Lady Marjorie's Love

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXV, Issue 10713, 6 February 1913, Page 2

Lady Marjorie's Love

OUR SERIAL

i By Carl S w erdna | Author oi --To the Uttermost Farthing," "A Mere Ceremony," "A lught j for Honour," Eic.

j CM APTK.it Vi. -Continued.) ) Slit'- did not !Cj)ly— of what u>e was j replying'' ll ' motionless, wit.i i her hea-d lu'iit. mid her hands tiglitlyv i ('lonc'lH'ti. 1 !!('■ W'holo Kllbjel't 11-ild hlH'll i threshed! out w:ih h-eartsickenihg, i hopeless weariness six months ago. jWiinls wero useless now. Mo drew a. lit-tie nearer to her, Icok- ' nig with rc-mor.-o aj;d tenderness at j the white beauty of liar drooping face. •Roth the lcok and the self-reproach of his voice, wen* genuine., for ho had spoken t-iic- truth, in saying that he loved her. He had been a 'bound man wh,en he first saw her; lie Jiad won her heart uhe;-, he had no right to be her lover; he had been too cowardly to break the bond -which held him, for money's sake, find too weak f) obey the impulse whieh had urged him to be true to her at all hazards and to boldly face the j.averty and social oblivion which would be his if lie made her his wife; but still, in his own selfish and faulty fashion, he loved her.- He gently' touched, bua did not take, the cold white hands that hung before her.

Loft us would have been a worse man that, ho was had he remained untouched by her appearand he \\a.-> touched, but not to the yielding point, flow could he yield, how pledge. himself, with Castle Marling close behind him,, ar.d his betrother wife, lr.s fuuin father-in-law almost within call r' In his trouble, irritation, and perplexity lie did what all weak men do —he temporized. . He looked at her '.rresolutelv, thought, as he always thought, how beautiful she was and haw passionately fond of him, poor girl, and gently took her hand again. "No rah, upon my word. 1 would get out of it if I could! 1 know well enough, and always have known, that no money will ever make up to mo for having played the scamp to you and lost you. I won't lose you, and I —l'll make it all right yet. But 1 can't do it all at oiki' ; you must- see that. I can't. I mean, go hack to the house now arid point-blank tell my cousin that 1. don't intend to marry her. The earl is in very delicate health, and I .shall have to take my time in speaking to him, and he careful how I do it. All the same" —he was extremely emotional as he met the light of her raised eyes and felt the erembling thrill of her lingers clinging round his. "All the same, I'll do it-! Somehow I'll break off this wretched business and do as 1 ought to have done six months ago. You shall be my wife, Xorah, before many weeks are over our heads, be the conseqttences what they may He kissed lier. The kiss did wbfifc nothing else throughout the affecting interview had had the power to do — it utterly broke down her composure, and fehe clung to him, sobbing wildly. It was well that the shrubs were so thick, the trees so tall, and that they were not a little nearer to the cast'e for otherwise Lady Marjorie, going just at this moment to her own sitting r 'Or.i because the rlriv. ?o nig and dull and the counte<;-; f,t';il •ic absorber over her am), pausing at a tall, narrow window to look absently out at the moonlight, might have «eon them. But she waj not thinking at all of her lover, or even of fat, lazv, yawning Jack hugged up in her arms. Her absent, troubled thoughts were all of lier father; the cloud upon her face was all for his sake. She had stolen in without the knowledge or authority of Fenolla. to give him a kiss and a fond word or two when Mr Petherick went away, and to her anxious eves he had looked more, haggard and worn, more frail and spiritless, more weak and melanchold than she hadl ever "seen him look before

"I havo been a scoundrel to you, my poor 'No rah ! Vou can't blame me imicli more than I blame myself. 11 ! wo had not met as we did, down in that quiet .country place, and neither of us anything to do but to think of each other, things might have ended differently; perhaps we might have parted and forgotten all about it, .But all tlie fault was mine, for I was as free as you were for all you knew, and it was not until the time came for us to say 'good-by' that I realised w hat a villian I had been both to you and my poor cousin. And then, like a. coward—l can't deny it — I hadn't the. courage to tell you the truth. If I had done so, and let you know how matters were, instead of writing that heartless letter of excuses and half lies about being too poor to marry you —as though that wero the only obstacle —you would never have taken that fatal step of leaving your home and following me as you did. Don't fancy that I don't, execrate myself when ;[ think of all this. For the last six months the knowledge that I have .spoiled your life- and ruined your prospects has hung round my neck like a millstone!" j Ho was pacing to and fro before her, trampling the grass fiercely.. In | his Hushed earnestness and agitation ['Society would not have known its | favourite Loftus Bligh, Lady Marjorie [ Wynne 'would not have -recognised her [ betrothed.

Norah, you know it. is that J. have not. -seen veu during the past six months, although ,1 have known where [ to find you as well as you have known I where to Jind me. You forbade mo to come near you again when you found out lnv heartlessly I 'had treated you, and I could only obey. But, now that we havo met let me say a. word for your own sake. It is horrible that you should live alone and isolated, as you an* doing, and I know the time miust come —you told me so when we parted—when it will be necessary for you to work for your living. You know" .what., J am going to say, I see" —for she had raised her eyes and looked full at him. "It is not too late to do as I urged you to do then—go back to those who must be half mad with anxiety about you ;, go back to your home!" With an impulsive movement she released her hand, still keeping upon him that stead look. "When I left n;y home," she said slowly, "I left behind nie a letter. The letter told those I left that I lhad gone to the man J loved, to the man who would make me his wife. I will go back to them when I am hiswife!" The fierce exclamation lie uttered had anger in it, but more of impatience and astonishment, for he had not expected this. She. suddenly caught his arm and clung to him, and all the pent-up. passion, of love and misery that was in her came breaking vehemently from her at last. "Loftus,Loft lis," she cried passionately, "you are right when you say it is not too late to whipe out the past; it is not too late to atone to me ; it is not too late to win my forgiveness; it is not too late to make me your wife! Yon don't love this poor child you are pledged to. Ah, I could it as I saw you look at lier, remembering how you once used to look at me! You will be basely cruel to her as well as basely false to yourself if you -marry her! See —J put mv pride aside. I appeal to you as I once vowed I would never appeal to you again. I remember only that I am a woman and that I love you! Be true to yourself, and be true -bo me! Remember the days wh<>n we first knew each other, and the happiness , that is was merely to be together! You love me now as you loved me then; nothing can alter that. Make me your wife and tako me back to those whose hearts my mistake and folly must almost have broken!" She withdrew her hands to .clasp them over her eyes with a low, shuddering cry. "Ah," she said, moaning, "what must my more than father think of me? - What .must Gerard think of me?"

CHAPTK.II V. June was keeping up its character; to-day was hotter, sunnier, brighter than yesterday had been. Lady Marior.ie, .standing by an open s : de door in th? hall, lier .straw hat- in hand, and Jack, the dog, eagerly eyeing JiHr, alertly expectant, wondered whether it was not too hot to venture out at all. Tn the night sho had lain awaice for two or three hours, thinking anxiously of her father, and 1 a feeling |of langour and pale cheeks were the .result this morning. '