A HEART'S TRIUMPH.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9136, 8 July 1908, Page 2

A HEART'S TRIUMPH.

CHAPTER XV.-Continued

If care had been bestowed on her she would not be the troubled creature she was to-day. She felt a sharp twinge of pain take her heart as she recalled Felix's fervent expressions of love .and his lack of care; for, with a;l her womanhood alert at last, Cecil knew that whatever else might lie in her future, she must face the truth — that the man who had won her in so orooked a manner was not likely to walk more straight-forwardly when he. was with her master. She felt the solitude of the trees after a time, and went back to the house. Now she was fortified to meet him, and she resolved that he must listen to some plain words. The marriage ceremony that had passed be ■ tween them that day in London had been thrust ■ upon her too suddenly. She must have some time given her in which to reflect and order the future. But there must be no more secrecy. What had been done must be told to all, and they must bear whatever annoyance might come as equably as they could. "If he cares for me so deeply, he will see I am right, and he will help me to the utmost of his power. The desire for secrecy was hi*;'l don't understand why, but now it is my de T sire for open conduct and honest speaking. I shall myself tell Helen the truth this afternoon.'* Cecil, meeting one of the maidf, learned that Doctor Bingham had only just arrived. His train had been delayed. He was up-stairs with Mrs Brownlow.

Cecil paused before going up-stairs. She opened her two letters. Michael wrote a very few words, but they touched her. He enclosed his mother's address, in case she had forgotten it, and begged her, if thsre should ever come a moment when that mother could be useful to her, that she should unhesitatingly apply t) Cornelia Everest. The letter from Paul Darnley was longer, and full of affectionate thought. He wrote in his w'ift'd name, and his own, urging Ce-'il to take great care of her health, and to rememher that she was to be their honoured guest as soon as they had returned home. "Our first guest, dear Cecil," Paul wrote; "you must not disappoint us. lam sure yen will be able to leave your invalid for a few days. I shall travel down and fetch you myself. I want you to have your fir.st glimpse of the outside world under my care. My wife says we are very daring to wish to have so celebrated a presu; - age as Miss Lacklyne in our small house; but I laugh at her, and tell her that for all your wonderful wealth and the power and position you now hold, you will always be to me the same dear, elflike Cecil, with your quaint brown velvet clothes and your pretty, boyish crop of short curls, that I knew and cared for so long ago. Seriously, my dear little friend, it will be the greatest happinesß to me to know that you will be with us. I should like to be your big brother, and have the right to guard you forever. Well, perhaps you will.always feel that you can turn to me for counsel ar.d help, no matter how many friends the world may give'you." Cecil could read no further. Tears rose and dimmed her eyes. Now, if before ,&he had doubted, she would have recognised the wrong that had been done —this wrong that had bean forced upon her, and which looked so ugly, so unnecessary, when contrasted with the faith and friendship of this other man's heart.

She put aside the letters and went upstairs slowly. It was her custom to go in at th 9 eiid of Felix's visit to Hel9n Brownlow, and to-day she had an extra touch of anxiety about the invalid, for she had been very weak and ailing the past week.

It would have been hard for Cecil to have defined the feeling that linked her with this sick woman. Perhaps the two strongest characteristics in it were pity and deep r< - spect. Love, Cecil could not truly say she had; nor was the fount of her filial affection touched by the asser tion that this woman who had suffer, ed so miserably was her mother.

Cecil did not contest tbis asser tion; in fact, the word "mother" had no real meaning for her. She merely accepted it quietly. She had taken the poor creature to her arms and home through deep, illimitable pity, and because—though she shrank from admitting this—she knew it was her father who had wronged this unhappy woman. Cecjl had known ha was capable of terrible things, though to herself he had been merely callous, not cruel; but the accusation Helen Brownlow had poured out against Charles Lacklyne in that interview with Doctor Thorold which Cecil had overheard, sank deep into the girl's heart as a sorrowful truth. Therefore, fur this alone, if she had not been drawn to the woman by her pathetic weakness, Cecil would always have cared for her—always given her of her best. Aa it whs, there was a bond of sympathy between herself and the invalid that was hard tu describe. They spoke little to each other—they were so far apart; and yet Cecil could sit for hours in Helen Brownlow's room and feel comforted, while on her part the sick woman really lived only when the girl was near her. "I rame to darken all your life, and you give me light instead," she said once to Cecil; and nc she spoke she had caught the girl's hand and carried it to her lips. £ * 4 We are not going to talk of what is gnne," Cecil had answered gently; but she had felt the tears on her hand, and she had been deeply moved. Many and many a time, when she had l°f; the sick-room, Cecil . had gone to the little corner where Nini's reverent old han'Js had set up a prim;ive oratary, and> kneeling the

By Effle Adelaide lowlands, Author of "Hugh Gretton's Secrot," "A Splendid Heart," -'Brave B.trbnra," "The Temptation of Mary Barr," "Selina's love Story," etc.

Felix had done unwisely for his own sake in leaving the girl to this week of solitude and reflection; but he had utterly misjudged her character, and he believed so firmly in his cower over her that, he had hoc imagined a dctnger possible.'' Besides, he had won; that had been enough for him during these days that had brought such trouble to Cecil's mind; and, in truth, he had given very little thought to what might or might not be the result to the girl from that day's excitement and the event in town. He was destined to learn much that t was new to him this day, before he left the White Abbey. Cecil, passing on her way up the stairs, paused at the door of the room which had hitherto been her sanctuary, and, yielding to a sudden impulse,, she entered, and knelt a few moments in prayer. Her heart was comforted and lightened a little as she turned to go onward to Helen Brownlow's room.

The door was ajar as she approached it, and she caught the sound of a low, weak voice speaking almost fiercely.

For some unknown reason Cecil felt her sudden-bom comfort pass swiftly from hsr heart. She grew cold, and her limbs tremblad. Hearing Mrs Brownlow's maid coming up from the servant's quarters, Cecil sent her back. She felt, without knowing anything definite, that something was passing within that room that must be kept sacred Irom alien ears.

For herself, she moved slowly toward tho door and pushed it open. Then she stood there motionless as a statue.

The face of the man she had loved with such a wealth of delusion and fervor was directly before her, and Cecil's heart grew colder still as she looked on it, and saw its hard expression, its black, cruel anger. Ho was speaking curtly.

"And you think that any one would believe any statement you might make, even supposing you are allowed the chance to make one at all? Bah! You are a foolish woman! Had T power to prevent you, you should never have been given an hour's shelter in this house. You have imposed sufficiently on a silly, sensational girl, and you may think yourself clever, indeed, to have got so much. I want to know nothing about your disreputable past; but of one thing I am sure —had Charles Lacklyne lived, he would have known how to keep his daughter away from you and such as you!" (To be Continued).

girl had nrayed fervently for the soul of the man who had gone from earth so swiftly, without chance of repentance, and for guidance for herself to undo any wrong that had been done. ,| Her simple young heart had been so wear ied, ao troubled these last few days, that even prayer, that was so natural to Her at other times, seemed impossible to her. Weak and ill with her heavy cold, bewildered and tormented by the memory of that strange journey to London and its after significance, Cecil had known no comfort anywhere. She was so innately grateful, and tender-hearted that she shrank from letting her thoughts form themselves into a condemnation ol Felix; yet she was, beyond and above hor other good qualities, so purely honest, that, once the veil had been drawn from her eyes and her awakened reasoning began to question, she could not combat the thoughts.