CHAPTER XIX. THE INFLUENCE OF SYMPATHY.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 182, 11 December 1886, Page 7

CHAPTER XIX. THE INFLUENCE OF SYMPATHY.

During the next few days Mr Forest eeemed troubled and depressed, and was so absentminded and irritablo that Arthur's small stock of patience gave out entirely, and, taking himself oil to some fashionable clubrooms, he left his uncle to com© to himself as best be could. When he returned Mr Forest was gono, and no one wa3 able to tell whither. He found a note, however, upon his dressingcase, Eaying that he should be away on business for several weeks ; that he inclosed a cheque for two thousand francs, which he hoped would do for incidentals until his return. Arthurpoeketedthe generou3 cheque and heaved a sigh of relief. It was becoming irkaome to him to play propriety and the dutiful nephew before bis uncle, and so he did not feel at all disturbed to be left to his own devices, with plenty of money in his pocket, and no one by to criticise his movements or interfere ■with his pleasures. Nevertheless, the young man did not appear to be in a happy frame of mind, for, after a day or two, he too became moody and depressed, p-ile, restless and nervous ; and, instead of g'-JDg about to enjoy him self as he had at rirst planned, upon being relieved of the presence of his uncle, he remained shut up in his rooms moat of the time for several days. He could not remain long away from the Houghtons, however, even though he was quite sure, since seeing that new diamond on her hand, that Margaret had pledged herself to his hited rival ; and co some portion of every day was pure to find him in her society, either at home or following in her wake to some place of amusement. The fair girl could not fail to notice the change i'j his appearance, and attributed it to her rejection of his suit. This of course engendered a feeling of pity in her heart, and softened her manner and bearing toward iiim somewhat " I am ufraid that Paris doesn't agree with you, Arthur," "he remarked to him one evening, when, dropping in upon them, she noticed he was more haggard and depressed than usual. "lam sure it does not of late," ho replied, moodily. f Than why " she began, and suddenly stopped. *' Why do I not go home ? you were going to ask," he supplemented, with a bitternees of tone that made her very uncomfortable. " Well, it would have been a very natural question," she said, trying to apeak lightly. "Of course ; and I will tell you why," he returned fiercely. "I do not go home simply cecauee I should be more miserable there than here ; because I am bound, chained to Paris by an influence I cannot sever. While you remain here, Margie, I remain al?o~ even if I knew I should die by staying, 1 could not co. Have you no pity for me V " You should not talk like this to me," Margaret replied, with dignity, yet with a ring of eadness in her tone, while almost unconsciously she nervously turned round and round upon her finger the diamond Louis had given her. " I suppose I should not noio,"he retorted, ■with angry emphasis, hi 3 eyes fixed with a blazing look of hate upon the ring ; " but at least there is no need of your flaunting your engagement in my face." She started. "I What do you mean?" she demanded, haughtily, her fair face flushing crimson. He cast hie eyes with a meaning glance upon her nervous hande, while a bitter smile curled his lipa. " Ah !" she said, letting them drop apart, ac ehe comprehended his meaning. " I did not know what I was doing. That is a ' habit I have always had." "Then the ring is a pledge?" he questioned, his frame quivering with suppressed passion. "Yea, it is a pledge," she answered quietly, thinking it better for him to know the truth at once. " You own it, then — you dare own it to me that you are engaged to Louis Dunbar ?" " Why should I dare to own it to you ?" she said, coldly. "I am proud to acknowledge that I am Mr Dunbar's betrothed wife, d "Margaret Houghton, beware!" Arthur - Aspmwall hissed, white to ria lipa. " That low-born churl, that ignoble upstart, who ■ cannot name his father, will bring grief upon you yet, mark my words ; you'll find that beneath his prepossessing exterior there is a nature capable of depths of evil such as you have never dreamed of, and if you marry him I swear you shall live to curee your wedding-day !" "Arthur Aepinwall," she said, with calm dignity, "you have no right to use such language in my presence, and o repetition of such unmanly conduct will be promptly followed by the request to discontinue your visitß here." She turned abruptly from him as she ceaeed epeakingr, and walked proudly from the room. She did not hear him go out, but when, fifteen minutes later, she was informed that Mr Dunbar was below, and went down to meet him, Louis eat there alone and in the very chair that Arthur had occupied. He arose to meet her and folded her close in his arms. "My darling," he said, tenderly, "it seems as if I have you but very little to myself. lam co busy during the day, and there are so many claimants for your society when evening comes. lam fortunate for once, however." " We have a great many demands upon our time, and to tell the truth, Louis, I am j becoming very weary of it," Margaret Answered! gravely. i

"Then I wonder if you would coneider me very selfish or presuming to ask you to name an early day for our marriage, so that I may claim you for all my own ?" " Oh, Louis, I have been co happy in the present that I have not planned for that at all as yet," Margaret aaid, looking a trifle startled by his proposition, but with a brilliant colour suffusing her face. " I learned to-day," pursued Louis, " that Mr Houghton is contemplating a return to America before many months." 11 Yea, papa will be ready to go home in the spring." " My white lily, will you be ready to go home in the spring ?" Margaret Houghton lifted her pure face to her lover, a beautiful tenderness upon it. " How can I go without you ?" she murmured. *' Can you stay, and let them— your father and mother -go without you?" Tears sprang suddenly to the blue eyes upraised to his, for "father and mother" were very, very dear to the young girl. Then a vivid flush dyed all her face, while a tremulous smile of love and trust wreathed her lips, and Louis Dunbar knew that she would Stay with him and be cantent— that she would leave all else and cleave only to him. " You will stay as my wife, love ?" he breathed, and she answered : "I will stay." " Bless you, my darling ! then I shall speak to Mr Houghton at once. I believe I am the happiest man in all France tonight." Margaret nevov forgot him as he looked at that moment. They had seated themselves upon a email velvet tete-a-tete which spanned a corner of the room between a very wide arch leading into the nexo apartment and a window. There were heavy, elegant draperies, suspended from both arch and window, and these were looped back with heavy cords and tassels, forming a mass of brilliant and artistic folds in the corner behind them, and making a lovely background for the happy couple seated there. Margaret thought she bad never looked upon anything more attractive than Louis's grand head and handsome, glowing face, outlined as they were against the rich scarlet and gold of those draperies ; and vet ehe never recalled that picture afterward without a shudder and a sickeaing sensation at her heart They sat there for naore than an hour, talking over their plans and arranging: for the beautiful lit© nn hich they believed was before them. " There is one thing, deartst, about which I must talk with you," Louis said, very gravely, a little while before he left. " Well, dear, is it anything very dreadful ?'' Maigaret said, archly. "No, but Margie, I cannot help knowing that fcome peoplo will accuse me ot being a fortune-hunter ; for every one who knows you knows also that you possess a large sum of money in your own right." " Yes, a wealthy relative left me quite a handsome legacy ; but really, dear, I do not consider that a mis fortune," said the young girl, with a light laugh. " No, darling, but I am going to prove to the world that I had no thought of that \vhen I won you. lam going to have it so arranged that you alone can have the disposal of it." " oh, Loui3, I am afraid that you are very proud," Margaret interrupted, reproachfully. " I net only gladly give myself, but all I have, to you." " And I only want yourself," Louis replied fondly. " Vee, lam proud, my darling," he added, " too proud to be willing to have it said that; I, a comparatively poor man, married my wife for her money. And now that that is off my mind, tell me, dear, just how you would like to live." " Let us live like real American people," Margaret replied, eagerly. "This French life may be very well for people brought up to it, but I so long for a cozy, sensible home. Let us take a house, not a large one either, furnish it in true Yankee style — by that, I mean, let us be practical and comfortable ; we will not keep more than one or two servants ; we will have our three regular meals a day, and live for ourselves instead of the world. I have had so much excitement during the last year that I shall be glad to live quietly for a while," " You could not have planned anything that would have suited me better," Louie said, his face radiant over thi3 charming home picture. "Louie," Margaret said, with a sweet seriousness that made her very lovely, "I am so happy to-night that I feel strangely, do not feel worthy of co much joy. It seems a 9 if I have always lived a very selfish life, always receiving and absorbing, and never giving anything in return. If I could only pour out a little of my happiness into the life of some one else —do something to show how grateful I am for the beautilul future that seems to be opening before me. Louia Punba' 1 waa deeply moved by her words. He gathered her two small white hands in his, and pressed them close against his breast ; he bent forward and touched her pure forehead with reverent lipe, 11 Look into my eyes, my darling, read my whole soul, if you can," he said, in low, in ten ee tones ; "let it tell you where I received my first inspiration to become something better and nobler than the poor, ignorant waif who wandered aimlessly about the Btreete of Boston, and who bade fair to grow up like the other vagabonds about him ; ask how I came to say to myself, ' I mean to be a good man, I will be a good man ;' see there what pure image I have treasured to help me onward and upward, and never say again that you have led a 'selfish life— always receiving and absorbing, and never giving anything in return ' My darling, it was your kind words, your generous sympathy, your charity and pity for me that touched a chord in my heart that had never vibrated before, and it is to your sweet and gentle influence I owe my present prosperity and whatever of good and truth there may be in me." " Louis, you attach altogether too much importance to those simpleacts of long ago," Margaret began, while tears sprang into her eyes and flashed out upon her golden lashe3. "No, dear, I do not," he answered, decidedly, and interrupting her. " I tell you they were seed dropped just at the right time ; they were the little words spoken in season ; without them there is no knowing what I might have become. I did not realise until then what possibilities there ! were in life. I never should have realised them if that sweet blue-eyed little girl had turned coldly away from me that day, taunting me with my poverty as others did, instead of stamping her image indelibly upon my heart by her pitiful looks and kindness, and thus giving me an object in life — that of becoming worthy to be your friend in the future if we both should live." The beautiful girl lifted her face and softly touched her lips to his. "How glad 1 am that I was Kind," she said. "I might have been thoughtlessly indifferent, or even cruel, as those other children were ; but, dear, without a good Boil the l seed ' could not have taken root and borne such abundant fruit ; without a tender conscience the little word spoken 'in season ' could not have been so effective ; there was a natural nobility within you,

Louis ; nothing that I could do could have given you that. Truth and honour beamed in the eyes of beautiful Louise de Brienze aa she looked down upon us from the can van the other day ; truth and honour a c your heritage from her my noble descendant of a sweet and royal lady ; I feol more and more sure of it the moro I think about it," Margaret concluded earnestly, Louis smiled fondly into hgr upturnod face. "If it pleases you to weave a profcty littlo romance regarding my ancestry, I will not destroy it, though I fear it will prove to be only a vison of your imagination," ho sud, lightly, then added, more gravoly : "But, dear, I do not feel that it would be right to claim kinship with any honourable pooplo while I am dishonoured by oiy own father." " What do you moan, Louis?" M«ugarot aeked, startled by the look of pain that swopt over his face. " My father has followed me here." "To Paris?" "Yes Perhaps I should havo told you before, but I shiank from doing bo. " Does he annoy you ?" " He keeps demanding money of mo, and refuses to do any honourable work I feor he is following his evil practices hero, and I cannot feel otherwise than degraded by it," Lou is said, with a eigh. " I am sorry, on your account, Louis," Margaret returned, gently. ''Cannot you persuado him to go away V "I have tried, but he refupes. ITo ovi dently intends to avail him-»alf of my present prosporous circumstances, and live in idle- j ness. Ho will find, however, that he has made a great mistake. He it» as':rong, well man, and T should do both him and myself a wrong to give him money freely and allow him to lead the life here that ho used to do in Boston. But," Louis added, rising, "I must not lingor longer hero." "It is not late yot," Margaret pleadoJ, as she too arose, while she clasped her whito hands abound his arm as if vory loth lo lot him go. " I know it is not, Margie; but," dropping his voico, " there ie a large sum of money in my office — I did not recoive it in time to deposit in the bank — and I feel as if I muft go and take a look about the premis> s to see that all is safe, before I go to my rooma." Margaret did not urgo him furthor, but accompaniod him to the hall, still clinging to his arm. "I wonder if life will always bo as beautiful, and if wo shall always love each other as well as wo do now ?" she said, as hc£bent to recoive her good-night caress. " Whose hoart do you doubt— your own or mine?" he questioned, smiling fondly into those lovely upturned eyes. "Neither," the answered, with a steadfast look ; "and lam sure Ido not know why I should have said that. Of course we shall always love each other. There is nothing in the wide, wide world that would make me love or trust you less tnan 1 do at this moment '" "No hing ? — are you sure, Margaret?" " Nothing — unle?s you should dishonour yourself; and that," she addeJ, with beautiful trust, "I Inow you will never do." Doun Dunbar'a face grow luminoup. He clasped her close to hi^ strong manly heart, kissed once again those red lips that had spoken such loving words to him, then opened tho door and stepped forth into the night. " How dark it is !" said Margaret, looking out, and loth even to let him go. Did something w arn her of the dread mystery that was about to enwrap him as with a &hroud ? With one more hand-clasp, they parted, she to go to her beautiful rooms above, he to go— whoro?