VIOLET LISLE; OR, A PEARL BEYOND PRICE.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VI, Issue 435, 31 January 1912, Page 2

VIOLET LISLE; OR, A PEARL BEYOND PRICE.

AiS Rights Reservea.

♦ By the Author of "All or Nothing, "Two Keys," etc., etc.

CHAPTFR I. A VILLAGE LOVE. "Will you forgive my presumption, Miss Violet ?" " I have nothing to forgive, Mr. Jenkins. The love of so true and good a man as you must be an honour to any girl." The two speakers stood under the spreading branches of a great oak. Near by stood the ruins of Penarth Abbey, its ivy-mantled walls gilded by the glowing rays of a warm autumn sun, and the long shadows cast by the famous Penarth oaks falling in fantastic shapes over its uneven contours. It was plain from the sketch-book in the girl's hand that she had been there with an artist's purpose. A glance at the man told that he was a curate—a fact betrayed no less by his air' than by his garb. There was deep distress on her sweet fair young face, and bravelysubdued agony on his. It was more than man could bear to lose all hope of ever winning the precious prize of her love even though he had battled manfully against giving hope a foothold in his breast.

"And it could never be?" he asked, after a painfnl pause.

" No, for Ido not love you. I respect, like you very, very much : I would wish you for a friend always. lam so sorry, Mr. Jenkins "; and the ready tears of sympathy filled her deep-blue eyes. " Oh, don't,/ please don't," he cried. " I ought to have spoken to you. I knew very well that yen could never be for me ; but I loved you, and —and please don't crv for me, Miss Violet. I am not worthy of you—l know that. Please don't think I ever fancied that I was worthy of you."

" You are worthy of any woman," she said, earnestly. "It is like you to say so. But I know all the distance between us. We are not of the same social cast. [ am the son of a tradesman —you are descended from dukes and earls."

A little laugh broke through the mist of the girl's tears. " Very noble, but very poor, and likely to be always." " Yes," said he, eagerly. "If it had Tiot been for that I would never have dared to speak to you ; but I thought —no, I did not think —I tried to' think that perhaps if I had some wealth to offer your father he might forgive my birth if you could find it possible to love me. But I knew, down in my heart, that you could not love me. No, our lives would never have fitted. You are destined for something great, and I for " He turned away with a suppressed sigh as he thought of the life with her that could never be anything! but a rudely-disturbed dream. She. laid her hand gently on his arm, The touch was so pitiful that he tried to laugh. " Don't think I have gone mad, Miss Violet," he said, " when I talk of wealth ; but I would like you to know that I have not been so daring as to let my heart tell its 'secret without some justification. I was not going to ask, you to share the poverty of a* curacj. Not that I believed it would make any difference with you, for I am sure that if you loved me you would have me in my poverty as readily as in my wealth ;

but your father is a proud man as he has a right to be and he might have considered me even in my low origin if he had known that I was not poor. The death of a distant relative left me with twenty-five thousand pounds." " Oh, Mr. Jenkins !" cried Violet joyfully. "Is that really true." " Quite true." " And you can go away from here, r;here Mr. Sylvestre can no longer treat you like a —like a " " Miserable curate," he supplied, for her, laughing gently.

Mr. Sylvestre was the rector. " Yes," she assented. " And you are really a rich man ! Oh, I am sc ?lad ! You vvill leave here, won't yon ?" " Are you so anxious to get rid of me, then ?" .he asked sadly enough 'or he knew that while she was thinking only of his happiness, it was the most perfect proof that she 3id not, and would not care for hiir in the way he asked. " Oh, no," she answered, quickly ; ' but I have been so indignant at the manner in which Mr. Sylvestre treats you." "He won't treat me so now. 1 think I will staj. I may be of use :o you some day—who can tell ? Fou will let me be your friend, will you not ?"

She gave him her hand frankly. " I could not ask a better. I am *lad to have you for a friend." " Then let us be friends, and I will lever trouble you with my love a»ain. But if you should need a .Tiend at any time, you will call apon me ?" " Gladly." " Then good-bye. And don't fee] troubled about me. I am happier foi laving loved you, and I shall nsvci regret it." He' held her hand for a moment md was gone. " How good- and true he is !" she uurmured to herself ; " but I coik lot love him, and I should have nade him unhappy. I am so glad hj( :s rich. To think of Martin Jen tins being rich !" and with half e ;igh, and half a smile, she turned n the direction opposite to that ir !7hich. he had ■ gone, and sauntcrec eisurely through the great orts o

Penarth towards home. No one could look at Violet Lisle and v.o.ider that Martin Jenkins, the oor c.-.rate, or any other man .hraid love her. She had har.ll; paired into womanhood yet, and Lh' re?, careless grace and simplicity c .or childhood were still visible in ;.cr every movement ; but withal she xp.i endowed with such a charm o' beauty as seldom falls to the lot oi mortal.

It was a beauty that bewildered by its frankness. One looked at hci and wondered if she would not presently vanish as a dream-creature, so impossible did it seem that such ■airy-like beauty could be real. For there was nothing unsubstantial iv. her charms ; for thte slender, yet rounded form was the embodiment o. :hat liscome grace which belongs to perfect health ; and the milk and roses of her complexion were rendcr?d more delightfully attractive by the cherry lips, and violet-blue e}es, 7o clear and sparkling. Her merely physical beauty must l.ave been a joy, though it had been soulless ; but when to it was added a nature so pure that it sweetened all the life about her, and so full of hidden depths that one forgot the outer in the inner woman there resulted a creature so wondrous that she became known only to bo worshipped.

Even her father, so poor in his high descent, so proud in his poverty so cold and haughty in his self-isola-ted life, worshipped while he ruled her. As he said himself sometimes, his income was not enough to decently starve on ; but he had always sedulously taken care that she should never see the grinding side of poverty. It was as if he should have her life as care-free as if she had belonged to that richer branch of the Lisles who wrote earl and countess with their names, and who had lived as if Melville Lisle had no existence. He would have isolated his peerless daughter from the common herd had he been able ; but there was such a joy in hter very living that seemed to draw life to her, and from her childhood she had mixed with the village folk as freely as any lowborn maiden among them ; and yet there had always been a distance between them only partly. of her father's making. It had been in th* very nature of things. She could not have been one of them ; for with all her frankness and simplicity and gentle humility of soul there was always that in her which gave to her manner the graciousness of a queen, rather than the equality of a comrade. But no one resented it, and everybody loved her. Martin Jenkins urged on to an avowal of his feelings by the overmastering, devouring love that gave him no peace, would himself havcbeen shocked had he been told by her that she would marry him. He would as soon have thought of being linked to an angel, and yet he could not but ask, as yeoman and squire had tremblingly asked before him.

She had never told her father oi these offers of marriage ; for she knew he would look upon them as sc many insults to his cherished name and proud blood, and would have fallen into a passion of impotent angei over them. Only Goody White, once her nurse, and now the maid-of-all-work, was her confidante ; and thai dear soul, even while she had the disdain of the father for all low-born suitors, was nevertheless, delighted with each new offering laid at thf hrine of her darling. CHAPTER 11. It was a charming afternoon, and the poor gentleman's lovely daughter enjoyed it with all the zest of perfect health. After the first sorrow for Martin Jenkins had passed away on the. crisp autumn air, she tripped along more rapidly, now warbling the snatch of some old ballad, now stopping to pick a delicate shrub, or reaching up to pick a lea) of richer colouring than she had seen.

She passed out of the oaks intc the open sunshine of the road, and that delighted her as much as the shadows of the wood had done. Every thing was a source of pleasure tc Violet. She looked up laughingly at a squirrel that sat w r atching her from his lofty perch ; she called a merry good-bye to a rabbit that dashed in a panic across the road in to the shelter of the woods.

At the little bridge owr the brook she stopped and leaned on thin rail searching the dancing waters for £ darting trout that. had. its lair undci a rock there ; but the trout woulr not come forth, and she started on again.

Then she noticed a plank in the bridge, loose and. likely to be dis placed dangerously by the next cros sing horse. It -ought to be put ir its place. She looked round foi some man ; but there was no man ir sight, and she looked inquiringly ai her gloved hands and from them a) the heavy plank. Then she smiled rather gleefully ju if it was pleasant to have the op portunity to do a thing which nc man in Penarth would let her do i he had known rU She pulled off hei gloves from her dainty white hands with their tapering ringers and pin'i nails, and began studying the plank. " I suppose," she said to herself " that a man would just take hole of it and put it in its place. Now •I"

She turned her head to listen, foi it seemed to Iwer that she heard the gallop of a horse. Yes, it was quite certain that she did. Should she try to put the plank in its place 01 should she merely warn the horse man of his darter ? Well, it wa; rery likely thatt the horseman woulc be some acquaintance, and it woulc be a pleasure to have accomplished if without his help.

She immediately stooped and die as she supposed a man would hav<

done, " just took hold of it "; bu! -he plank was heavy, and it c.-iu:;ht in some wa\ and —well, the hors:>mar was coming round the turn while sue was still striving to do eomcthiiv: with- the refractory plank.

She ceased her efforts then, an 1 stood up with a flush on her rounded cheeks and a smile on her lips, fine stood in the centre of the bridge and raised her hand to stop the rider ; then she realised that lie wr.s a stranger to her, and the flush of c - :- Ttion deepened into one of confusion.

The new-comer was a staUvnrt, handsome young man, who sat his horse like a centaur, and brought him to his haunches by the sad. Irn irss with which he checked him at Violet's gesture. " I beg your pardon," said Vi Act

" but the bridge is dangerous. A lank is loose, and I was trying to replace it." '

For a moment the young man stared at her out of a pair of handsome dark eyes, with an eager., incredulous sort of admiration. Then he recollected himself, and lifted his hat, saying : " You are very kind."

She dropped her eyes before his ardent but in nowise "bold gaze, and said :

" If you will wait a moment I will have it in its place " and she stooped again. But he, with a low cry of dismay sprang from his horse and cried out: " Ob, I beg that you do not think of it. Don't touch it with those little hands of yours. Let me. Wait until I have fastened my horse. Please do not." He was so earnest and there was so much beseeching in his mellow voice that she desisted and watched him as he tethered his horse to a •xpling.

" This is it," she said, as he came orward, and again she found her eyes drooping before his. He bent, and she admired easy strength with which lie tossed the plank out, and then put it in its place, again. " It must be pleasant to have such strength;," she said, with a frank admiration that made him blush with pleasure. " To be told so by you is a pleasure," he said, quickly. She blushed, more at his ardour, than at his words and turned to go.

" Thank you for helping me," she said. " and good afternoon."

" Please don't go —I mean don't go with your hand hurting you," he stammered.

Sho laughed with the frankness o! a cuild.

"My hand doesn't hurt mo," sh; said ; " why should it ?"

Then he smiled with a frankness equal to her own, and she noticed in voluntarily, that his face was handsomer than ever when he smiled.

" I was afraid a splinter might have run into it. No ?" a; she shook her head, smiling. " Well, it might, you know. Don't think I'n rude ; but do you live here ?" " Yes, in the village." He hesitated, looked embarrassed then said, boldly :

" Perhaps you saved ray life —" She laughed m-errily. " Oh, no." " But," he persisted, with a twinkle on his eyes, in spite of an effort to seeni very serious, "my horse might have put his foot into the crack, I might have horn thrown and you can never tell what the consequences of a fall may he. T am sure I owe my life to you. I an; very grateful " there could he nc doubt of that— " and I would li'-c to call upon you if I may. Now, you are going to say No. I cas sec it in your face. I know it is n wfully bold of me ; but. really we should become acquainted in time, j'nyhow, for I have come here to live." She. looked at him in surprise and interest. " Yes," he said in answer to her expression. "I am Guy Dalitmton." " Lord Darlington !" she said and shrank back a little. " Yes," he answered, noting her slight action with wonder. " And won't you tell me now, who you arc ? I thought at first that you were a- nymph of the woods, but you are mortal, are you not ?" She laughed again, and then with an air of reserve and dignity that sat well upon her, said, quietly : " I am the daughter of Melville Lisle, a poor gentleman of the village." The "poor " he ignored, and demanded, eagerly : " Of the Lisles of Granthorpc?" "Cousins, I think." " Then we ought to be friends, for we have two lawsuits with the Lisles of Granthorpe." " Is that a good ground for friend' ship ?" Violet laughed. " The very best. My mother ano I may call, may we not ?" Violet would have given anything to have answered the promptings ol her heart and say " Yes," to his question. But she stilled the desire. and looked at handsome, winninc Guy Darlington bravely and earnestly.

"It is bettor to he honest with you, Lord Darlington," shcrf'said. "My father is a poor man. Of as good blood as your own, he would tell you ; but so poor that he hathidden himself away in this little village to be away from his kindred. He would not welcome your coming, and he would be made unhappy by it ; I am sorry, for I would have been glad." (To be--Continued.)

"I enjoy a quiet smoke," said a nan to a fellow-passenger on a liner. "Well," said the stranger, moving across the deck, "you will never be troubled with crowds while you puff it cigars of that brand."