LOVE WINS THROUGH

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 16521, 23 August 1919, Page 12

LOVE WINS THROUGH

POWERFUL STORY OF ROMANCE AND MYSTERY,

By BEN BOLT, Autiter of “The Lady of tho Miniature. “Lore Finds the Clue,” “Iho Sin of Silence,’’ etc., etc.

CHAPTER XVIII. —Continued. “But if I had done so it would not have been true,’’ he replied. “I sketched yon as I dreamed or you-—and after "all my dream was tlio true- one. You were thinking of mo, and planning for my escape that very moment, though, ox course, 1 did not know it."' She did nor speak tor a. minute, then she- asked another question, the directness of which rather startled him. "Are you able to assure me that your suspicions of your cousin are unrounded yet f”

She was watching as sho asked the question, and sue saw the lines tit his lace harden, whilst ins voice was emphatic as ho replied: “Quito the contrary.” “Alt!” she said. "Ton have discovered something which confirms your original suspicions.” "Yes,” ho answered briefly.” “And 1 am not to ho told them jeti” ■ . . “It would be an injustice to my cousin if I put them into words before i am quite sure.” "But,” she asked, remembering the question silo had asked herself in London after her visit to the dressmaker’s, “suppose I have guessed? Suppose, winlst thinking tuo matter out after my visit to you at your studio I stumbled on the truth?”

“You could not possibly have done so,’’ he answered hastily. “The ground of my suspicions is of such a nature that it is (pale impossible that it should over have occurred to you, and I beg of you not to continue the discussion, please.’’ “Very well,’’ she said, “I will leave the matter alone; but there is one little thing that 1 should like to tell you, and that is that 1 have made up my mind that I cannot marry Pnilip Arcott.”

Ho started to his feet in surprise. “You have made up your mind i J ”

•■Quite!” ' ho,-give me if my curiosity seems impertinent. You have not reached this decision because of any knowledge ol the nature of the suspicions 1 entertain of my cousin?”

“That has notiiing to do with ray decision.” Ho was silent for a moment; then no asked: “Your aunt? Wnat docs she think about the matter ?”

“She docs not know yet. I shall inform her when 1 return homo. Thou 1 shall write to Sir Philip.’’ “I think your decision is a who one,” he said quietly, “and 1 am glad you have told me of it. .1 do not think 1 could have let you marry Philip Arcott without telling 'you wnat I know, and all that 1 suspect; but now that is not necessary, and I am verv glad it is not.” Ho glanced from her to the canvas, then, as if anxious to terminate the conversation, said; “If you feel rested, perhaps—” “Certainly,” she said crisply, and rising, resumed her posture on the bridge. Sho had Leon there less than a minute, however, when sho said quickly: “Do you know wo aro being watched?”

“Watched?” ho cried, starting from his scat. . . “Yes,” answered Stella, pointing beyond him with her finger, “'there is a mm behind those bramble bushes. I saw him lift his head just ” Before she could finish, before ho could move, a man, evidently aware that he was discovered, broke from the bushes and fled through the wood. The artist started to follow, and then checked himself. “I suppose it is no uso running after him; and, after all. he may have boon innocent of any evil intent. Did you sec his face?” “No, the brim of his hat—a brown velour—was down.” “I wonder what the fellow was after? It is odd that ho should run away like that. Anyway, 1 ho has spoiled my work for the morning, and I think it will be safest if 1 accompany you on your way home, Miss Sherwood.” “As you like,” answered the girl; “but you must not think I am afraid. I have roamed these woods since I was a- child.” , , He made no reply, but instantly began to pack his materials together, and a few minutes later they started, and presently arrived at a stile which led to an open cornfield, at tho far end of wtiich stood a. farmhouse. Tho girl held out her hand smilingly. “I have to call at this house, Mr. Arcott. There is a child there who is ill, and as tho vicar is old and wo have no curate in this parish, 1 sometimes act as deputy.” . . “I could almost envy the child, he answered, smiling in return, then he added: “I shall call on your aunt tomorrow and get her to show forgiveness of my other picture of yon by consenting to this new one.” “As you will,” she answered, and then passed on her way. Stella remained at tho farmhouse perhaps twenty minutes. She was seated by an open window, which gave her an uninterrupted view of the hold-path, and whilst she was talking to tho sick child, two men passed through the stile and began to walk towards tho house. They wore in earnest conversation, and as her cyes foll on them she, recognised ono of them was Sir Philip Arcott, the other, as she saw, wore a Hombnrg hat of brown velour. Her interest quickened, and as the two men passed the gate of the farmhouse, all unconscious of her presence, she looked keenly at Sir Plulip’s companion. \Vhero had she seen that dark face and those flashing cyan Scarcely bad she asked herself the question than her memory supplied tho answer. Sir Philip's companion was tho man to whom she bad relinquished the taxi-cab in London, and whom she bad seen shadowing the baronet and the dancer. And beyond question be was the man wdio bad been hidden in tho wood a little time back, and who bad fled when his presence bad been discovered. Who was he? What did his presence at Arcott mean? She did not know; she could not oven guess, blit as she walked homeward there was a very thoughtful look upon her beautiful face. CHAPTER- XIX.

“Stella. my dear, do you know what you are saying?” Miss Sherwood’s face ns sho asked the question, expressed mingled amazement and consternation.

“Perfectly, Aunt Eliza. lam telling you that I have changed ray mind and that I am 'going to break off my engagement to Sir Philip Arcott.” “But Stella,” protested her aunt, “why are you doing this? In my eyes an engagement is a thing so sacred that only the most extreme provocation can justify the breaking of it. What are your reasons? You ought at least to explain them to me?” “Auntie,” asked the girl, impulsively, “why did you not marry Canon Trenchard when he asked you? You liked him, you respected him, his position was ’ ’ “My dear child.” interrupted her aunt protestingly, “what has that to do with this matter?” “A great deal, Auntie, as you will see if you will answer my question.” A. wave of colour came into Miss Sherwood’s face. “Well, if I. must answer it, I will,” she replied, “1 did not marry Canon Tronchnrd, because, whilst I esteemed and honoured him, he did not command my deeper affections.” “Precisely,” answered Stella quickly. “And for a similar reason I have decided that I cannot marry Philip Areott, indeed I find that I do not even honour or esteem him.” On Miss Sherwood’s face came a look of perplexity and distress. “But Stella,” she said, “I do not understand. 1 thought, that you atid he were true lovers, aud to me he has always appeared a man whom any woman might bo proud to unite herself with.”

“Auntie, I was mistaken. I was never quite sure that I loved Philip Arcott, now I know Ido not. And thoro are other matters that make it quito impossible.” “Other mutters?” Stella, cannot you.ho quite frank with me."’ I cannot tell you everything. Auntie. I am afraid that you would not believe me if 1 did. Some of the things are so far removed from what wo are accustomed to associate with feir Philip Arcott, .and as they concern another person I think I cannot discuss them with anvone until permission is given. But there is one thing I can Ml you, and which in itself is sufficient ground for the derision I have reached.” She turned to a small davenport, and unlocking a drawer took from it a piece of crumpled paper. •■Auntie,” she said, “read tliat. It is not my letter, but I have read it, and in view of the knowledge which has come to mo, I feel quite justified in having done so, and in asking you to do the same.” "Biib another persons letter 1 My dear I” There was a shocked look on Miss Sherwood’s face, and her voice was .full of protest. Her nieco smiled a trifle hitteily. “Mean, of course! hut I really think you need not scruple, Auntie. \. am sure that the person who wrote that letter would not fi'-oatf mind;' indeed, I rath.cr fancy that the wntei would find a malicious pleasure in the knowledge that wo had done so. Miss Sherwood still looked doubtful, and shook her head. “Another a letter. Ido not like it, Stella. “Neither did I like it, Aj) n * l0 'r, felt unconscionably mean. But afterwards, I knew I. was quite justified. Please. Auntie,” , Miss Sherwood yielded at last, and hastily read the letter through. Mien she looked up, her face was troubled, and there was a note of perplexity m llC “I do not understand, Stella! Where did you get this? Who wrote it. ••You will remember tho night we went to the Mazarin with Sir IMip. and perhaps you. will remember that a note was brought to him during the pei foniiancc.” , r . “Yes, I remember,” answered M " Sherwood. “Philip left us for a little time, saying that a gentleman wished the note that was brought to the box,” interrupted Stella, “and the writer of it was the person ho went to see.” (Continued daily.)