Untitled

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 604, 20 September 1913, Page 6

other." i.ady Mnckin laughed aloud. "This will be something- very differ-i-nt. Half the celebrities in London will be there to-day. You must dress. I must have you looking your best. Do you know Lord Gothwic is one of the richest noblemen in England ? You will be the rage, Mabel, when you have been seen at the flower show with him." "I do not wish to be the rage at all," said Mabel : yet her heart beat high at the anticipation of her triumph. Her dress was a success. She went to the flower show, looking more beautiful than any one present. Lady Mackin had chosen for her a dress of palest blue silk, a mantle of rich white lace, while a little bonnet of white lace served to crown the golden head. Lord Gothwic looked admiringly at her, yet he never flattered her. He never told her she looked beautiful. He /could not understand his own feelings for her. The -flower show was crowded ; all the elite of London were there. There was not one who did not admire Mabel, and ask, with wondering words, who was that lovely girl with Lord Gothwic and Lady Mackin ? CHAPTER L.VII. Lady Mack in's prophecy was accomplished. Mabel became the rage. She had more admirers than she could count, and no one rejoiced more in her success than the kindhearted woman who had brought her from Carsbrook. During those five days Sir Edward Peckham was most devoted to her, yet he was so chivalrous, so courteous in manner, so quiet that she could find no fault with his devotion. He did not say anything about love—he never presumed upon what had taken place, and Mabel began to like him very much. She had not seen his good qualities before ; his brilliant rival had occupied all her thoughts ; now she had leisure to perceive how true and noble he was. how brave and good. She grew to like him very much—more, perhaps, than she knew. "H ever I had a brother," she said one day to Lady Mackin, " I should have liked him to be in mind and heart and body the exact model of Sir Edward Peckham." '"ls Sir Edward your ideal of perfection ?" asked her ladyship. "I do not think there is any one so kind, so trne, or so good," she replied. And again L«riy Mackin laughed. Everything promised to turn out just as she wished. Mabel, all unconsciously to herself, was beginning to like Sir Edward. Her ladyship had great faith in time and opportunity. It was a new life for Mabel ; she could not help getting well and feeling happy. She had no time for regret, none for thought ; life was one grand whirl—balls, operas, fetes, soirees, matinees, drives in the park, dressing—she never had one moment's leisure.

There was little time for love sorrows in the mad whirl of a London season. Everywhere she went Sir Edward and Lord Gothwic were with her. Yet, strange to say, no one ever imagined the earl was in love with her. His manner did not give that impression ; no one ever thought of it. He was never so happy as when with her ; he enjoyed her triumphs ; he was not jealous of her many admirers. He delighted in talking to her. Her bright, quick intelligence, her beautiful fancies, her well-cultured mind, all .charmed him. "You must have always been in contact with a very superior mind," he said to her one day. "was your lather a very talented man ?" "I never saw him," she replied. "All my life has been spent with my mother." "Then your mother must be a clever and good woman," he said. "My mother?" cried Mabel, her face flushing, her eyes tilling with tears. "Theire is no one like her. Oh, Lord Gothwic, I can talk to you about everything else in the world, but not about her, because my words never do her justice." "I should like to see Mrs. Morton. Will she ever come to London ?" he askeci. "'1 think not," said Mabel. " Ah, Lord Gothwic.-, people say these London ladies are beautiful. I have not .seen amongst them a face like my mother's ; and she is gifted with such great gifts. Yet she will never show them. In this very summer of her life she shuts out all the world and will have none of it." "How is that?" he asked. "She had some great sorrow in her youth : perhaps it was my father's death. She has never told me about it. She never goes out, and never receives friends." "That must be rather hard oa you," he said. Mabel laughed. "No, it is not. You cannot understand. No one can who does not know mamma." "I must make a pilgrimage. t<„ Carsbrook," he said. "You and .1 are to lie friends so long as wt live, you know, Miss Morton. You might persuade your mother to like me." For many da}.-- afterward:-; lnthought of titcse simple words. li

tinner at Richmond, and he, Lord .Jothwio, was one. of the guests. Mabel had gone out on the balcony that overlooked the river ; she was watching the beauty of the sky, ami the clear, swift--flowing river, when lie eanu out and joined her. '"Yon are a. great dreamer." he ?aki. "i wonder what rt is you ;hink of when you sit so silent, with Unit rapt expression on your ;;\ce ?" " A thousand things," she replied. "Dreams are the mercies of life." "You are too young to be a philosopher ; only age and sorrow teach such wisdom as that. Age you have not ; surely you, so young and so tri-iht, have never known sorrow ?" She did not answer. Her face flushed and the tears rose to her i-yes. "Yea are silent," he said. "Do you forget I am your true friend ? Have you ever known what sorrow means ?" "Yes," she replied. "Once, it • eeins years ago —my heart was almost broken. I am living it down a fr. Do not ask me what it was ; 1 f.uniot tell you." A tierce, angry feeling rose in his heart— a desire to crush those who had brought sorrow to her—yet, so great was his respect for her, those simple words, "Do not ask me what it was," silenced him. He did not mention- the subject to her again., ****** Mai- el wrote often to her mother. (ne May morning Mrs. Morton re-c.-ived a letter from her containing I'liisje memorable words : " I am enjoying myself so much, mamma. Lady Mackin is kiudness its If to me. London is very gay, and a life like this is very pleasant icr a time. I see Sir Edward Peck\i.m every day and like him very nuch. Another constant visitor here s Lord Gothwic. 'I suppose you would laugh at me, Mamma, if I told you we were great riends, but indeed we are. He is so ;ood to me, so kind. He goes everywhere with me, he explains everything to me, and is so genial, so .racious, so clever that'l am charmed. I was trying to describe you to him the other day, but words fail d me. Who could describe you ? le said, jestingly, that some day or jihiv he would make a pilgrimage .o Carsbrook ; but that will never ■;ome true. T have a strange feeling .vhen I am with him of having seen iim before. I am sure you would .ilrtiirc him as much as I do. To:i. ht we are going to a ball at Lady fii afheote's, and he is to be there." Mis. Morton read those words with a 1 cwildered expression on her face ; then the letter dropped from her iiarui.-. 'My God !" she cried. "Is this io.-:sihle ?" - V.lun she had given her reluctant coi.h'i nt to her daughter's visit to London she had never dreamed of her meeting her father. Never since that sunny morniug when, amidst the fragrance of flowers un-.l the music of birds, her heart had been broken—never had she mentioned his name. She never read nev. sr-aptrs lest she should see it jvl lose the calm she had strug;.l d so hard to obtain. It was as though, after that morning when she had returned her wedding-ring, he had passed out of her life, and now— —

Mabel hud met him. Mabel liked him, and he—why did he visit her ? Why was he kind to her ? Why did he pursue her with his attentions and meet her everywhere ? Great God ! Could it be that, not 1 nowing the child, he was fallin ■; in love with ner ? Could it be po-s'b'.c ? Ah, no ; Heaven was I inder than that ! Such a blow could not be in store for her. Yet let her avert it while there was time. What was she to do ? Summon .Mabel to come home instantly? If she did so, perhaps he would follow her—and then Evtlyn trembled. Never in hci wildest dreams had this occurred to her. "I must take a day to think of it," she said, " then something must hj« dene at once." But that day wias never hers ; a still stranger event happened buforf it curie. :S * * * * * '" N'o elaborate toilet to-night Mabel," said Lady Mackin ; "w« dine en famille. Lord Gothwic wil be with us—no one else. A plain white silk ; and have you any £<:>\v ornaments ?" '■' A little chain and a golden locket," she replied. "Nothing more." "Quite sufficient. Wear them rount your neck, and let your hair lie clos\ on your shoulders." Mabel did exactly as she was told ; she put on the plain white silk, -witl: its square-cut bodice and trimming of deep laoe ; round her white graceful neck she hung the golder chain with the golden locket, tin one her mother had given her. It was not the brightest of even ings and she was late ; there «'a> only time to exchange a hurrie< greeting with Lord Gothwic , the\ were divided during dinner by tlit breadth of a wide (lining-table, si that it was probable that he did not see her very plainly. After dinner he asked Mabel ti sing fur him, and they went togei her to tin.' other end of the long draw jug-room, where the piano stood 'i hey siooped together over a piit of music, and then he for the tirst tint- saw the locket. Mis face grew white and startled •lis lips, opened, but for one moment :i., so'.md escap"d them. Then in : ;h-\ "where did OU get This !oc

yon take it on and iefc me ;ook at if V lie asked. She unfastened (lie c'ikuii aJ&d laid I ill his hands. He gawd at it a 8 ihougli it bM.<t been tivijsg. drear drops oi' perspirjt't.kni siood .ipor. his brow-hks hainis trembled. "May 1 open it V" hv asked, in 9 .loarse. agitated voice. "Yes." said Mabel. lie roucheu the liule spring; two locks oi' hair wire entwined there — >!ie clear, pale u:oUl, and one dark ae 'light. "Your mother gave it you?" lU tsked again . a ud she replied : "Yes." With a violent effort he controlled Himself. He gave the locket back into her hand. "Where did you tell me your mother lives, Miss Morton ?" "At Carsbrook." "I must beg you to take a message from me to Lady Mackin. Tell tier I have just remembered a most important engagement. You will sing for me another time. Make my idieux. God bless you !" And the next moment he was gone. CHAPTER LVIII. Once out of the house, Lord Gothwic stood for a moment that the night air might cool his brow and restore his half-scattered senses. "I cannot believe it," he said ; "fancy must have played me a trick. My God ! if it should be Evelyn, and her child ! I gave her that locket ; it mast be twenty years since. I remember it so well. It was made ior her after a whim of my own ; and she gave it to her daughter." He tried to remember by what name he had heard Lady Mackin address her —Mabel —Mabel. It could not be his child. She had been named Gertrude. And yet it may be that if the mother had chosen to hide herself under the name of Mrs. Morton, in the desire to forget him and the past, she would also give to the child another name. Could it be that she was his little Gertie, the ihild he had kissed so long ago uader the vines and had never seen since ? He remembered what she had told him only yesterday—that she always had a lingering sense upon her of having seen and known him before—how she half-recognised him, in a dreamy, vague manner. He had laughed at the time, and said to her they never could have met, for he :ould not have forgotten her face. Now it flashed upon him. Those dark eyes were Evelyn's eyesEvelyn's, as they used to shine upon '.iim twenty years ago—Evelyn, whom lie had so passionately loved and so cruelly deserted ! He uttered the aame aloud.

What is love ? What can it be ? Twenty years ago, for love, the Earl of Gothwic, of Gothwic Towers, had given up the world and all that he valued most. He had married for love, and shut himself away from his kind !

Then he had wearied of it ; worldly interest, prudence, fear, prospective wealth and title, his gay, debonair character, his natural weakness of purpose, his want of straightforward, open truth, all operating together—all dragging him togetherhad caused him weakly, cruelly, and falsely to abandon the woman he had loved so devotedly. A light, volatile nature, so easily worked upon. If Evelyn had been with him in England, he would never have parted from her ; but she was far away, and all his life present influences carried the day with him. So he had laid his love aside and forgotten it.

Now, as he stood in the moonlit streets, it rushed back through his heart like a torrent, with all the greater force that it had been so long restrained. "Evelyn !" He uttered the name aloud, and there rose before him the dark, beautiful, passionate face, with its tender eyes and sweet lips. Evelyn, as he had seen her years ago at Carbace. He had thought of her lately. People had begun to wonder why he never married. His solicitors once or twice hinted that there would be some little difficulty in deciding conflicting claims should he have no heir or hejress. He had thought of it himself, and grieved that the title and estate should pass into strange hands. He would have married if he could, but, though morally weak and so easily influenced, he was not altogether wicked. He could not marry, knowing that somewhere in the world he had a wife and child. He had felt sorry, in a weak, purposeless kind of way, for what had happened—sorry that he had taken what he now" saw was a foolish step. There was no need to have been so frightened. He might have managed it much better. Evelyn would have done anything for him. She would have gone abroad—have led the most retired life. What he had done was silly and cruel. He wondered often, in a vague, idle way, what had become of her. She had never returned to England, he thought, or he must have seen her in some place or other. He wondered, too, how she lived —this woman who had been has wife : she had never applied for one shilling of his money. And t.h.' child, little Gertie, was she living or dead ? It had been an unfortunate business altogether ; he lnui 1.)%•;'.! the child, and then forgotten her. He had wondered, too. whether it wo.ih! he of any use to search for Evelyn, and then, weaJt and irresolute, he shrank from the wonder and publicity, from the telling of his shameful story. So time drifted on : he would not remember that he was growiii" older ; he would not. look the. past, the j^esenf. nor the future in she face. U the worst came he could leave maiiers straight when he died": they fry io liud his wife and. ehjld ; if i hey .aend no! be found. ',vhy. then the next <>t Kiu must iaJ;e hU. ;"'•> bo Conunutid).