Love and Adventure

Waipukurau Press, Volume XXII, Issue 222, 10 December 1926, Page 7

Love and Adventure

AN EXCELLENT BRITISH STORY

(By

HORATIO FAIRFAX.)

IQQUUUOOOUOOUOC 7 WXXIUay

CHAPTER Xl.—Continued.

Elsiiiora’s nature had always asked for, and responded to, the heroic. She had dreamed of a heroic lover, and Dick had been such in her eyes. His reckless daring in the Soudan, his.reau incss to sacrifice his life in coming to Ireland in the hope of freeing her from O’Connor, had won the fullest measure of her admiration, and with it the deepest depth of her love. So'entirely was her heart given to him that no failure on his part could have uprooted her love; but it could wound it, chill U. To her hero she was a lover, passionate, ready to give herself utterly; to the man who failed she was a woman, loving and sorrowing, whose fires were unkindled. Dick had seen this on the previous night; ho saw it again now. His passion for her overcame every other consideration; her honour, her steadfastness only increased it; her ■warmest love must be his, and, as he could not obtain it otherwise, he would not hesitate to give his life. A hungry man has sold his birthright for a mess of pottage; a lover his life for a kiss. Often in such cases reflection might have caused regret for the bargain; perhaps in some cases there is an intention . of, if possible, taking the boon and avoiding the payment. Now, life seemed of no value to Dick, and'the thought of death had no sting. The end was victory, not defeat. He would go to meet death through the very gates of love. Perhaps when the hour of payment came he, too, would hesitate; who should say But now he was her lover. His eyes kindled with a resolute; ho drew her closer and whispered to her. “'You are right, : ’!:e z sa id. l ~ X our truth and honour make ice a man. but I cannot leave you. Last night you said that my farce of a marriage would, have been no barrier, nuc. it it i-’d not been for my bond tn O'Connor you would have came r<- me in spite of u. “Oh yes,” she answered. “Then you must come, dear, now, and I will be true ta my bond.” / She drew a quick breath. “ There is a week-—six 'lays- ’Mt before the year is up. You must come with me, you must be my own girl utterly.® Life is nothing to me without you _you are everything to me. When the time comes I can die all right. But you must be my wife. ’’’ Her face flushed crimson; she did not speak, but hid her face on his shoulder. “Dearest, you cannot refuse me. I claim you. If you do not come, I swear I will go through with it all the same. I have been born on this earth to win you for my wife, and I will. Look at me, darling—answer me.” “Oh, Dick, I am bewildered, I am afraid.” “We will go to-night, dearest. Wo will take the cutter and sail away tonight. And I will bring you back, I promise you, before the time. But till shall be no failure; I shall not flinch shall be no failure; I shall no flinch in the end.” She was carried away by his fervour; her eyes were bright ■with excitement, her hand trembled in his. “Oh, I would come,” she said, “you know I would come —but' I cannot let you die. If you go to-night without me you may live and still be honourable.” “If you come with me, I can, die and be honourable.” “I cannot let you die. My dear, dear boy, don’t force me.” “If you do not come,” he exclaimed, “I swear to God I will not )ive -without you. ’ ’ "i He had made up his mind to possess her, and she saw it was useless to try further to dissuade him, and she was glad. She flung her arms round hia neck and kissed him. “I am yours,” she said; “I will come with you.” Half an hour later 'she was speeding across the fields towards Father Daly’s house. It showed her as a pure woman, not free from lovable weakness, that while she was ready to brave the woild. and cared not for its view of her reputation, she desired at this moment the blessing of her priest. Father Daly had gone across from his house to the chapel, and thither she followed him. He was m the vestry, and hailed her with delight, but he saw in a moment that she was disturbed and excited. “Dear Father Daly,” she said, “I am going to be married. I am going ' away to-night. I want your blessing

before I go. ’ ’ “And who’s the lucky mam, my dear child?” ho asked in astonishment. “Mr Malory,” she, answered. “I cannot tell you any more now. I will tell you everything, everything when wo —when I come back. Oh, dear Father Daly, but if only we could have been' married by you; but as we.cannot, I want your blessing before I go.” Ho knew that Malory was a Protestant, and supposed that to please him she intended to go through the Church of England marriage ceremony, and was troubled at the prospect. He, too, was distressed, but he made no protest. He knew her resolute nature; he loved her dearly; her word was a law to him. She "took the old man’s hand and led him from the vestry into the chapel. The candles were, lighted on the altar, and Elsinora knelt down on the altar step. “Here,” she whispered, —”1 want you to bless me here, and say the same blessing that you would say if you were marrying me.” Soft light ifrom the candles fell upon the old priest’s gray head and the girl’s beautiful face. There was no other light in the little chapel. Father Daly put one hand on her head, and his eyes filled with tears as he repeated the blessing. “May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob be with you, and Himself fulfil His blessing upon you; that you may sec your children’s children unto the third and fourth generation; and may afterwards have everlasting life, without end, by the help of our'Lord Jesus Christ, who, with the Father and the Holy Ghost, Jivcth and reign eth, God. World without end. Amen. “Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filins, et Spiritus Santus. Amen.”

(To be continued.)