ALL OR NOTHING.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 595, 20 August 1913, Page 6

ALL OR NOTHING.

A THRILLING RQMhNCE,

(Copyright.)

By the Author of®= "A Bitter Bondage," "Two Keys,'-' "Stella,"' "The Unknown Bridegroom,"' &c,,

PART i»(5. "I felt so strangely sure that I had seen him in a dream," she continued, "and I asked Sir Edward who he was. He said Lord Golhwic was a distant relative of Ills. I asked if he was married, and he said 'No.' What is the matter, mamma ?"

For from Evelyn Morton's lips there came a cry such as one utters at the point of death. "What is the matter ?" asked Mabel again, for her mother had clasped her hands together. "I am stung," she replied, in a low voice. "I am stung, Mabel, and the pain is hard to bear."

"Those tiresome bees !" said the girl, not in the least understanding her mother's words. "Then, mamma," she continued, "he showed me the portrait of a most beautiful woman whom he said Lord Gothwic was supposed to love, and wants to marry. I remember the face ; it was high-bred and beautiful. I remember the name, beeause it seemed musical, and pleased me—Florence Ralston."

"He loved her ?" asked the faint voice.

"So Sir Edward said," replied Mabel, carelessly, "but he did not marry her. Now, mamma, where can I have seen that face ? I have dreamed of it, I am sure."

She stopped abruptly, for Evelyn Morton had fallen on her face, and lay like one dead. Mabel rose with a cry. She raised the white face, and cried out again, as she saw the grey pallor that had fallen over it. "Mother !" she cried. "Oh, mamma, what is it ? :J She kissed the white, rigid lips ; -he laid the wearied head on her breast ; she never dreamed of leaving her to seek help.

It was some minutes before the white eyelids opened, and then Mabel was afraid. She had never seen such anguish in any human eyes before. "Mamma," she said, with a shuddering sigh, "are you better ? How you frightened me ! I thought you were dead. Was it the strong perfume of those magnolias, or the pain of the sting ? Oh, mamma, how I love you ! What should I do if you were really ill ?" It was the mother's turn to console then. She tried to forget this new sorrow, this fresh and most terrible pain ; yet, after all, it would Dot be shut out.

It was not, then, because Clive \ : oel was ashamed of his marriage, was afraid of his friends, afraid of introducing her as his wife —it was not for those reasons he ihad cast her from ham —bat because he loved anotiaer, a beautifal, high-bred wo3i&n of noble birth, not an actress with nothing but her passionate love &nd passionate heart to give him. She tried to forget it—to listen to Mabel's words, for. the young girl, thinking it was only a passing fainttess, was talking saily, in the hope Df amusing her mother. She tried :o say to herself that Clive Noel was dead—that the Evelyn PbOmaine svho had worshipped him so madly was dead, too —but words, be they iver so grand, ever so stirring, canlot control the beating of a human aeart. He was living, and she was .iving still, although they were dead to each other.

She looked at the passion flower :rushed in her hands. "An emblem Df my life," she thought. She looksd at the magnolia blossoms, and thought that she should never Dreathe their sweetness again.

'"Mamma," said Mabel, "look at ;he stars and the fair lady-moon. S T ow I have told you all about ZJreedmoor. I wish, how I wish you would let Lord Liverston come and see you ! He would be so pleased. A.nd tell him who you are. Do, mamma !" "Tell him who I am!" said Evelyn Morton.

She shuddered at the thought of uhe cold, hard world—of cold, hard aearts—cold, hard natures.

Mabel looked up again in wonder. "Tell him, I mean, that you wrote the books he admires so much." An expression of great relief came over the beautiful face. "I had forgotten just then," she said, "that I ever wrote books. Ah, no, Mabel, darling, I shall not tell Lord Liverston my secret ; he would not keep it." "Yet you trusted Dr. Ainsleigh," she said, quickly. "I trusted him because I read in your face that he was worthy of all trust." Then they left the magnolia tree ; the moon was rising ; the stars peeping out, the flowers all asleep ; and Mabel, thinking of Leonard, and how her mother had trusted him, forgot that her question remained unanswered. CHAPTER XLIII. While Mabel slept, and the moonbeams fell like a silver veil over Beechgrove, her mother sat like one dazed and bewildered. She had sworn to herself that after his most base desertion of her the name oi Clive Noel shosuid never cross hei lips. She had said to herself that to all intents and purposes thej were dead to each otfesr. She had gathered, as it were, the broken fragments of her life m her hands, anc tried hard to make the best o! them. Yet now, when tide hac helped her, she heard that nam* again from the lips of his owi child.

■&. hj, Gofl, wfc&z a cruel mocKery those words were >

"Have I ever seen Lord Gothwic ?"

Over her memory there rushed a lava tide. She remembered the day on which Mabel was born, how Clivc had taken the little, lovely baby in his arms and kissed the tiny, tender face. She remembered how, when Mabel learned to walk and to talk, he had hung enraptured over her, teaching the baby lips sweet, musical words. She remembered on that last and most fatal day, when they lingered under the shade ol clustering vines, and the messengei from England came to them there, how Clive caught the child in his arms, how passionately he had kiss ed the fair little face ; then he went away from them, and they had seen him no more.

Now that same child asked had she ever seen him ? Was it possible that he lived in the childish memory still—that she had seen him se often and so vividly in her dreams—that if they were to meet she would recognise him ? A new world seemed to open tc her. Unto this time she had thought principally of her own sorrow, her own wounded love. Clive had bought her love and sold it ; he had deserted her more cruelly, more basely than woman was ever deserted before ; and in the first most cruel smart of her pain she had proudly, haughtily relinquished all claim to him, proudly refused to take his money, to hear of or from him. She had sworn that for his cowardly abandonment of her she would henceforth and for all time be dead to him.

And then the old, passionate love, the worship that years of desertion had not deadened, came back to her. She was a girl again, with the tire of genius on her lips, the world at her feet, her heart full of that halfdivine love only given once in life. She was a girl once again, treading the stage with queenly step, pouring out the genius, the love that was in her —all for him. She was with him again on the bank of the river, listening to words that had made the music of her life. She was a young and worshipped wife, carried by her hasband from all the world into a paradise of his own creating. Passionate love, passionate sorrow surged in her heart ; the calm of long years was broken. She awoke to the knowledge that she was a deserted, unloved wife, whose husband had offered a price for love, and had learned to care for a fairer face ! She flung herself on the ground, she wept aloud in her passionate anguish, as the sad tragedy of her life came once more clearly before her. Then she bethought herself. This handsome young baronet —Sir Edward Peckham —was. he said, a distant relative of the Earl of Gothwic, and he loved Mabel : Ah. what untold triumph for her if in the daughter he had cast off and abandoned he should see Lady Peckham, of Peckham Court, his equal in position, his superior in everything else ! Could she ask for or desire, a greater triumph than this ? Her face flushed, her eyes flashed at the thought. He had sold Mabel, or tried to sell her for money. So much money was to free him from her for evermore. But now, should this come true, in all the glory of her fresh young loveliness, in all the pride of wealth and splendour, the father who had abandoned her should meet his child again.

Yet she was too noble a woman to glory in revenge—too grand, too proud. "1 will leave it," she said, at last.

"What 1 did was for the best. I will leave it in the hands of God." So that on the. morrow she was calm and serene, her own beautiful, dignified self again ,: only as she sat at her writing the name of Florence Ralston came to her mind more than once, and she wondered what the face of the woman was like who had won Clive Noel and kept him from her.

It was not altogether a matter of surprise to Evelyn Morton when, on that same morning, Sir Edward Peckham was: announced. He asked to see her on very important business, and he was shown into the writing-room. Mabel was away. Mr Stanley had called for her, so that he had ample leisure for all that he had to say.

Yet Sir Edward, so brave, so ilneut of speech, seemed to hesitate strangely ; his handsome face hail grown pale, his lips trembled. Mrs. Morton looked at him with pitying eye.-'. He summoned courage at length.

"Mrs. Morton," he said. '"1 am come to ask you for the greatest treasure you have in the world. I love your daughter. Will you give her to me to be my wife ?"

"For my own part J am willing," she replied. "I like you, I trust you ; but it is Mabel's consent you have to win." "If she—Miss Morton is willing, you will give your consent ?" he said, hurriedly. "I do," said Evelyn, unreservedly. He rose from his seat and took her hand in his. She saw tears shining in his eyes. "How am I to thank you ?" he cried. "I love her so dearly, Mrs. Morton. I will spend my life in trying to make her happy." Evelyn's whole heart went out to this ardent young lover. For a moment she forgot Lord Gothwic, Leonard Ainsleigh, her own sorrow, and remembered nothing but the great love the young man before her bore her only child. "I am willing," she repeated ; "but have you considered well, Sir Edward ? Mabel has no fortune. Tins little home is mine, and will be 'tiers, but it is nqt worth much." "I love her the better for it ; and, thank God I have wealth to offer her," he cried. "There is one thing more," continued Evelyn Morton, and her beautiful face flushed crimson as she spoke. "I must iaention it, or you might thmk afterwards I had de-

ceiled you. I can never tell you name was not that of Morton. This

anything of Mabel's father. His much 1 feel bound to tell you. ami I must submit to whatever inferences you may choose to draw." She raised her head with tfe' pre-sd grace of a queen. '"Madam," he said. "I draw ek> inferences that, are not most, hoaioiirable to yourself. I» you have ;■ mystery in your lite, sure am T R faius no tinge of dishonour in it. T could not look at you without fueling the same faith in you, the same deep reverence for you. as I feel for my own mother. Can I say more 7" The warmth of his words, the chivalrous respect, of his manner, touch ed her; tears rose to the dark, bright eyes ; she laid her hand on his.

'■' Thank you." she said. uui.ul "1 shall never forget your words."

"They do not express -ill 1 fed." lie replied, quickly. " f have nut visited Carsbrook without hearing Carsbrook without hearing gossip and rumours. Mrs .Morton, if you ever want a man with a brave heart and a strong arm to defend you. if ever you want a knight, to take arms in your cause, choose me. I will defend you against the world :" "Through good and evil repute ?' : she said, with tfc»t sad smile that made the beauty of her face half divine. "Through all." he said. "The' time will never come when ! skull fail you, if you will only make use of my services when you need Cikm." And that compact, made in few words, lasted until d-eath. " Have you said anything to Mabel ?" asked Mrs. Morton, anxiously. How could she fail to be anxious when she looked at the handsome, ardent face before her and remembered Leonard Ainsleigh ? CHAPTER XLIV. "Not one word —that is, of marriage. I tried to make her understand that I loved her. I cannot tell if I succeeded ; she is so innocent, so sweet, 1 did not dare to speak to her without your permission. Where is she, Mrs. Morton ? Ah, if God will but give me this great treasure, this priceless love—if I may but win Mabel for my own 1" "You will not see her this morning ; she has gone out with Mrs. Stanley." "May I come to-morrow ?" he interrupted. " I cannot bear long suspense." '"Yes," replied Evelyn, " come when you will. I will tell Mabel your errand, and you shall hear her answer from her own lips." Satisfied and happy, Sir Edward rode away. He could not tell whether Mabel liked him ; he did not know. She was so young, in manyrespects so child-like, he could not tell whether she had guessed at his meaning ; whether her pretty. shy avoidance of him was caused by a growing liking for him, or was it because she saw and wished to show him it was hopeless ? "I will do all I can to win her," thought the handsome young lover, as he rode home through the sunshine and the dowers. "I will woo her in sweetest w*>rds. No one will ever love her as I do ; no one would ever try so hard to make her happy if she will but care for me."' "Mamma," said Mabel tlmt afternoon when she returned, "you look very pleased. What has happened ?" "I am happy," said Mrs .Morton, " after my own fashion, Mabel. Sir Edward Peckham has been here." There came no Hush on the lovely young face, no sweet confusion, as when she mentioned Leonard';? name. Mabel smiled lightly ; evidently the news did not interest her much. "1 shall always like Sir Edward," she said, lightly, "if he makes my mother look so bright." Mrs. Morton placed one arm caressingly round the slender, girlish tigure. "He pleased me much," she said; "his errand pleased me more. He came to ask if you might be his wife, Mabel." "His—what !" cried the girl. "His wife." repeated Evelyn. "'He loves you so dearly. Mabel." But she paused, for Mabel had drawn away shuddering, with a little cry on her lips that seemed to pierce her mother's heart. "His wife ! Oh. no, mamma. 1 can never be thai. Bo not let him asu me. Pray tell him I like him : but. oh, mamma. 1 cannot taarry him She trembled violently, and ilie sweet, girlish face grew pale.

"You are young, my darling. '• o think of marrying any on* yet. Uo not. tremble. Mabel : do not be frightened, dear. .1 shall never seek to persuade yon : you shall just do as you like, always remember that. See. we have an hour to spare ; try to tell me why you can never marry one so good, so kiiid. so true as Sit Edward Peckham."

Evelyn Morton sat down by the large window that overlooked the spacious garden. Mabel, placed, tin little stool at her mother's feet, and, kneeling down, buried her crimson face on her mother's knee. "I will not distress you. Mabel." she said, quietly, "only try to tell me why you cannot iove Sir Edward ; he is so good and kind. h< is true, and he has true eyes, and a frank, kindly fare. 1 would trust my life in such a man's Jianus. N . on would have such a ivautifu! home. my darling, and everything youi heart could wish for. I think you would be happy, and I should be se happy for you—tiiat is. if you ear love him—not. without ; there woui<i be no happiness without iove." "Mamma," asked Mabel, raisin.!; her sweet, flushed face, "what i: love ? Perhaps I 4o not understanr quite. Suppose, whenever you elost your eyes, that o®2 face rises he-fort you—looks at you with tender, haunting eyes—comes to you in yum dreams—stands out from the crowi of other faces, clear and distinct.." .{.To b® Continued).