ALL OR NOTHING.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 579, 25 June 1913, Page 6

ALL OR NOTHING.

(Copyright.)

A THRILLING ROMANCE, , + By the Author of "A Bit tor Bondage." "Two Kej£," "Stella,'' """ST.C Unknown . , Bridegroom," &c, TAUT 10. But the influence of the hour was strong upon him ; the gorgeous colours of the sky,, the song of the hirds, the fragrance of the ilowcrs, all tended to soften a heart that loved beauty and was cold to h'onour. The fair head and charming Lace looked so beautiful from under the black lace. Among the lilies, with so much loveliness near him, ove-lightcd, drooping eyes,, and scar.et lips, Lord Noel yielded, as he always did, to the passion . of the hour, no matter what the cost. He took Florence's white hand in his ; the fragrant gloom seemed to gather round them, the breath of the lilies seemed to enfold them. It was a moment of passion—a dream. His breath was wara; upon her cheek. "Florence," he whispered, "tell me, will you not be pleased to see me ?" Her heart gave one great, passionate throb, then stood still. '" It had come at last," she thought. "You know I would,"*she replied, raising her. face to his ; and the love in her eyes smote him with pain—the gleam of light on her face smote him with shame. _ What right had he to speak so to iier, when he knew, that he was married aind was not free ? Only one moment his head was bent over her, the grand Saxon head, that Evelyn Romaine had thought resembled the kingly heads of the :icroes of old ; his lips almost touch;d hers, when suddenly, as though from the grave, arose before him the dark, passionate, beautiful face of his wife. Pain and shame, regret and remorse, all smote him, and he drew back with a cry that startled the girl by his sicls. She looked at aim again, and held out her other aand. There was no mistaking the expression of her face. "Florence," he whispered, "I am a villain ! I have no business to speak bo you in this way. I have no right to be sitting out here among the lilies with you by my side. I have been cowardly, weak, and wicked !" The little hands trembled in his ?rasp. "Why I?" she asked; and her eyes added, "I lore you ; what does it matter ?" H« muttered some words savagely. She did not hear them. "Why ?" she repeated ; and he saw bright tears shining in her eyes. It was so strange, she thought—so strange a wooing. "I will tell yoc wiry," ge replied, in a low, hoarse voice. "I have no fight to be with you, to love you, to seek to win your love. I cannot ask you to , remain at Gothwic as its mistress and my wife because — oh, Florence, pity me !—because I am married already !" She snatched her hands from his grasp, as though tbe touch burned aer. "•'Married 1" she cried. "Oh, Lord tfoel, why did you not tell me so at first ?" ___, CHAPTER XVI. Florence Ralston little dreamed That an admission those words were —how much they told of what she would fain have hidden. "You should have told me so before," she repeated ; and the words seemed rather wailed from her lips than spoken. A guilty flush -rimsoned his face ; his heart beat osickly ; his pulse shrilled.. What were such words but an admission that.'she ioved him? Easy, careless,'and debonair, he cared little what the next moment might bring. He bent over her again, and the breath of the flowers was not sweeter than the voice which said: "Is it too late, Florence? Have you learnt to care for me as much as I care for you ?" ' She did not answer him, but a great, tearless sob rose to her lips and, died away there. Once more he tried to clasp the white hands in his, but she drew them away. "Xay," he whispered, "do not be cruel ! This is the. last time we shall sit among the lilies—you and I. Do not be cruel, Florence. Let me hold your hands in mine just' this once, while I tell you." She did as he wished.: She sat silent and pale as a marble statue. The laughter and dimples had died out of her face ; it was set, stern, and cold. "Let me tell you my story, Florence," he said, quietly ; for the sorrow en the girlish face touched him grca'Jy. '■'lt is no use ; " she replied. "Perhaps you had better not tell me. I will go away and "forget all about it. I shall forget you all the sooner, Lord.Noel, because you are not true. You have not .a loyal heart." '"You judge me harshly, Florence!" he "said, humbly. "1 judge you correctly. I know not who is yo".:r wife, but you have not been loyal to her. You have looked at me, sought me, spoken to me, as you had no right to have done, knowing you were married. You know in your heart that you have tried tc make me love you. You have never ■seemed happy unless you were witr me. Even now you have won frorr me an admission I would rather havt died than have made. You are untrue and disloyal, both to your wift and to me !" "Hear me,, Florence !" he pleaded. "Do not condemn me. I was car i-ied away years ago by a foolisl passion for a fair face." She stopped him contemptuously. "In the years to come you will tel! BttMHHHlMttiiMTitfߥrtiA«ffl?iLiiffl? e e^se -'

she said, "and say that yon were ' carried away by a foolish passion for me!' " "Never —and you know it ! You know that by some mysterious influence we seemed to understand each other from the first. You know that wc two seemed to be apart from the rest of the world." She could not deny it, and he went on : "I am .trustituf you, Florence, with a secret that involves all I hold dear. I would trust you just as readily -with my life. No one knows one word of my marriage, or ever will ! It was a foolish, romantic, generous deed. I cannot tell you even whom I married, or where ; I was young and foolish. I repent—ah, ah Florence !—I repent so bitterly." "But do you not love your wife ?" she asked, suddenly. Did he love her ? He remembered her as she stood under the purple light of the' vines, with the orange blossoms in her hair, her gentle, caressante maimer. He was both [ traitor and coward when lw replied : "No ; she was inferior to me in station—altogether out of my world k—and I am tired of her." "You would tire of any one else, perhaps sooner,"" »h« said, scornfully. "Again you misjudge me. I have married so foolishly that if even one | word of what I have done came to my father's knowledge, he would disinherit me, and never open his lips to me again. He has told me so. I had lair warning ; I chose to neglect it. And for the romantic love of a beautiful face I have sacrificed every prospect in life. " Is she —your wife —very beautiful ?" she asked, with a trembling voice. "In her way," he replied, slightingly. "I wish! Florence, I had never seen you. You have made me dissatisfied. My wife is very earnest, very grave, with grand ideas and noble thoughts. She has no such smiles as yours—no such laughter. Life to her is a solemn tragedy." "With me —a farce !" she interrupted, bitterly. "No ; pardon vat —do forgive me!" he said. "I repeat my wish—it would be so well for me if I had never seen you. You suit me so exactly, Florence —you seem to skim the very cream of life—if you will excuse my homely simile. I should have been very happy with you. But it was not to be.""You would not have been happy with me long," said the .girl, gravely. "You would have tired of me before long. You are not a true man, Lord Noel. You are very clever, handsome, and winning, but you are not true. You knew all this when I came here —you knew that you were pledged in all honour to another —yet you did not spare me. You have amused yourself by wooing me after a very lordly fashion, and now you tell me you are married. Were you free, and kneeling there at my feet, I would spurn you ! You are not loyal, and only loyal men are worth loving." "I cannot deny—l cannot defend myself," he .said, humbly. " Only, Florence, as you are strong, be merciful ! I thought all women were pitiful and compassionate by nature. Hare you no pity for me ?" There was such unutterable sorrow in his voice that the girl almost involuntarily drew nearer to him. "Imagine my fate," he said. " I am tied, as it were, with a millstone about my neck. If my father knew of my marriage, Florence, it would break his heart. I could bear the disinheritance part of the business, but I could not injure him, and he would never survive it." "You should have thought of that before," she said. "Ah, Florence," he cried, "when do men—young men—rever stop to think or to count the cost of love ?" "I did love my wife very much," he continued, "wnen I gave up all my world for her ; but we are so different. She is- tragical, terribly | earnest, without any sense of hum- | our—all sentiment and romance. I am just the reverse —gay, careless, and debonair. The consequence is—l am afraid to say the words, even to myself—the consequence is I have grown tired of her, and bitterly repent the hasty, unequal marriage, which has marred my whole life, and parted me from you." "It is a dead love, then 1" she said, slowly. "Yes," he repeated, "it is a dead love !" And then they sat in silence. "I need not ask you," he said, "to keep my secret ?" "You may trust me, Lord Noel," she said, coldly. "The Ralstons are a loyal race, and a true one." "Speak to me kindly, Florence," he said again. ;' Think what a hard life mine must be ! I can never acknowledge my wife—never bring her home here to my father's house." "I cannot agree with you," she said. "I will keep your secret. But were I in your place, nothing should ever induce me to deceive every one, as you do. Lord Noel, you have trusted me—be persuaded by me. Tell the earl ; I am sure he will forgive you !" "I cannot tell him now," he said, sadly ; "for I hold Hurste and seven thousand per annum from him. He would never look at me or speak to me if he knew all !" "I would brave that," she said. "I would do right—no matter what came of it. If I were in your position I should tell Lord Gothwic my story ; then take a place by my wife's side, and defy the whoie world." "I cannot," he *»id. "It has gone on too long for that ; there can be no confesTion now." "Then my advice is useless," she said, rising. "See, Lord Noel, there is the moon shining over the fir trees ; now we must go in." "Yes," he said, sadly. "This evening—our last—is over now. To-mor-row will not be like to-day, Florence. We might have been very happy,but for this foolish mistake oi mine. Let

have one word of comlort. Could you have loved me had it been otherv.isc ?" "One word," he pleaded, "to comfort me through life. But for this, would you have loved me, Florence?" "Yes," she said, gravely ; "I could have loved you well, Lord Noel. I do not reproach you ; but do not think the pain is all yours. This is the first time I have ever thought about love, and as sure as I stand here living it will be the last. lam Florence Ralston now, and Florence Ralston I will remain until the hour of my death. There shall be no more pain of love or deceit for me." "Nay !" he cried. "Do not rashly throw away so sweet a life as yours. You will forget all this in time, Florence." "I may forget you," she said. "But I shall never forget the lesson < you have taught me. That will remaiD engraven on my heart until I die. Men are all pretty much alike, 3 suppose, Lord Noel." "No," he cried, really distressed ; "there are few so careless as myself." "Few so dishonourable, I hope," 3he added. "We will part friends. I quite forgive you, Lord Noel, any pain you have caused me. Our paths in life will be quite different ; yet if ever we meet, we shall be friends." He bent over her, and would have touched her forehead with his lips, hut she drew back proudly. "Do you leave it for a young girl to teach you honour, Lord Noel 7" she asked. A footstep near startled them both ; then came the sound of voices. Lady RalstoD and her hostess • had come in search of the truants. There was an air of proud content on Lady Ralston's face. "I must scold .you, Lord. Noel," she said. "Florence has been out too long." The evening is so pleasant," he said ; "and we" "We have been talking learnedly about the moon," said Florence, with great»composure, as she went over to her mother's side. "Lord Noel read a wonderful book when he was a child, and he remembers all about it." "You have been sitting among the lilies, •Clive," said gentle Lady Gothwic. : "Have you won a new daughter for me, my son ? Have you said anything to Miss Ralston ?" "Only about the moon and moonshine," he replied, bitterly. "There will never be any love passages between Miss Ralston and your son, mother." "Then," thought the gentle lady to herself, "she has refused him ; and [ am sure that he loved her." Miss Ralston would not return to the drawing-room ; she professed herself tired, artel went to her room. There my lady soon followed her, expectation beaming on her face. "Well, Florence," she said, impatiently, "have you nothinr to tell me ? Ha*s Lord Noel «aid nothing this evening ?" "Mamma," said tbt girl, gravely, "you may be angry if you will ; once and for all, I tell you honestly, I would not marry Lord Noel if he would crown ui« queen of the whole world to-morrow !"

CHAPTER XVII. A beautiful June morning, and the £oldea sun rose early. It was grand to see the summits of those glorious as the golden rays fell slanting over them, seeming to crown the white heads that reached the blue aeavens. Grand, calm, and majestic, looked the huge range of the Pyrenees, pile after pile stretching away Into the far distance. The sky overhead was blue and brilliant, the whole earth lay like a fair picture, when Evelyn, Lady Noel, came out upon the terrace to spend, as she often did, a quiet hour in watching the grand mountains that tittle Gertie called th« "ladders to heaven." The dark, passionate face is beautiful as ever, only the lustrous eyes are shadowed, and there are lines that tell of thought and care on the white, queenly brow. He has been gone more than a year now, and though her faith in him never failed, her trust never faltered, she begins to long for his return ; she longs to see the handsome , debonair face, to watch the gay, careless smile ;■ she longs for the sound of his voice, the charm of his happy, genial laugh. Being here without him was life, and yet no life ; the very soul, sun, and centre of her existence seemed to have left her. His letters had grown shorter and shorter, until they dwindled into a few words, explaining the reason of his absence, and the necessity of saving as much money as sbo could, of avoiding all publicity aad all expense. There was uo word of love in them, but though she wondered at it, she was too noble-mind-ed herself to suspect want of nobility in others. She never dreamed that she was anything to Clive Noel except a dearly-beloved, worshipped wife. She was too wholly generous and true to suspect that others were mean and false. In her own heart she made, a hundred excuses for him. She said to herself that he was • good son—only <*a good sou would devote himself a.s Clive had don« tc his father—and a good son always made a good husband. Of her owe self she was not capable of originating a suspicion that worldly interest might have something to do with his devotion. If such an idea were ever admitted to her mind, it would hav« to be placed there by some one else (To he Continued.)