ho saw the eyes of the rival lover fixed on him with an expression of keen, wistful pain, that was most delightful in a rival — because it showed wounds. She did not look acro33 at thd dial, and never 'thought about rivals or wounds, but walked by Philip's side in happy contont. "I am always grateful to any who will stop me when I begin to quote poefry," laughed Philip; "I lose myself and bore people." "You never tire'tne," she said, gently. ' That is becaupo you are so kind and indulgent to me," ho replied. They came to a superb rose trcej ono of the kind called "Maiden's Blush." and stopping, ho gathered tho loveliest rose on tho tree. "If I could make that rose say for me all that I should like to say for myself. Oh, Daphne, let me use your beautiful name — every leaf would speik, would tremble and blush, and whisner to you." "Every flower has its meaning, I suppose," Bhe interrupted. "Yes; and the particular meaning of this 'Maiden's Blush' is timid love. Will you tako it from me. Daphne, and see if the leaves will speak?" He was the more impassioned because he &aw the wistful eyes follow every movement with such intense pain. "Do take it," he added, in a passionate whisper; "it means so much to me." She took it, and the watcher by the snn-dial could endure this state of things no longpr. "I wiil see what Miss Hardy is doing," he said to tho good enrate, who sighed in silent wonder. The ways of these im- - petuou? young men were quito novel to him. Arthur Danvers walked down the garden paths with burning anger, every minute growing more fiery. "What right lias In; to take her off to the rcses, and talk to her in that absnrdly confidontial manner, as though she belonged to hi:fl? I most teach him a lesson — I must indeed. • What right has he to her a rosebud and look at her as though be saw all Heaven in her face? ' Ho wa>< pule and breathless when he reached them; ho would not wait ono moment to recover himself; he looked at her, ut her lovely face, and the rose she hold in her hands. A sudden impulse camo over him; in that one moment be could have sprung at his rival's throat ami lmvo slain him. As it was, he conteri!p<l himself, when he saw how tenderly »mi i i-ld tli" flower, by taking it lrom her hands without one moment's warn)Bg. "Pray excuse me, Miss ilardy," be saiii. ''Do you not see those thorns, so .Ions: i'lid so sharp?" A 1 * bo spk- ho pointed (hem out t> L^i — . i 'i,. . -'-]' fiorns that might have \»-> i,. !"! 'i .flii'" 1 fingw. .i ;.i ,-'!.• -,v' 'ivn f 'i with : '^!j'.y he?.

"What a strange thing for a gentleman to do," he said. "I gave Miss Hardy that flower. What right have I you to take it away?" "The right any good Samaritan would have," he said, "of preventing Miss Hardy irom hurting herself. When gentlemen give roses they should look after tho thorns. " "Will you give the lady her property?' 1 asked Philip Stowe, angrily, while Daphne began to wonder how the interview would end — it was not promising well at all. "I shall be only too pleased to restore your rose when I have stripped it of every thorn, Miss Hardy," he said, not deigning to notice hia rival's words. "I only wish that from the fair and blcoming rose of your life 1 could as easily strip the thorns." "I have no thorns at present," said Daphne, trying to smile. "Thorns ! " cried Philip. "Who would imagine yon could have thorns in a life like yours?" "Yon are so fond of poetry," he said, quietly, "I should have thought the allegory would have suited you — it is a very poetical one " Daphne thought she had better interfere — the rivals were looking fiercely at | each other. The path grew narrower; thoy could no longer walk three together. ; Philip held out his arm. "Will you taJce mj arm, Miss Hardy? 1 ' he said. At the very same moment Arthur cried ont: "The road is narrower here, Miss Hardy. May I take care of you? 1 ' Half frightened, she declined both offers. "I will walk alone," she said; "my dress catches in the borders." She went on alone, and the two who would so cheerfully have slain each other walked behind her. "I wonder, Mr. Danvers," sneered Philip Stowe, "if you have ever happened to heal the old adage that two are coin pany, and ihree are none?" "Yes, 1 have heard it." replied Arthur. "Would it not be aa well to act upon it?" asked Philip. "Misa Hardy was quite content with my society before you interrupted us." They have come now to the great sheaves of delicate white lilies. Arthur did not answer his rival, but, bending down, lie chose the fairest, straightest, most fragrant of the all sweet white flowers. He took it to Daphne and held it out to her so firmly she could not have helped taking it without a scene. "A rose is nothing by itself," he said; "if you want to show its beauties, carry a lily by it 3 side." j She was too kind hearted to refuse I him, and she placed the lily by the rose. Philip Stowe's face was a study then. Arthur felt proud of his success, and Phillip hated him in proportion for it. "I did not see you at church on Sunday, Miss Hardy," said Philip. "Whata dull day it was 1" "I thought tho day fine, and I saw you there at night," said Arthur. j "Oh," thought Daphne, "if one' or the other would but go. They are so nice alone — so horrible together." She felt something like a victim led to the slaughter as she walked on be. tween them, for the path had widened, with the lily and rose 1 in her hand. "If papa could but understand, would ! he come to my relief," she thought. TO BE CONTINUED