MARTIN DEVERIL'S DIAMOND

Waikato Times, Volume XXXV, Issue 2837, 18 September 1890, Page 4

MARTIN DEVERIL'S DIAMOND

[Am* KiiiMTs Hksekvki* |

A NOVEL r.v ADIiI.INK KKIIUKANT, Author of "Jaeobi's Wifr," Ice, &c. CHAPTER XLIX.-Paim.ink ash EI.'UNOR. "Jslhis Iruo, Eleanor r" he asked her, after a piiu.se. Sho had thrown hor-elf into a chair, and wsn sitting u;:i>n it >idewnys, with her h'nd bent, upon her hi.nds, which clutched the t.ao.U- of it convulsively She did not, loiA nt him ; she did not even murk his ohiiugo of tune ; vet when he spoke his vuio! w-is very greatly chinked The confidence, this self-assertion, hud Hone out of it. His face had grown perceptibly paler. "Is it true thut I love him ? Of course it is true," she answered, passionately. " I love him as I have never loved anyone in my life before. And I tell you ibis, because I know that, you have nlwny.4 been unjust to him-always tries to make tho ivor*t of him. But I understand him better than you have ever done? " You understand his making love to Mrs Lo Breton?" said Clifford, with a sneer. " He never did—ifter " "After your wedding-day, I suppose. I don't dispute Lorraine's snintship," said Cliff irr 1 , "and I hope you will not find out too late that you have been mistaken. Come, Nell leave oft crying over his perfections, and li-ten to me. lam going to quit England to-morrow. I shall drop quietly down the river to Gravesend, and you can go by train and meet me there." "Meet, you there! AVhy ':" said Eleanor, lifting berhoad in amaze. "It's the only thing for you to do. You havo neither n-ime nor fame left in England. What will tho world say of your running away from your huibaud— to me?" She looked at him, her ores wide with terror. " Of, course you will eomo. You have been very clover, Nell; you havo caught me just in the nick of time. A day later, and I should liavo pone without you. But [ waited for tho chance—l had a hope, and it was justified •"' " No," said Eleanor clearly; "it was not justified." "Nntr" Ho smilorl as he spoke; an evil and sinister Mnilo. " Did you think,'' sho said, "that T came here because I cared whether I ever saw you or spoke to you again ? You aro mistaken, Clifford Vargrave ; you are nothing to me ; not a< much as the dust, beneath my font. Since I learnt what Philip wii.s, I li'-irnt t.i know ;/nii, I have boen very wayward and wilful with my husband," she said, her voice ((iiirering, " and perhaps ho mi-judsres me as you hiivo dotio ; for I defended you to him, I tried to protect you from the consequences of your deed, even when I knew that you were guilty. Oh ! I am justly punixhrd now. It was not for your own sake that I defended you. I was more sullish than you thought, me. I defended you for your iimthci's sako-bocauso she was my mother's i-ii-ter, although frhe novel , loved —me — I e;au<u you were mv own kith and kin. Never for any other reason, Clifford: only beciu-o of our relationship. I did not think I hut my own cousin could be. - a thief.' Noiv" — (s l e spoke with bittcmes-) -" now I can believe anything. , ' " Belirvi. what you lik.V said Clifford, recklessly,' , "but remember that you lovfd me otic-i , . ,, '• pi'i'hapx m>," .sho ansp/rred, while a sudden blush dyed bur p.ilo face, soark-t to tin: temples : " after somo sort of chil.li.sh fashion 1 did think that I cured for you ; but never — never as I caiod for Philip." " Then you an-a foal," said Clifford, riiuulily and almost passionately.' , " For Philip never loved you, never will love you ii.'i 1 can love— as I have always loved you from the first."

Eleanor looked at him. Her face had turned pale atrxin ; but her proud eyes met his ;,*,izo unfliuchinitly. Thore was a ring of scorn in hr-r voiue wln-i: sho replied.

'' You have fonrottrn tho past moro easily th m I have done," .-ho mid. " Do you iTinomber when I. bogged von to savo 'me from a mani.go that I "abhorred?

Did _V"H *tretell out a hmil to help me then"; I have llrmked (! id since that .you iLielini'fl lo interfere ; but it is only by little by little, that [ liuvo learned to eall your conduct by its light niiinri. And yet you d.ire to say that you hive lovud me, and that you ptiil 1 will nut. ri-pi'Mt. it.; it, i-i t<,o horrible: and 'lisiri'airi.fiil. I'm sorry 1 'ried to save yon. I am Mirry that ami lhal. litre te light. 1 '

" In fae.l," said Clifford, trying to iisKiiiin' hi< ii-ii.'d niami'.'i , , "you regret lint, you did no! Ir-t. pin,,,, and pridu have llii'irmvn way. Jn nrder to avenge your wrongs you iiml'lil, have left, me unwarned

indeed, it is not lo'> lale fur your veil.,'..iiill:i>, Kli.ni.,,r. 1 would send for ii polirem.-m if I were you.-

She was silent for a inomi'iit, observing llii'siH'fT that di.-tigured his handsome features, and calling up to her mind, almost siifiiirist her will, the picture of her husband's -jrave and noble face. How was it that she had over preferred Clifford \'nrsfrave's tinsel to Philip Lorraine's pure jruld y Her own ifnnraiiee flnd iiiexpeiiomv had hardly been to blame and also, she f aid to licivelf, a shallowness of judgment, a li'jhtno.-s of fanny, for which she never could forarive herself.

"No, sh,. s,id. slowly. "I have ra grudge airaiust, you, nirely, Clifford. I would rather thank yon now for what you did, iilthonuh I was fuo|i.,h enough to f.-el pain about it :it the lime. But 1 forgive you— at.d I will never spunk to you iigiiiu.' .

She uttered Ihe last, wolds with t'oree and energy which were iu direct contrast to tho gentleness of manner with which her speech had been begun. And while Clifford stood for once amazed and confounded, she swept out, of the room with the air of an offended queen. Ho sent a message to her begging her to return, but tho only answer she gvivo to tho messenger sn obliging servant girl —was that, she wished not to bo disturbed. And iinally Clill'ord look bis departure, and plunged into the narrow strerls and courts tint lie upon the borders of the Strand, until he reached the obscure building which afforded him the shelter that he craved.

Hi! iiKt'uit to leive England next day. lint (hi! unguis of iKcape failed him at the iiwiin.-iil.. |.',,r ,-it Idist twoiity-fuiir hoini hi! knew I hut he ivoul 1 be <>!>li;,'c'] to remain in his hidinir-plaee. And b.-iiia ||, lls Mtunled it K'etnrd lo him worth while t.» whether Kleanor wiisNlill at llensley's Hotel, or whether .she had another reftw. The report broiiybt to him lij n tiii-'ty m-.oiil. one whii:h (nuk him by Huipri*o. The lady iva* ill . :d,e eould ,„,!. leave her |,fd. 51,., had b,ei. liisen...il,!, : f,, r „„„„. ),„„,, and f. vis,, eined now lo l,e ,:,,,,, mjl J,,' \li- H«h.-I.v wa.i very for her |~ bi-letpov.-d lo ah Inmpital, but, \}, h (|,,,.|.0i l>, I d. miiii'-.1.

|0..1(ii|..r "H ji 111 in w.-i, he* m ■ml, l.i,itt..,| his bn.w.. i.vi-r thi.i iiit< .1 m.M ■■>!, ;,„,! eon hi.lend il ill >il 'in r. ||, : u ■„„ j,, ;1 wretched little den |,y i!,, liver .siih', whence hedired rioi \ii,iiire foith in ihe daytime. Cnshoni. iini-1.-.iidy, disiepiit.. abb. was liis appinr.,ll.l., di j.-eli-d hi:, mien, as In. vir ui'l, hi-. .■!!„,» s on 11,,. 1.1.1.- and hl-i ,•!,!,, M,;,|,0,1,d by bi. h-ind.. I hi.,._v,- u- i/.i,,.- i,,r,, vae.-Miev, In, mind r.i'.Mipieil will) the ll.nlls.Mi.l fiml one cli-inr.es ..vliiel, life h. Id for him still.

" It's n c.nf.miided iini-amce, 1,,, mid to hini.-elf, •' tl,;ir. n;, uoin.iii an do any tiling out of th.'j iiMial way uithont ,i .*cene and a fainting lit. Kleanor npiu'ed me thai, foiliniali.lv, wl.ii.. 1 w.is will, her; but mlh;'j up for il, now with all her mighl,. Wlial. a fool ."hi! is ' She has thrown away all her I'lmn-c", i|iirnrelled uil.h I,oii.une - one of the richest fellow:, in Kn^luiid

thrown him over, as she has thrown me over, but without the excuse, and moreover thrown him over, in ono sense, for an/ sake ! Left him to come to me, apparently—at least, nobody will ever believe otherwise ; and then refuses to speak another word to me I I never should have believed that even Nell could Ii" so senseless !

" She's made a fine 'ness of the afTiir, ■uiyliow. 11l in a strange hotel, without even a maid to wait upon her. What can Ido ? I can't inform her friends ; it would be no use, I suppose to tell L'irraine where she was, and my precious mother and sister wouldn't go near her. I wonder if Cicely Lorraine No, I mil an't give the Lorraine's any clue to my being in Lmdon, and yet I can't leave Nell where she is, ill and alone, without stirring a finger to help her. She iiiight die, poor soul, and then " He stopped short, with a sombre looks upon his face. Presently, however, he uttered a hitter laugh. •' Then," he said, " Mister Phil would make it up with Pauline, I suppose. No, that must not happen. Yet what can be clone 1 Why were you such a fool, Nell, as not to do what I wanted without all this bother ? And why can't I leave you to the consequences of your own folly without feeling that if I do I sh ill be h.innteci by your little white face for evi rmore ? Oh, Nell, Nell! why didn't I take you wlipii 1 had the chance !" He remained for some time buried in thought, It was with a heavy sigh that he rose at lensrth fr.im his chair, sought out. writing materials, and addressed himself to a task which S'emei to be one of some difficulty, .judging from the time which he consumed over it. It was finished at last, and he then contemplated his performance with ou air of sardonic satisfaction.

satisiacuon. " I always thought it a great mistake he slid to himself, " to judge other men or wjmon—from one's own stimlarrl. I myself have never, to my knowledge, done ii thing that was not fo tny own interest in my life; and yet lam taking it for granted that the person who reads this letter will 1)3 generous, and disinterested, and self-sacrificing! Am I a fool ? Or am I wiser than the rest of my fellow-creatures? Sometimes I think I am a fool, and, agiin, sometimes," said Clifford as ho folded up the letter which ho had written, " again sometimes, that lam a very clever fellow Only cleverness, unfortunately, do2s not aiwiys pjy; and in this confounded world in which we live.it happpens occasionally that fools have, the best of it. But, at anyratc, I have done Eleanor a service now! Perhaps the remembrance of it will help me—some day—to leave off regretting, desperately regretting, what I have lost ! She is bettor without mo, after all!" By the latest post that night Mrs Le Breton received a letter. It was a common-looking missive enough, written on the coarsest paper, in a sprawling hand, which she could not identify. And the. communication ran as follows : — " Lady Eleanor Lomiiie is lying ill at Hensley ; H Hotel, l}.i:ik-strcet, Sttnnd. If yuu know any friends of hers who are seeking for her you may tell them this; and tell them also that she is breaking her heart for the husband whom elu has qni'tod —Philip Lorraine." There was no Mgnalure. The lelter dropped from Pauline'* hands to the floor. Site was stricken dumb and motionless, but not with the frf-lintrs which the writer of the letter had intended to inspire. A flood of regret, of sin run - and compassion, swept over her. How much of the letter was true she did not for the moment ttip to ask. Her sympathy was with Philip, de-erted aud betrayed ; her pity for the girl who could abinJou him. And yet-could the story be inn , ': And, if trim, wh:it could .she do for Philip and for Klennor ? It was iiino o'clock j she took down a time t:ible and looked our the ttain that would tike her by the Metropolitan Railway to Charing Cross. Thenoe by cab to Bank-street.: tint would tiikn a few minutes oulr. She could manage the whole expedition in three-quarters of mi lion-. And then sho would see for herself how far the letter was true. For she could not exi<t with this tormenting doubt hanging over her head. She called old Hannah and told her that she had been summoned to London in order to see a sick friend. Will was so n'.iich hotter that she had no scruple about going, although Hannah grumbled sadly at the nurse's departure ; hut Mrs Li Breton promised lo return early next morning, or, at latest, in the afternoon. .She took a small bug of "needments" with her, and set ofl' at once for Bankstreet. {To bo. rnulimteil.)