Selina's Love Story.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8206, 9 August 1906, Page 2

Selina's Love Story.

CHaPTEK V.—Continued.

When ho was in the carriage Sir George beckoaed his sister to him.' «I leave Dorothy iu your oharge, he said, 'and it is. my command that Polly and 6he have no conversation together.' Then he had driven away, and Selina had turned and pone back into the house, feeling lDoliued to cry, aud yet augry with borself for such weakness, and Sir George had driven and caught the quick morning train to London. And now he stood face to face with the woman who had given Dorothy life, and from whom be intended to cut that younfc' life deliberately and absolutely. Mrs Baraldiue oaiie forward and pot out her baud. •Though a stranger to you, Sir George,' she said, gracious!?, 'I feel n<= thouah I have known yu very well. But you will forgive me. 1 know, if 1 aek you at nnce for news of my child. 1 have not had ray usual morning letter. It makes me very anxious. But won't yoa sit down?' 'I think 1 would prefer to stand, Sir George answered. He was steeling himaolf against the cbTtr of this woman. t Yea erday he had called her terrible names in his thoughts; all that pun tanical side of his character which Mary Lnscombo kuew existei had ranged itself fiercely and bitterly against Dorothy's mother. And now, nfter the first moment of unconscious yielding to the spell of her womanly presence, he encased himself to thisstern armour and resolved to make no compromise. Mrs Baraldine looked at him quickly; her brows contracted when he refused to sit down. 'ls my ohild well? 1 she asked, and her voice was cold. 'Dorothy is better to-day,' Sir George answered; 'yesterday she was •111!' said Mrs Baraldine, 'ill! And I was not imformed.* Her tune as full of alarm and of anger combined. 'Dorothy is in good hands,' Sir George said, coldly; 'there is notbin« to be alarmed about.' Mrs Baraldine put her hands to her throat and for an instant closed her eyes, and then she let her hands drop. 'Why have you come to me, Sir Gecrge?' shesaid, 'and why, if you must come, adopt so strange atone?' •I have come,' answered the man, 'because I find it neoessary to have one interview with you. Dorothy is going to be my wife, and there are certain things that must be spoken between you and myself once, and then never again.' Caroline Baraldine retreated from him. She answered bim with some difficulty. 'lt is no doubt an honour that you should desire to mirry my daughter,' she said, with very great dignity, 'but it is an honour that 1 refuse! Dorothy is a child-my child. Ido not desire that she should marry for a very long time. That, 1 think, will end all conversation between us, except that 1 must tell you that I shall go to your house to-day and bring my daughter away with me;' She drew a chair forward <*nd dropped into it as she spoke. Her face had turned ashen white, and she was trembling from head to foot. She had not been a strong "woman for years, and this morning that anxious yearning for her child had distvessed her and made her weaker than usual. George Durnstone L looked at her coldly, angrily. 'Of course, you know that you are talking nonsense,'ho said. 'ln ordinary circumstances 1 grant that a mother would have the right to arbitrate for her daughter's future, but you—you are not in ordinary circumstances Dorothy owes you nothing but one long reproaob. She stands alone, and she knows it; and, standing alone, she has chosen me., The woman sitting in the chair looked up at bim with dilrted eyes. 'She knows nothing,' she whispered.

George Dumstone was merciless. 'She did know nothing; today she knows everything, and she has chosen me. There has been no pretense between us,' the man went on 'l* have told her distinctly that iu becoming my wife she makes her choice between us—you and myself—-for in my house there is no rconi for you.' Mrs Baraldine covered her face with her hands, and a wailing oiy esoaped her lips. Mathilde, who ha'l been hovering outside in the hall, heard the cry and came in swiftly. She went to her mistress' side, and croncbed beside her, pouring oat tender words volubly, and breaking from thi3 once to address Sir> George augrily, and askfhim what he was doing. Cuioliue caußht the hand of her old servant and gripped it; then she whimpered to the woman to go away and leave hot. "You have helped me in so many things, Mathilde, she said, 'but here you cannot help me no oni/oan help me.' The old French woman went away hesitatingly. Her heart was riven as she looked at her mistress' changed face [and that tall, sternlooknig man. 'Alas!' she said to herself, 'Alas!' There was a little pause after she had gone, then Mrs Baraldine rose. 'Doubtless she will not believe me,' she said, in her low, sweet voice, 'but this—this cruel separation which you announce so quietly, and with such Bn air of command, is the great sacrifice for which I have been preparing all these years. I have always said to myself, when Dorothy meets a man worthy to marry her, then her life [must be ] long to that man ; 1 shall retire from J

By Eftie Adelaide Rowlands. Author of "An Inherited Feud," "Brave Barbara," « A Splendid Heart," " Temptation of Mary Barr," "The Interloper," etc., etc.

all contact with her. You see therefore, you need not apeak to me in the way you have just spoken; 'but,' she reared her head proudly, 'if I am not the custodian of Dorothy's life, I am at least the proper person to judge of what is good for her future. You are a great man, you bear an old name, 1 am sure that you are good in your way; but you are not the man whom my child should marry. Most bitterly do I repent that I Jet Dorothy go to your house. '1 never dreamed there would be this difficulty when your sister wrotn to ask her. For 1 had gathered from Dorothy and from others that you were an old man—and you are old compared to her. The marriage cannot take place. Georgo Purnatone's face flushed. He bit his lin as he listened to her. 'Dorothy has ohosen,' was his answer.

'Dorothy is a child,' said Mrs Baraldine, 'she cannot choose; this is her home; say what you like, I am still her mother, aod,' said the woraan, turning and faoing bim, 'no ohild has bad a more sheltered, a more beautiful life that my child has h ad. 1 have kept sorrow away from her; 1 have taught her to revere what is good; in every way possible I have elevated her instincts, and 1 have prayed that I may see her an honoured wifb before 1 die; but I have no wish to see her the wife of a man like joureelf.' 'I think we had better understand one another, said George Durnstone, qu'etly. 'I do not intend to yield my position. , Fate has given this ohild into my hands; I love her. Though 1 may not be a very young man, I can care for her, protect her as well as any young man on earth She has plighted her troth to me. I came here today, uot merely on my own responsibility, but as a bearer of her wishes.' Mrs Baraldine shrank baok. 'No, no,' she paid, hoarsely, 'that I will not believe. Dorothy loves me!' 'Dorothy did love you,' answered the man, hardly, 'but now——' Mrs Baraldine caught his arm with her two bands. 'Who has turned her from me?' she asked; 'who has been so cruel as to open her eyes? Is this your work? And would you have me recognise in you a good man, a man fit to be her husband?' George Durnstone turned ?nd looked at her. •1 knew nothing,'he said, deliberately; 'had 1 known—l will be frank with you—l should never have had your daughter in my house. Without knowing you, 1 almost grew to love you. I had* your picture in my room—t revered it. When my love for Dorothy grew so great that 1 could uot conceal it, I promised myself a great happinesi iu coming to you and asking you on my knees for the treasure of your life. Then came the truth! Knowledge was thrust upon me, upon all of uh suddenly, horribly 1 The woman you have wronged all these years was the medium through which the knowledge oame. She was brought to my house unexpectedly the nighc before last. She had scarcely entered the room before she at once recognised Dorothy! She shrank back orying out she was insulted, though no une understood her; and when your child was brought forward to be presented to her, all the bitterness of years found vent in a blow. Yes,' said George Durnstone, almost fiercely, 'Lady Dunworthy struck your innocent child across the face, Mrs Baraldine! Now do you still think tnat Dorothy can love you?' <^ Mrs Baraldine's hands loosened themselves suddenly from his arms, her limbs seemed to give way beneath her; she sank slowly down till she lay crouched on the hearthrug. Then an instinct of manliness and pity took possession of Sir George. He stooped, lifted her, and put her into a chair,. She lay like one dead, save'that tears broke from under her closed eyelids and rolled down her haggard cheeks. George Durnstone stood looking at her with contracted brows, ij It was impossible for him not to be touched by her misery, but his judgement of her was unchanged by his pity. After a long Bpell, Mrs Baraldine sat forward. She passed her handkerchief over her eyes. 'Now I see that you are right,' sho said; 'what you tell me has pierced me to the heart. Though you aro hard, you-are a good mau, and what right have I to stand between Dorothy and the life you have to offer her? 1 mitfht;, perhaps, fight for my child's love, did I not know that my days are numbered; but I cannot leave her without a protector. But, obi you will be good to her, will you not? She has been se tenderly nurtured—'you will treat her tenderly. 'lf,' her white lips contracted, 'if she has lost ner love for me, let that love lie in the grave. Do not try to teach her the sorrow of my wrongdoing. Let the remembrance of her happy childhood be with her always. This—this is all 1 a o k.'