ALL OR NOTHING.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 600, 6 September 1913, Page 6

ALL OR NOTHING.

(Co;v. i igiiL.)

—By the Auifaor of «= "A Bitter Bondage,'' "Two Ksys,' 1 "SLeila," '"The Unknown Bridegroom," &c.,

A THRILLING ROMA.HCE,

PA RT ::i. "Yes," replied Leonard, in a low, harsh voice, so unlike his own. "I wish to tell you that this evening your daughter—Miss Leyton—has consented to be my wife." The worthy banker did his best to be "effusive." He grasped Leonard's hands, and shook them cordially in his own. "1 am delighted," he said. "God bless you, and make you happy all your life." The young man almost groaned aloud at the simple prayer. Happiness for him ? "Alice has been very much petted," continued Mr. Leyton. "You must be very kind and patient with her. Has —has anything been said about the time for the wedding ?" "No, nothing of that kind ; but I thought it better that you should know at once."

"Quite right. I am at your service at any time you may wish to see me. We have plenty of leisure for making arrangements. Do not let me keep you from Alice." As the young doctor passed out of the room a gloomy expression came over the old man's face. "He does not love Alice," he said to himself. "Those women have persuaded him to do this, and he is marrying her for her money. My poor girl !" But after a few glasses of Madeira Mr. Leyton was consoled.

"He will care for her more in time," he thought, " when he sees how fond she is of him."

It was whispered amongst the guests that Dr. Ainsleigh had proposed for Miss Leyton, and had been accepted. Mrs. Ainsleigh sought her daughter-in-law that was to be, and there was a pretty little scene between the ladies, both of whom were affected by tears. Mrs. Wei ford ventured to offer her congratulations, which the heiress graciously received.

"On my wedding-day, Mrs. Welford," said Alice, "I shall present you with the most costly diamond riag money can purchase"—a promise Mrs. Weiiord received with thanks, knowing it was the price ol her services.

The only one who neither felt nor pretended to feel any great amount of rapture was Mrs. Elderly. and she wondered Mow Mabel would bear the news.

The party was over ; the great object for which it had been given was accomplished—Alice and Dr. Ainsleigh were esgaged. As they walked home together that evening, Mrs. Ainsleigh was in a flutter of delight ; Leonard depressed and gioois?'. "It was a es?uel trap that you laid for me, mother," he said. "Knowing the girl is fond of me, I could not look in her face and tell her that you had spoken falsely—that I did not love and would not marry her. I was very near it ; but it will not end weK, mother, I am certain of it."

She was too happy to be angry with him. When he bade her "goodnight," she clasped her arms round his neck, and kissed him as she had not done since he was a child.

"My darling boy, you have made me so happy !" she said. No answering smile came to his face. "I have a presentiment," he replied, with a shudder he could not repress—"a preseatiment that evil will come of it. I believe that you and I, mother, will both live to curse the day and hour in which this deed was done."

She soothed him, and told him his mind had been overstrained—that he needed rest. She went to his room and mixed a cordial '/or him to drink. Yet through it all. through the rush of triumph, the huEklred plans which occurred to her, she was haunted by the memory of the despairing look on her son's face.

All the cordial that was ever made would not have sent Leonard Ainsleigh to sleep. "I never will call, myself a man again," he cried. "Women have planned for me ami have plotted over me, and I, Like the weakest of all weak fools, havei fallen into the trap. I am a villsdn, and I deserve to be wretched. can I say to Mabel when I meet her agaia ? How can I tell her that J meant Eothing? My darling, who tnusted me as she trusts Heaven —how can I tell her my looks and words .were all false ? I cannot —God knows I cannot ; for I love her better than my life !" He thought over a thousand plans —whether he should run away. and tell no one but Mab«l where he was going, and then, in a few r years, return to make Mabel his wife. There was no escape for lrim. The time had gone by. Those two women- his own mother and. Alice Leyton —held him in bondage. He hated himsell for what he had. done, but there was no recalling no'Jf. One thing he resolved upon—Mabel loved him, he knew it ; had he not tried his best to win that pure, doving heart ? She should not heax the news from any of those heartless, .gossiping women, who would gloafc over her sorrow, and retail every "word. He would tell her himself. He would write that very morning to* Mrs. Morton ; that would be the wisest pl&n. Even it the dark his fajee grew burning ted as he thought ol tna beautiful, dignified woman, and her kindness tc him —her trust, in hkn>. What would she think of feiit)& now ? A bright mossing followed the das

on which the Woodlands' dinner party took place, and Mabel rose early ; so many things required doing in ih--irarden. It was so pleasant, to work out there, with the fragrance and melody of a summer's morning all around her. The birds sang so joyously, and Mabel sang with them. The clouds had all disappeared. Despite her cleverness and her poetry, she was very simple. The conversation at her mother's dinner had nor distressed her. She thought the questions about the wedding-ring rather abrupt.

"But then," she said to herself. Tew people had the same high-bred graceful manners as her mother." The sting of the question. which Mrs. Morton had so plainly perceived was all lost on Mabel. She would have thought it easier for the stars to have fallen from heaven than for any one living to dare to misjudge her mother. .She had forgotten - happy, sunny-hearted Mabel—that there had been the least cloud. Leonard had brought his mother to see her ; surely that was enough. For two days past she had heard and seen nothing of him. He would cone to-day, that was certain. Then he would tell her what his mother thought and said—whether she liked Beechgrove, "And," Mabel added to herself, with a smile and a blush, "whether she likes me !"

So she sang with the birds, happy and blithe as they. The particular task upon which she was employed was the training of some crimson roses. The trees had been neglected, and there were dead leaves upon tlnm ; these she cut off, and arranged the pretty flowers. Sometimes a sharp thorn ran into her fingers ; her hands were embalmed with the rich perfume of the flowers. Long as she lived, after that morning, the fragrance of a rose made hsr faint, :aid tilled her heart with a strange fain.

She went in to breakfast, and then Mrs. Morton asked her if she wo'uld go to Carsbrook to execute some little commissions for her. Mabel gladly consented. Sweet snatches of song rippled over her lips as she ran upstairs to dress. It had happened so often that in going to Carsbrook rather early in the morning she hud met Dr. Ainsleigh going lo visit some of his patients. This might happen again—would in all probability—so that Mabel put on her prettiest attire, and looked sc lovely, so happy and bright, that Mrs. Morton's heart was touched with deepest emotion.

"I shall not be long away, mamma," said the young girl; "you look tired. * I will make great haste ; then, perhaps, you will leave your desk, and we will go to the woods."

She was absent rather more than an hour. When she returned her face w T as deadly pale, her lips quivering, her eyes bright with suppressed anger. Mrs .Morton saw that it was with the utmost difficulty she could control herself.

"Mabel," said her mother, "what is the matter ? Are you ill ? Why do you tremble so ?" '''Mamma," said the girl, "I have been so cruelly insulted. I saw Mrs. Poyntz on the Carsbrook-road, with Helen and Minnie. I bowed, and all three turned away. Then I felt sure they did not see mc, and 1 crossed the road and went over to them. I said, 'Good morning, Mrs. Poyntz,' and then turned to Nellie— I always loved Nellie Poyrftz. Oh, mamma, they looked at mc, those tw r o girls, with such cold, stony eyes, and never spoke one word. Mrs. Poyntz said, ' Go on, my dears ; 1 will speak to this young person." Do you hear, mamma ? She called me a*'young person.' She turned tc me, her face so proud and cold. " ' I have to request, Miss Morton, that for the future all acquaintanc* between you and my daughters musl cease.'

" Mamma, I was stunned. 1 thought I must be dreaming the words. " 'How cruel !' I said. ' Will yoi tell me why, Mrs. Poyntz ?' " 'I have no explanations to make ; all impostors arc discovered soonet or later.' Then she walked on, ant left me. Mamma, what does it mean ?" Mrs. Morton's face had grown verj pale as she listened to the words. "It means, Mabel, that there art cruel rumours about mc ; and the> are making you suffer for them. 1 told you, my child and darlin.e, that there was a secret in my life ; yet you trust me in spite cf that."

"I trust you, mamma. My whole soul pays homage to you." "These people have gaes.cd tlu.t . have a secret, but tlu-y are far—oh so far—from guessing what it is That secret, Mabel, concerns yoai father, whose name I have svorr shall never pass my lips. Do vol ask me to reveal that secret ?" "No," replied Mabel. "My tr.isl and faith are all yours, mamma." "You may smile at such insults Mabel, believing my word that iv,\ silence shrouds no sin of mir.'\ o:il> the weakness of another." Even as she uttered the words tin servant entered the room with ; letter in her hands. Mabel took it and her face Hushed crimson as sin saw Leonard's handwriting. "This is from Dr. Ainsleigh," sin said. "Why has he written, 1 wonder ? Why did he not call in stead ?" CHAPTER LI. Mrs. Morton took the letter wit! trembling hands. Her heart mis gave her—a sick, sorrowful presentiment of coming evil oppressed her Mabel came nearer to her. "'What can Dr. Ainsleigh have t( write to you about, mamma ?" Mrs. Morton tried to smile. '"I must read the letter and see,' she replied. She sat down in her own chair be fore the window she loved so much "God help me to bear it," she said to herself, "if it be what I" think : God help my Mabel, too !"

fhen with hands that trembled ne-

.linger she broke the seal. Mabel stood watching her mother. She saw all the colour fade slowly out of the beautiful face ; she saw a quieer of pain, a look of indignation pass over it ; then Mrs. Morloa laid the letter down «-ith a cry of unutterable pain.

"Mamma, is lie ill? Is he in U'oti de ? Is anything wrong with him?'

"No. Mabel ; all is welt with boo nai'd Ainsleigh."

Mrs. Morton's voice was so lull of ;)ain that Mabel started. "Mamma, he is not. dead?" she [Tied.

"No, he is living and wcii, Mabel ; uive me time, my dear : there is nothing wrong with him. 1 am confused and bewildered. Wait a few minutes."

l r or some minutes sweet. brightMabel stood silent, with parte.; lip. and wondering eyes. Mrs. Morion aeither moved nor spoke.

"Mamma." said Mabel. geiniy, "you are forge Wing me. 1 am waiting patiently. Will you tell me what it is ?"

"I cannot," said Mrs. Morton. '"I remember the day an*t the hour when my own heart was broken. I cannot break yours. Read it yourself, Mabel. I cannot tell you what it says."

Mabel took the letter. Years afterwards she remembered the silence that seemed to fall so suddenly over the room. She remembered how the sun shone on the flowers, and the birds sang loud and clear. "My dear Mrs. Morton," the letter began, "I can hardly explain the impulse that leads me to vrrite tc you, only that you have been kind fco me, so that I am anxious to be the first to tell you of the approaching charge in my life. I suppose I ought to consider myself a very happy man. Yet my heart does not feel very light ; the sun does not shine for me as it did yesterday, and never will so shine again. Yet I repeat that I ought to consider myself a happy man. I am engaged to marry Miss Ley ton, and my mother is very delighted over it. "Will you tell Mies Morton ? We have been such dear friends. She may wonder why I never told her anything of this. I know she will think it very seldom. Will you tell her it is so ? When I left your a few days ago, I had no idea of what has since happened. Will you tell her so from me ? Life is full of trials. lam youug, but IMiave mine—perhaps not the easiest to bear because I cannot speak of them. Will you tell Miss Morton how my whole heart longs for one word, to say that she forgives me—for not having confided in her before, I mean. "I ought, perhaps, to ask you to pardon me for writing. I could not endure that Miss Morton should hear the news first from some officious Carsbrook gossip. There was a time when I hoped all would have been very different ; that hope is over, and with it the sweetest part of my life. '•'l have one word more to say. I have heard with burning indignation the false rumours now circulating through Carsbrook, affecting one whom my heart and soul acknowledges as peerless amongst women. If ever, Mrs. Morton, you want a friend, remember no office on eartt will be so dear to me as defending you. I ask now no greater happiness than to be of service to you. My mother is still here, and is going over to Woodlands for a visit, so that I shall not have time to call, but you will tell Miss Morton and ask her. Ah, God help me ! I may disguise it as I will, hut I am a miserable man. "I know yon understand it all. I know you must, hate me ; but it has not been quite my fault, though the punishment will be mine. Ask Miss Morton not to hate me. I dare not write any more. God bless you. Mrs. Morton, and her.—From your unhappy friend. " .Leonard Ainsleigh." Word by word Mabel read it through, then turned the paper and read it over again. A deeper silent! fell over them, and it was unbroken. The sweet, bright face had •.;ro\vn as white as the ia.ee of 1 lie deau. Unutterable anguish looked oiii »i the dark eyes—nnut teraidr pain made the parted lips quiver, ('old. sib-m . and dumb. Mabe! sat, wit h the d ■..-;; i 1; warrant of all her happiness i/mg near her. The sun shone, ihe dowers j bloomed, the birds sang, a.s they had, | done years ago when, in the bright.- I ness of she fair, Italian morning, her j mother's heart was broken. j CHAPTER 1,11. j "Mabel!" cried Mrs. Morton, looking in horror at the white iaee and wild eyes —"my darling ' oh. my God. what, shall I say to eora fort her V" She went over to her. She laid the golden head on her breast. 1 "Child," she said. "1 would h.,ve died to save you from this. It. wa.s my fate, and now it is \ours. <di, Mabel, speak to me, only one word." But the poor, dumb lips eould not articulate, the one word. She shuddered as though mortal cold had seized her. " Mamma," she said. si List. stretching out her trembling hands to her mother- "mamma, take me away from the stutshine and the . (lowers. Lay me down alone it) 'he , dark, that I may (tie !'" i The twin sister of death irresistibly came to her. The gobbm head drooped still lower. With a cry that her mother never forgot, she fell back in her chair. All sorrow, for a time, ended for her. "He has broken her h-cart. t'h. Mabel, my sweet. bright, loving Mabel—my darling ! It seems cruel to call her back to life, and she will, only wake, to suiter ! Oh, Mabel,, u I could have borne it. for you :" (T«i bo ropi.tamed.)