For Honour's Sake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXVIII, Issue 7978, 5 March 1906, Page 2

For Honour's Sake.

By Bertha M. Clay. Author of " Wife in Name Only," if Wedded and Parted," " Dora Thome," " A Queen Anions/ Women," " A True Magdalene," etc., etc.,

CHAPTER XXVl.—Continued

"It is almost a perfect night!" said Maida, in a whisper; hor heart was beating so fast sho could not find her voice. Langdale answered "Yes," absently ; but he wnsn't looking at ihe sky; he was looking down at his companion's face; her hand still rested on bis arm. He put his free band on it. "Maida!" ho said. She started, and flushed to the brow; her hand trembled, but she did not take it away; then he threw his arm round ber, and drow her close to him, and * her pretty head dropped on this breast. "Maida," he said softly, "you do love me." Maida's generally glib tongue seemed to fail ber just now—she made no answer;'but Langdale evidenty understood silence as assent; and, gently lifting the face she tried to bide from him. he kissed the •sweetlips that trembled like a girl's. "Ob, Gus!" she -said, at last, when be would let ber speak; "you don't know how happy you have made me f" * "If t h e happiness you have given to me, Maida, is any gauge, I think • I can guess." She laughed, a soft, low laugh; then started, and tried to draw herself from her lover's arm. "Someone is coming," she said, "please let me go." But he held her fast, as he .glanced round. "It's ouly Captain Stewart," ho said; "he kuowa all about it. Esrio!"he called, for the discreet Scotchman, catching sight of tha two figures, was turning away, "come here!" Stewart approached, and Lang--dalo etrotnhed out bis baud. "Earin-," he began, but the other iutoirupted, laughing, aa he clasped ?tbe baud closely in bis own. "1 understand, Gus, old fellow—you have won a jewel whose worth *is above rubies—Mrs Westmore!" She put both her hands in bis, looking up to him with tearful eyes and flushing cheeks; porhaps there were tears in bis own eyes, as he 1 stooped and kissed, with true reverence* and devotion,, the hands be Jbeld. "You know bow dear* Gus is to ime!"hesaid, a little huskily. "I always hoped be would succeed in winning you." "Indeed,"sbe said, deeply touched *'you tbink too well of me but I will try to bo all to bim even you •can wish." "He ip mor-e than safe in our hands," said Stewart, smiling, "and I will go bail for him." "So will I," said she, archly. "Ah, you are not a fair judge!" inter nosed Gus. "Yes, she is," said Stewart. "Love is not always blind. Now, I'll be off. You won't be missed. Alljthe others are in the grounds somewhere, and Lady Meldune is nodding over a book. An revoir." A parting handclasp to each—to Gus a look given and answered, in which heart met heart—and then Stewart turned away, descended the adjacent steps, and disappeared. But ih was long before either of the lovers uttered a word. Even this happiness was fchadowed—especially to Gue—by tho thought that the man who bad just left tbem —left them band in band, in a love free and spotless, looking to a sunny future. For bim love was peril, if not sin ; to its future he dared not look." Did Stewart not feel this as be walked on slowly in the gloom? how glad, for Gus Langdale's happiness; yet that happiness must bring home to bim, with the stab of a two-edged sword, bis own desolation and Claude's, Oh, the ceaseless dinning of those saddest words of all: "It might have been !" JUw bad come out seeking Claude; he half feared to meet.her now—not x that he was tempted, or dreaded temptation—but in the passion that shook him now be might utter words, as he bad done before, that would wound her sensitive womanhood. A woman who loves as Claude loved shrinks even from the thought of tbe future that "might have been." yet bis need "was so terrible that it quite mastered tbe fear. Where was she? She had left tbe others, if she had ever been with them. He turned from tbe path in which he now was and struck into another, doep among trees, that led to a rosery, but here there was no sign of Claude. He passed on to where tbe trees, principally limes, grew thickly, and then, suddenly, be started, bis eyes, usually keen in tbe darkness, bad caught sight of something shadowy, like a woman's form, sitting on a low bench. He quickened bis steps, his heart throbbing wildly. His light footfall made no sound on the mossy turf. He was olose now, quite close. It was Claude. She lifted her head, but before bis name could escape her lips, he had Hung himself beside .her, and wrapped her passionately iu his-arms. "Darling!" be whispered, quivermgly; "at last! At last! Ob, sweetheart. I needed you so much. I bave beeu looking for you." "I was not bidjpg from you" she answered, clinging to him. "1 am ho glad you came. Esric, have you been looking for me longl" "No, not longi but it seemed so to me. Wo bave never been alone together yet, my heart, and I sball lose you tomorrow. How can I let you go?" So close be strained her to him, it seemed to stay the very beating of , her heart; his lips clung to hers for a few minutes; then be loosed ber a little. ■■■»s, "My love makes me cruel Bometime," be said, under bis breath. "Forgive me, darling." "J bave nothing to forgive," she said, softly. "Eario, there is some trouble that made you\%iy what you did, and I should know it without, that." V-

"Trouble that grew out of gladness, dearest," tenderly caressing the soft curia on lier forehead, for she was looking up to him with earnest, wistful eyes, shining like stars in the gloom. What nißde her divine, at least, soino'hiug of the truth? She did not shrink from him, but be felt her hold her breath, and hor eyes drooped. "When 1 came out to look for you," ho said, "1 saw Gus and Maida oa tho lawn together. Gus called me to tbem. You know what he had to tell me?" "Yes " Then sho hid her faoe with almost a sob. "Oh, Esric! I am so glad, so clad ! Dear Maida! No one better deserves to be faatDy, and Major Laugdnle is bo noble! And yon love him, Esric!" "He has given me all but my dearest wish, darling that only you could give me! Now youunderjtand," his voice faltered and broke, "why the very gladness brought so much pain.' 'Yes—i—understand." "Oh, that I could, in truth, call you my wife!" He scarcely breathed the last word, with an indesoriba ble tenderness and reverence in the utterance that softened its passion: it was soul sveaking to soul, with no earthly hope; and in the long miDiites of absolute stillness that followed heart was hushed with a strange sense of peace stealing through all the feverish unrest. fTo be Continued).