CHAPTER XII.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 179, 20 November 1886, Page 8

CHAPTER XII.

Every one knows something of the history of the telephone — of its inventions, the in troductian, the rapid and wonderful rise of its stock as well as the fortune which many people acquired by the careful manipulation of it. Of course there were difficulties in the "way of establishing it in new places, and It required push and energy to make it successful ; but Louis Dunbar proved himself to be the right man in the right place, and his employers had reason to congratulate themselve3 for having secured one so well adapted to further their interests. He not only worked well for his company, but he found many an opportunity to make money for himself, and bade fair to become, in time, the rich man lie prophesied he would be. The prosperity did not destroy the kindly nature that had always been his chief attraction ; for, before be left his native city, he had provided handsomely for the good woman who had cared for him during his youth. He had slipped fifty dollars into her hand, upon bidding her farewell, exacting a promise from her that she would quit the washtub, take life easier, and put her boys into a good school, while he would make it his business to see that she had the same amount monthly, as long as he remained abroad and continued prosperous. As soon as he could anange his business satisfactorily in the French capital, he had get himself zealously at work to acquire the language. He faund, to hi 3 surprise, that he possessed a peculiar gift in that direction, for he learned very readil/. The Houghtons, too, were a great help to him, for he did not hesitate to avail himself of their cordial invitation and became a frequent visitor in their home ; and, as they were alreal} 7 proficient in the language, he found that by conversing in French with them, his accent improved much faster than trying to gtudy with a teacher. He was learning aleo other and sweeter lessons Every day Margaret Houghton became dearer to him.* Every day he became more and more conscious that she had won the deepest homage of hia nature, and that henceforth life would be unendurable unless he could win her for his wife and live In the sunlight of her sweet presence. Yet grave doubts often arose in his mind whether he ought to see her love ; whether he ought to try to gain the regard of the beautiful girl, who all her life had been surrounded by an atmosphere so different from that in which he had been reared. He felt that he never could offer her the name of Murray — every time he thought of it in connection with himself his cheek •would burn with shame and humiliation. He the son of a gambler !— could he ever confess it to her ? He shrank from the thought with loathing. He finally resolved to allow matters to take their own course ; if the family continued to receive him with favour — if Margaret continued to smile upon him, he ■would take courage and trust that those disagreeahle matters over which he had no control would finally shape themselves. But he found he had a formidable rival in Arthur Aspinwall. It was strange, he thought, that this enemy of his youth should happen to cross his path again just at this most important era of big life. That he was atill hi 3 bitter foe there could be no doubt, for he availed himself of every opportunity to show hia ill-will. He was openly slighting, almost insulting in hia manner, excepting when they were both in Margaret Houghton's society. At such times, since Louis appeared to be in such high favour, he curbed his dislike in a measure, but it was only because he feared to incur tho displeasure of the woman whom he also loved. He knew that Louia \va3 rapidly mounting the ladder of fortune, and that, if Margaret should favour his suit, he would soon be able to offer a position of which no woman need be ashamed ; while repor a from home warned him that his father's affair a weie in a very critical condition, and that any day wa3 liable to bring financial ruin upon him. Hia mother's letters were full of anxiety and distress, begging him to return and help his father bear his burdens, instead of spending so proiigally abroad and living in idleness. He took no notice of these pleadings, however, but thBy made him all the more determined to win Margaret Eoughton. He resolved to play his strongest cards, and bring matters to a crisis, lor besides her father's great wealth, to which she was the only heir,she was to come in po^aeasion, upon her marriage, of a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollar?, a legacy left her by her father's only sister. Accordingly the day after receiving a more doleful letter than usual from his mother, he repaired to the Houghton mansion, resolved upon putting hie fate to the test. He found Margaret in the music room, practicing for some private theatricals that were to take place in about a fortnight at the house of a friend. "I suppose lam interrupting you," he said, deprecatingly, *' but 1 was homesick for the sight of our own folks ; these French people, although amusing, tire me out after awhile. But, if you don't wish to be disturbed I'll return to the parlor and wait until you are through." " No, never mind ; the practising can wait for a while, I suppose it would do me no harm to rest for I have been at it for nearly an hour now," Miss Houghton said pleasantly. " Then come and talk to me, do ; for truly lam homesick," ho pleaded, with a dejected air. ** Poor fellow ! Why don't you go home then ?" laughed the fair girl, roguishly, for «he had heard through Mra Parker of Mr Aspinwall's misfortunes, and that he was anxious for his son's return. "I would, if yov were going," Arthur replied, with an earnest look into the lovely face. "I? Oh, I've no notion of it," she replied, with animation, "I do not care to fo home for a long while yet. Paris is elightful now ; we have made such pleasant acquaintances recently." ** How much longer do you expect to remain here?" he asked, jealously. "I do not know. I suppose when papa Ib ready we shall have to go ; but I must confess we are enjoying everything so much now that lam very well content." * : " Then I shall have to remain also," he < returned, shooting a tender glance at her. : *• I cannot tear myself away while you are here, Margaret/ \

11 Now, Arthtir, don't, pray don't lot your 1 homesickness ' develop you into a iflntimenUl strain t if you do I shall go back to my practice forthwith," Margaret answered, lightly, but with heightened colour. " It is not simply sentiment, Margie," he said earnestly: "can't you see— oan't you understand that the love I have for you " "Arthur!" •'No, do .not interrupt me, dear— you must hear me out now,'' he cried, as she half rose from her seat to leave him, and he laid a detaining hand upon her arm. "I have been learning to love you ever eince you were a little girl and came to visit my mother with Ada. I have cherished the hope ever since that some time I would win your love. As coon as my college course was finished I persuaded my father to let me corns abroad. My one aim was to find you, and I found you more beautiful than I had pictured you during all the years of your absence. Margie, you have become the one desire of my life ; without you the future will be unendurable, with you as my wife I see possibilities before me that almost dazzle inc. Darling, give me your promise to be mine ; I will not hurry you ; I will wait for you as long as you bid me, only give me your pledge that some day you will be my wife." There was an awkward silence for a few moments after Arthur Aspinwall's impas sioned declaration, then Margaret lifted her great lustreue eyes to his fuce and said, with a dignity that aw d him in spite of his native aelf-posseeeicn : " Arthur, you know that you ought never to have said this to me. Ido not love you, and you hieiv that I did not before you spoke. Let me deal plainly with you once for all. O* course, I have seen from the first of your coming here that you cared for me — that was patent to everyone ; but from the outset I have discouraged your attentions whenever they overstepped the bounds of ordinary friendship. I have never allowed you to utter one word of love to me ; I have repelled you whenever you have attempted to do so, and shown you in a hundred different ways that I did not reciprocate your affection. Consequently I feel that this sudden and forced declaration is unwarrantable. I could not be your wife, nor the wife of any man, unless I loved him with all the strength of ray nature. Now, please, as you value my friendship, never refer to this again, for my decision is unalterable. '• Margaret Houghton, you are an iceberg !" cried the disappointed and baflled young man, passionately, while his face grew almost purple with repressed anger. " No, I am not an iceberg," she replied, quietly. "If pay rejection of your suit seems cold and indifferent, you have no one to blame but yourself, for you knew before you spoke that I could not conscientiously give you the pledge that you have asked me for." "You would not have answered me in this frigid rranner six months ago," Arthur bur?t forth, impetuously. The lovely colour deepened in the beautiful girl's cheeks. She could not fail to understand his implication, for six months before she had not met Louis Dunbar. 41 Six months, or even a year ago, it would have been all the same," she returned coldly. " I have never regarded you otherwise than a3 a pleasant acquaintance or friend. Knowing this, as you could not fail to have known, how could you ever pn sume to ask me to become your wife?" " Because I lov6 you, and Margie, I will teach you to love me in time, only give me the right to do so," he earnestly pleaded. He really believed that she was necessary to his happiness, at the same time he could not afford to allow that coveted hundred and twenty-five thousand^to slip through his fingers without making a desperate effort to secure it. •'Aro you so sanguine," she questioned, her red lipa curling with something of scorn. " One can never be taught anything of the kind ; true love always comes spontaneously into the heart." 11 Has it come into yours ?" he demanded, hotly. •' Have you learned to love any one else.?" "Mr Aspinwall," Margaret returned, drawing- herself up proudly, " nothing can justify ycu in catechising me in this way." "Forgive me," he said, penitently, seeing that he had made a grave mistake, " and attribute my thoughtless prosumption to my bitter disappointment." " Then please drop this subject for all time." Her companion, after this request, did not attempt to puraue the forbidden subject, and soon afterward took his leave, feeling both angry and chagrined.