LOVE'S DILEMMA; OR, FOR AN EARLDOM.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 29, 3 February 1905, Page 6

LOVE'S DILEMMA; OR, FOR AN EARLDOM.

CHARLES QARVICE,

CHAPTER XXXV. — (Continued-) Neither Lady Warner nor anyone eke was mere save themselves, and Kate drew back a little, as if she meant but he put his hand upon he us and held it. "Kate." he said, in a low voice, "are yo-a afraid of ine? Why do you shrink lioni mc?" :he averted her face, her lips quiver'••l—did not shrink," she faltered."l She seemed unable to continue, and e-.'.ak into a choir, her face still avertHγ stood looking down at her, with a storm of emotion raging in his poor boiiri. Thp sight of her lovely face, the sound ir; her voice, had so unnerved him that ti • *i.-areely knew whether pleasure or psiin predominated. At last he said: "J —l did not know you were in Londffn. 1 only returned from Africa a few days ago." '•'Yes?" she said; then went on hurriedly. "Oh. yes, we have been iv Loetlfi since the season began. Lady Warner wished it. and I—l—she has been very kind to me.'" "Heaven Mess her!"' he said in a low •vutce. Thi> made her lips quiver more omineasly. ""There are a jfre.it ~iany here tonight. It is the°most crowded receptior. we have had yet." "Yes:, he said, absently, his eyes duelling -wistfully on her face, upon -which the colour kept coming and going. "Yos? Kate, are you sorry that J. have come back, sorry to see mc?" he as.sed, bonding over her. She fluttered her fan. then closed it, ard let. it fall on her lap. "I am glad; everyone must be glad, "that you have come back, Lord Carr■Lyoii,"' she said, gravely. "'Evpryone!' , he echoed. "Yes, yes," she said, more Imrriedly. "II is not right, that one. in your position, with your dmies should be away from England and his proper place.'" Ke smiled bitterly. "If that, is so, then you will think Jess, highly of mc when 1 tell you that 1 only came back to please roysolf. to gratify an irresistible lor.ging. and not to benefit others. Ah. Kate!" and his voice changed, "you know why I have coir.c back! It was to see you :, "Lord Carr-Lyon!" she said, quite brokenly. "To find for myself whether there was any hope for mc, whether the black pnst ■was to overshadow the rest of my life, ox whether you would take pity on mc " She looked round as if she thought of rising and leaving him. But he stood between her and the door, and she know lie would not move to let her pass; not yet, at any rate. "'Kate, you have never been absent fr 'iti my thoughts for the last tvfo yi-.v-i," he went on. "I love you as truly, aa devotedly, as ever 1 did. Have you f< ;\rotten mo—have you, oh, Kate."will you not say one word to give mc hope r" ITrr hand-; closed on her fan with a convulsive grasp.

"I—Lord Carr-Lyon—l am sorry— sorry that—ihat you s-hould have spoken. J —oh, for 3-our own sake, leave mc and think no more of mc." "For my sake!" he echoed. _ ''Yes, ye;,," she said, hurriedly, with a little catch in her voice. "I am not w rthy. 1 cannot forget—oh, did you think that I could do so?"' with a mournful appeal to him. "Have you forgot"! m v.'o 1 am, whose daughter l am? K-jw I -lid mine have wronged and injured ycu ? What misery and shame we have brought upon you and the name you b. .-.r " "1 think of. I remember nothing but tbdt i love you!"' he said, fervently. >he trembled, but her spirit remained firm. "But 1 remember," she said. "I cannot forget. 11 was m y father who plotted your ruin: it was my husband who robbru you oiid injured j-ou! Oh, no, no! It rfi) never he! I should die of shame," ami *he hid her face in ,her hands. '"!>o you mean, in other words, that Ton have ceased to love mc?" he said, sjiilly. "I don't complain—but tell mc, trll mc the truth. Kate!" She remained silent and he drew away from her, then he came buck. "1 understand," he said. "The past has worked its curse on both of us. I love you still, but you "he stopped. All her heart cried out in a wild longin t to throw herself upon his breast and el .}£• to him, but she struggled with the d:=ire and conquered it. Better that h< should think her heartless and fickle than he should sacrifice his future for 'her —than that he should marry her whose father had so basely wronged hi 01. Tie came back to her and stood for a mninent, silently regarding her, then he said: "Kate, don't cry; I am sorry I came bi :!:. Heaven knows I did not" mean to you. No! I would rather have r« .i.vu'.ed away from England for the rr t cf my life! Forgive mc! 1 will not «rorry you again. I can understand how pniuful the sight of mc must be, and what it must call up. I ought to have thought of that; but we men arr selfish; we only think of ourselves." "You selfish!" she murmured, but he did not hear her. "I'll go back to the Cape," he said, ■with an air of cheerfulness, which Tvas in truth rather ghastly. "It—it is an interesting place, and—and I'm rather sick of England. I—l hope you'll be happy, Kate. Don't worn' yourself by thinking about mc. I—l shall get oWr my disappointment in time and—and, perhaps, some day I'll come back when — •when I've learned that hardest of all le--ons—to forget you!" lie paused and laughed, a stranjje little lautyh. Then he put his hand inside his ■wr-istcoat, and slowly, reluctantly, took out some small object. He held it in his hand and looked at it. "See here. Kate," he said, in a dry ■voice, "I mean what I say. I mean ■to try and forget you; but 1 could not do it while this thincr lay upon my heart. « ill you take it back? It shall serve as

of "The Marquis," "A Martyred Love," "A "Woman's Sool," "She Laved Him," etc.

a token that I will never worry you j any more."' i He held out a shilling through which j a holn had been bored, and a piece of ribbon threaded. "There," he said, and he dropped it in her lap, with a sigh; "and goodbye » "Good-bye," she said, glancing at the coin, her face pale to the lips, her hands trembling. "Won't you stay and see Lady Warner f "So, thanks," he said "I have seen the j only being in the world I care to see. j Will you please tell Lady Warner that I was obliged to go back at once?'-" "Yes," she said. Then she looked up at him. "I am glad you have decided, Lord C. rr-Lyon. I know you think hardly of | mc: but my conscience—my conscience is clear. I know that I ought not to let you remain and sacrifice your future to one so unworthy as I am. I shall never marry again, never; and I shall always remember you. and think of you," her lips quivered, painfully; "and wherever you may be. I will pray —yes, I will pray day and night, that you may be liappy: and " She broke off suddenly, and rose, stretching out her hands, with a piteous little cry: "'No, no: I can't—l can't let you go, Desmond!" He caught her to him and pressed her to his heart, crying in a. voice of wondering joy: "Kate! Kate!" '"No. I can't let you go!" she said, weeping, clinging to him and convulsively drawing his face down to her lips; "1 can't, I can't! Oh, I do wish I didn : t love you so!" It was vrell for them that it was only Lady Warner who entered the rosehouse at that moment, for the advent of any less dear and true friend would have been awkward. With a cry, X.ate would have spnmg away from him, but he held her 'tightly with one hand and extended the other to the old lady. '"Lord Carr-Lyon!" she exclaimed with pardonable astonishment. '"Yes, it is I. Lady Warner," he said, his fpce beaming, his eyes gleaming with happiness. "Have you—have you dropped from the skies?" demanded the old lady, spasmodically. "'Xo." be said, with a little smile, "just the contrary; I have just mounted to them." He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "How shall I thank you for all your goodness to Kate, to my darling?" he said, with fervent gratitude. "Hem!" replied the old lady, looking at his handsome face with a half-smile. "By being very good to her. Lord CarrLyon." "I'll try," he said, with a smile, as his hand slowly closed more tightly on Kate"?. "Well!" exclaimed the old lady, who had not quite recovered from her iwnazenient. "We'd better go home, I think, and perhaps you'd better come with us. Lord Carr-Lyon." "Oh, thank you. thank you," he said, gratefully, and he drey.- Kate's arm through his ;is he offered the other "to Lady Warner. She looked sir. Mly from one to the other, smiling, then pointed down to thf> ground. "What's that?" she asked. He stooped, and, picking it up, held it out for her inspection, with a smile. '"It i≤ only a shilling!" he said, as h» thrust it back in the place it had occupied so long. "I think you are .bot.h mad!" said the old lady, with a laugh. "Yes," said Desmond, "and I hope we shall continue so.". CHATTER XXXVI. FAITHFUL TJNTO DEATH. It was a very quiet wedding: so quiet, and soon after their meeting, that the world had not got over its astonishment at the announcement of their engagement before it was thrown into amazement by the news that they were married. "Went off arm in arm, as one may say, like a ploughman and dairymaid, my dear, and got married at some old church near that place of his, Caresford, you know! And no one knew anything "about it! I really and truly believe that there were no bridesmaids; I do, indeed!' , said one fashionable lady to another. But. although it was not quite so criminally private as this, it was very quiet indeed, and the society papers were kept quite as much in the dark as to the whereabouts of the honeymoon as they had been as to the wedding itself. It was only known that the Earl and Countess of Carr-Lyon were "on the Continent," which, considering the size of the Continent, must be considered an extremely vague address! In due course, that is to say in the beginning of the autumn, a movement of preparation stirred in the huge ancestal home of the Carr-Lyons, and it was known that the earl and countess were coming to Caresford. The country was just blazing ont into its autumn splendour when they arrived, and the big place, with its deep-mullion-ed windows and castellated turrets, looked at its best; but its lord and master did not seem to pay it much attention. All his thoughts "were centred upon the beautiful girl who sat beside him in the carriage, and whose hand nestled, with a lover's content, in his strong palm. "Home, dearest!" he said. "Home at last!" She turned her eyes from the big plaoe, and let them rest upon his. with a deep and tender happiness. "How huge it is!" she said, in a very low voice. He smiled, then he looked at her very quickly. • (f You really think yon will be dull, Kate? We can fill it. with people, you know. The shooting ought to be rather good '*

"Oh, no. no., not" she murmured, nestling closer and closer to him. with a piteous little entreaty. ">Jot this first autumn. Lot us—let us have it all to ourselves this year Desmond! 5,

His face cleared, and he looked quite relieved.

"Of course!" he responded, with profound satisfaction. "Why, we are going -to spend our honeymoon here, arc we not?"

"Honeymoon, you ailly hoy! Why. what have "we heen doing for the last two months past?" "Only rehearsing," he answered, tts ka presaad. her to Mα,

So they two together spent the au ' frmnn in the big place, and, big as it was did not find it too large or too dull. "Home," he had said, and for the first time in her life Kate learned the full meaning of the word. i Long before winter had come, and yet it came so' quickly, she had grown to j love every room and nook of the o-ld j place; to know every cottage, and man and woman,' and child, on the estate; had become so completely and entirely Lady Carr-Lyon of Caresford, that Desmond remarked one day, with a laugh:

'" \Vhy_, Kate, sometimes I am more than half persuaded that you have lived here all your life, and that it is I v, io only came to it three months ago; and I'm sure," he added, eyeing her with that loving pride which always shone in his eyes when they rested on her, "that the people have that conviction. Wherever I go, and to whomsoever I speak, it is all 'Lady Carr-Lyon.' 'Will you ask the countess if she'll do this, my lord ?' and 'The countess promised mc so-and-so.' and 'If you please, my lord, will you remind her ladyship that she said as bow we was to have a new roof to the cottage?' or 'The countess was so good as to say she'd send our Tonircy to school.' Why. Kate, there been such a mistress of Caresford since my gTeat-great-grar.Jmother Matilda's time!" and he nodded at the portrait of the old lady alluded to. "I can't help it," said Kate, with a suspicious moisture in her eyes. "How can I help loving them all when they are all so good to mc?" "I see!"' he said, leaning over her chair and turning her beautiful, girlish face up to him. "I see! Well, don't apend all my money and all your love on them. Save a little o* the latter for one who needs it just as badJy as they do! r ' And for she twined her white arms round his' neck, and kissed him. They filled the house at Christmas, and the society papere "ramped," as Desmond called their enthusiasm, about the splendour of the place and the beauty and popularity of its but before the first of the guests came ;he earl and countess paid a visit to iandford. They went by themselves, and were only an hour and a half in the place. They did not go to inspect the convalescent h-ospital at Lydcote, nor did Lhey make a single call. But they >walked slowly from the station, by a narrow path" that led to Lhe stone quarry. In sflenes, they both stood end looked down 'at it. then turned and made their way to the town. Passing through the street, they halted for a moment at a confectioner's shop, where on a eo'd bleak evening a certain homeless wanderer had shared nis last coppers with a still poorer Lra-mp and her little ones. Then they made their way to trie churchyard, and stood beside a grave. It was not a monumental pile ol granite, but a 3impl-e little grave upon which a single snowdrop was blooming; a type of the pure, white souled girl who slept beneath. A plain white marble slab stood at the head of the modest grave, and on it were inscribed the words: "Nellie. Faithful unto death." That was all. Lady Carr-Lyon knelt dawn, and gently and reverently laid a wreath of Christmas roses beside the snowdrop; then, still in silence, and hand-in-hand, lixt'y left the churchyard. With remarkable regularity, at intervals of a month. Dcsrrvoad received a letter bparing the Boulogne post murk. It was 'never a. long c-pistle, and its juirport iva? always the same. It camp from Major Meddon, and it never failed to remind Desmond that he was bis son-in-law, and always contained a request that Desmond would send his poor father-in-!; , w sometimes ten pounds, sometimes twenty, sometimes a hundred. And, as unfailingly, 'the monpv w.';s [sent. What the major tlid with it remained unknown, until cue iuonth the usual letter did not arrive, hut in k = place a note from one of th-? major's friends, stating that the gadlant old gentleman had fallen a victim to a severe cold, which was the writer's I polite phrase for "Drank himself to deuth." Desmond went over to attend the funeral, and as he stood beside the grr>vo and watched the men throw in the last spadeful of earth he drew a long si<»h. for he felt that with the old m?.n who lay there was buried the last remnant of the bitter past ; that the last shadow in his darling's life had passed away. and that nothing was left to darken the future, which, with Heaven's help, he would make bright for her as the noonday sun. In due course came a young, a veTy young, guest to Caresford; one who was made very welcome; for, indeed, he was the son and heir. "1 suppose you'll call him Desmond, my dear!" said Lady Warner. "He's a beautiful boy. and wonderfully like his father!" which was scarcely complimentary to the earl, who stood looking with a half-smile of suppressed pride and joy at his firstborn.

"Thank you. Lady Warner, but IVe always noticed that a baby only continues to resemble his father while he is in all the splendid ugliness of his first youth; when he gets presentable, people er claim at his wonderful likeness -to his mamma. Oh. yes, we'll call him Desmond, eh, Kate?"

"Clifford Desmond," she said, in a low voice.

Later on came a little grrl. to keep my young Lord Clifford company, and again Lady Warner suggested the name.

"Of coarse you'll call this angel Kate!" she said, hugging the little morsel, with all an old lady's effusiveness over the last bora-

"Of course!" said I>esmond, and he glanced at his wife. A faint shade passed over her pale, sweet face, as she took the mite in her arms and bent over it. "I only knew one angel," she said, in a tremulous voice; "she shall be called after her." No one spolce or inquired what that name was. for they knew she woald answer—"Nellie." (The End.)