NOT FOR LOVES SAKE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3360, 15 January 1879, Page 3

NOT FOR LOVES SAKE.

BY FLORENCE 11. liIE.NET,

" Louis says you are so headstrong, Dora, and if you would ' r

" Don't echo any more of Louis' sayings, Bertha. They have been dinned into my ears until tbey sound like proverbs ground out a hundred years ago." " I am sure Louisnever says anything thafc is nofc jusfc and right, Dora. "He only thinks of your good at all times."

" Let me take care of myself," said Dora. " Now you know you can't take care of yourself, Dora," began Bertha, " your education has not fitted you "'

A dark look came on Dora's face. " I didn't mean in that way, Bertha," she said, trying to speak quietly. •' Heaven knows I wish I was competent to earn my own living. 1 meant that you and Louis might let me take care of myself n. for as my marriage is concerned."

"We want to see you well settled, Dora. You are twenty-three, and such men as Mr Ferrier do not lie around loose like blackberries all ready for the picking up."

" I don't want to pick him up." '•That is just what we complain of, and Louis says "'

Dora Lorrimer sprang up and ran out of the room before her sister could finish the wise saying of her husband. Bertha sighed over the obstinacy of her sister Dora, but then dismissed the subject from her mind, and began to worry oiit the mysteries of a crochtt stitch. Of course Dora would come to it in time — that marriage with Andrew Ferrier.

Meanwhile Dora was in her own room trying to think out clearly tliis knotted skein her life had become. She did not love Andrew Ferrier, and yet her sister and her sister's husband, the only relatives sho had in the world, urged her to marry him and " settle down." It galled her terribly to be dependent on her brother-in-law. She had tried not to be.. She had, on leaving the boarding-school where she had studied two years, tried to find an occupation, but she had not been able to do so, and had lived on in Louis' houae, and listening with what patience she could to Louis' dull maxima and sayings.

Louis Maynard waa a good business man and had amassed a very comfortable fortune. He had married Bertha Lorrimer, a gentle, placid woman, whose will waa aa nothing, and who was Tery thankful (o be removed from the dull home she had with her old aunt to Mr Maynard's comfortable mansion. Sho had left Dora with the old aunt, and tbe old aunt had died, and pretty, bright Dora had been left at sixteen without a penny, and Mr Maynard had sent her to a boarding-school. But he found it expensive, and alter two years had sent for lier to come home— to his home. For live yoars now had she beeu dependent on his charity. And he had made her feel her dependence. He had been stormy and incensed when lio fancied ehe had encouraged the attentions of men poor in this world's goods ; and he had been urgent and stern when a wealthy suitor had come on the tapis. Dora had borne his tyranny with a rebellious and burning heart and gone her own way in spite of his anger. She bad, of course, caused her brother-in-law to feel anything but kindly toward hey, and of late lie had alluded very frequently to her utter dependence upon him, and Dora had wished she had never been born.

Two years before Mr Ferrier had made his appearance as a suitor for the hand of penniless Dora Lorrimer, life had been for a brief period very bright to the girl. She had gone to a summer watering place with some friends for a stay of a few weeks and there had met Guy Landon. Love had stolen into her heart for this handsome, tall young man wlio seemed lo her better than all whom she had ever met. She had thought it returned, had felt sure of ifc, in fact. Bufc the day came when she doubted all things, even his love.

The weeks passed by quickly in riding, boating, and picniping. Afc first Guy Landon seemed to hang aloof from the merrymakers ; then he joined them and became Dora's partner on all occasions of merrymaking. At times she could not understand him. He would be morose and gloomy, and stay from her side for a day or two afc a time. But before she left Brett on the sea, she understood why he had been miserable.

They wero out riding together in the dusk of tho evening. The rest of the party had gono far ahead, bufc Dora and Guy were riding slowly. Suddonly a gun had been fired in the wood close by, and Dora's horse had given one wild plunge and then dashed away, throwing his lovely rider to the ground.

"My love ! my own !" These had been Guy's words as he lifted the almost fainting girl in his arms, and a faint flush had dyed her pale face, and she had einilpd i?p in .his eye* .and Guj itmdon knew fcliafc lie was lbeloveu.

She was hot hurt, and had ridden Guy's horse home, while he walked by her side. Her face was happj*, her heart beat wildly, her brain seemed in a whirl of delight. Guy loved her, he had called her " his own," his "love."

Bufc Guy said no more to her of love. The nexfc evening he had asked her to walk out with liim, and she had willingly consent cd. Poor Dora ! she believed he wished to tell her of his love.

In the silence of the wood, with the dusk shadows creeping over all, Guy Landon took Dora's hand and said that lie had brought her here to say " good-bye."

Dora made no answer. Her wild, beautiful eyes were fixed on him in a mute appeal. He saw the anguish and hopelessness in them and the sight was too much for him. He threw his arms aboufc her, kissed her repeatedly, and then wifch almost a groan he pushed Lei* from him.

" Dora ! forgive me if you can. We must not talk of love. Heaven knows I did not wish to win your heart, but I have been a coward, a selfish, thoughtless coward. lam engaged to my cousin, Augusta Payne." Dora gave only a little cry, then stood up bravely. She was a true woman and her pride was great. "I do not blame you, Mr London. Bufc do nofc let us think or talk of ifc more. Will you take me home now ?" Ho turned and walked back to the hotel witJi her, but as lie walked he told her of his engagement. He liad imagined he had loved Auyusta Payne seven years bofore. She was twenty-two then, he the samo age, and their parents had favoured the match. At first he was too poor to marry, and Augusta had nothing. So they had waited, aud now tliat he waa rich and able to marry lie did not care to marry his cousin. He had known for four year, that he did not love her, and had offered her freedom from the tie which bound them. This offer she had refused and the} were still engaged. He had liked Dora, had taken pleasure in her society, and had indulged himself in it until he found that he loved her. Then there was such a fascination in being with her that he bad not tried to re-, si-fc it. He had meant never to speak of lii. lore, and had not dreamed he could win her heart.. Would she forgive him ? Dora haJ said she forgave him freely, and the n.xt morning when she came to breakfast she heard that he was gone. " Gone fco his cousin Augusta, of course," Dora had thought. "O, docs she value what is so very dear to me? Why should she break our hearts ? "

Now, two years later Dora ie flitting in her

own room reviewing the past. In all thew? months she has heard no itwd of Gnr Landon.

He Was married, of course. Augusta, would nofc patiently have waited ti\o years longer. And Louis was urging Mr Ferrier* merits. Could she be longer dependent oa ! her sister's husband ? How galling thafc dei pendence was sho only knew. What did life hold for her now ? Guy wa. married. Should she, cherishing her love dream, live on in her brother-in-law's house sneered at, and tauc-ted with her dependence ? Tbr tea bell rang, bufc Dora sent word by the housemaid thai she did nofc care for any, that L-M* head ached. Presently a knock camo afr her door. She knew it well. No one in the Jbouse knocked in that way except; Louis.

She opened the doo?; standing before liiui in her loose wrapper and mussed hair, her eyes red wifch weeping over that old lore dream so rudely broken — the love dream of whieli Louis and Bertha knew nothing whafcsver.

" Ferrier is- in the par Tour, Dora. Please make yourself presentablr and go down. Don'fc keep him waiting." " I don't care to see anyone to-night, XoiuV. Please don'fc urgs- me."

_" Don't act in that stubborn manner, Dorst. \ou seem to think you can tiirn off man afterman with impunity. You are twenty-three, and your chances won't last for ever. One would suppo. e you had an independent fortune instead of being dependent on me for every mouthful of bread you eaifc, and every dresa you wear."

" Very well, Loui.j.l will be down as soo* as !• am dressed."

Then she closed her door, and threw herself on her bed in a storm of tears and anger*. This lasted but a few minutes. Then she bathed her face, put on a black dress unrelieved by a pnrticle of colour, and went dowi* fco the parlour.

Andrew Ferrier was turning over the leaves of a photograph album, that refuge to which the waiting t\y. He was » large man, rather fine looking, wifcliapleaßanft face. (To be continued.)