For Honour's Sake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXVIII, Issue 7969, 21 February 1906, Page 2

For Honour's Sake.

CHAPTER XXIX.-Continued. >lt was scarcely three o'clock yof ; when wonld he come? Sha fiitttd about a bit, with beating heart and changing colour, etoppiug every now and then to listen. Then she 6at down to road, but that was useless; she threw the book nway and clasped her hands on her knee. Oh, how slowly the time went! She was by no means at rest about that decision of hers. It seemed to her sensitive soul like deception; it was ajreserve that commended itself to her moral aense, but not to her heart. And it was scarcely half-past three,, though the minutes had seemed to drag so, when there was a ring at the doorbbll. Claude was outwardly mistress of herself, for, after all, it might be someone elue. Two or three minutes later the door opened and the servant announced: "Cantata Stewart." Claude rose and advanced to meet him, holding out her hand, and be took it in his; but as the door closed he dropped it, to press her passionately to his heart. "My pieoious love!" he said, at last, "You are very, very good to me. Let mo lock at .you, darling! It soema so long since I saw you, though it is (inly a few days." He held her off. surveying her with a gaze that might well make her eyes drooD and her colour rise. "Did you put on that gown for me?" he said, softly, smiling, "because 1 admired it so much?" ' "Yos." she anpwered very low, her head dropping. "Dearest!" He drew her within his arms again, and held her close to him for minutes. "I am only happy," he whispered, "when 1 can feel your heart beating against my own, and look into your dear eyeb, that hold all sweetness for me. And ho you are happiest, I know." She only answered by the tightening clasp of her arms about his neck; and then he sat down and drew her to his feet, still keeping her wrapped close to him as if he feared ahe would melt away and leave him desolate. . It was, some little time before Stewart spoke again, the silence was so passing sweet; but the very ecs'tany grew at length to be pain. Intense feeling must have relief. Stewart lifted his head that had been bowed on hers, and said tenderly, with caressing fingers straying among her chestnut curls: "And what hare you been doing ■darling, since we last met ? You were in the park. I beard of that, of course, and envied the people ■who could speak to you while i was forded to be absent. What else hare you to tell me? Nothing, you know, what concerns you is trivial to me." She was silent. "Claude,"headded, quickly, in an .altered tone, "what is it my darling? Something has happened to trouble you. Tell me, dear." "Oh, no, no," she uaid, with a oatoh in her voice. "It doesn't matter; it—it's nothing!" With gentle force he drew the girl's head back, and his eyes, wistful, penetrating, searohed ber face. She flushed crimson jauder that look, the tears rushed to her eyes that would not met his. He stooped and kissed the tears away; "Sweetheart," he said very softly, and there was a touch of pain in his tone, "are yon going to be reserved with me. Or is it"~ he drew a long silent breath, and pressed the slight form almost convulsively to him; his voice broue, grew husky—"is it," he said with an effort, "that you don't quite trust me?" A minute's deathly silence. The man seemed hardly to breathe; the girl laid her face against him, quivering from head to foot, the sob in her throat choked back by heV agony. It was as if a knife had cleft her heart. How oould the doubt him? How could she give him pain? ~ Stewart knew how it was with ber, bis sympathies were as fine and true as a woman's, and he bent over her laying bis hands tenderly on her bowed head. "My own lov«," he said, softly, as at first, but the pain was banished, "you mUBt not suffer £o; you do me no wrong if you sometimes fear for me. A man is never safe from temptation, dearest. I have been tempted. I may be tempted again. You know that darling?" "Esnc!" The name was scarcely breathed. He had to wait a little before she could go on. Perhaps his touch on her head, just soothing and tender —no more—helped' ber. She wept ou, her voice somewhat .stronger, though it trembled and faltered, her face still hidden. "1 jdid not doubt you; it was not that I meau- Oh. Eerie!" "Darling, I understand. You mean you did not fear that 1 might fail utterly—might even try to tempt you. His voice sank; he, bent his bead low. "Oh, darling! I could not sin so deeply, Yet why should you not. fear even that?" "Ob, no, no" cried the girl, passionately. She lifted her face from his breast now, and looked up 'to i him with glowing eyes. "I could nut " think so of you. You do, you must, believe me." "My own love, I do believe you." He again pressed the dear head against his heart;. "Is not your faith in mo a bulwark against failare? but even temptation would wound me to the soul, and you would spare mo the sin and the' pain?" "Yes," Claude whispered, clinging to h ; m, comforted fbat ho so perfectly understood her. 3 ; Sho could not endure that he should think she .actually doubted him. "But that was only part," sho went on, after a pause. "You have no power to belD me, and it would give such cruel suffering to know that." "It will give mo more suffering, dearest," saicr.bo, gently, '"to bo shut out from any portion of your life. Let the trouble be great or small, if it is yours it is mine, let tne Daiu be to me what it will. I can "bear it better than to have one

By Bertha M. Clay. Author of " Wife in Name Only," " Wedded and Parted," "Dora Thome," "A Queen Among Women," " A Trite Mat/dalenc," etc., etc.,

thought of your heart bidden from me." "Esric," she said, tremulously, lifting her face to his, "forgive." "Forgive the sin of too much love? Then I absolve you, so," pressing bis lips on hers. "And now." after that long silence, "my swaet penitent, tell me all." Th6n Claude told him of her interview • with Julia Daveuant, and its reFult. He listened without interruption; but she could see* and feel that it stirred a tempest of passion within him, and filled him with desperate pain. He was, as she had said, so powerless. What could he do that would not be far worse for tier than restraining bim? He could not interfere—could not in any way, stand her friend. For minutes, when she had ceased speaking, he silent, drawing his breath in heavy pants. On. that he could claim her against the whole world—take her to his heart, shelter her, cherish her, protect her! To be, because he was a man, weaker than the weakest woman, more helpless than a child—a blave! It was bitter; it was maddening! (To be Continued).