CHAPTER LX1.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 299, 15 September 1888, Page 3

CHAPTER LXI.

Tin, v edding-dn> had come .md gone, but there \va» no mai riage. The magnificent Parisian trousseau was hidden out, ot sight ; the upholsterers and French cook*- hud been dismissed : and the silence and "loom ot fchegra\ehad -ettlcd down upon the old Highland cattle, tor in her chamber Lady Marguerite lay at. the point, of death. She had borne all her sorrow with iortitucle, and determined to .sacrifice herself rather than harass and disturb her fath wifch a heorism that amounted to -üblimity: but the shock and joy of her sudden release had prostiated her on a bed of illness, horn which those who loved her best teared the would iievcr ri?e. And the earl did not return from London They had telegraphed for him lepeatedly without success, and now that his daughte grew worse, day by day, Captain Fo^s brooke had gone down in person to and bring him to RaveiiMvolcl. Ladj' Marguerite'.^ disease was brain fever, of a very malignant type, and the crisis was at hand. 'We shall know to-night,' -said Dr. Renfrew, who had shaken otf the bitter burden of his own grief, and was doing his utmost to sa\ c Pearl. He shook hi 5*5 * head sadly as he looked down upon her wan, waxen face. ' I am afraid the chancei are against, hei. If she lives, ib will be a miracle.' J Lady Neville left the room in teai.-. The j dreadful ihnomment in legard to the 1 baronet, together with Margueiites illness, and the earl's unaccountable delay, had completely unneived that stately matron. She did notbine but weep and bemoan hei i ueful fate The lountc-'s lemaiued by Pearl"-, bedhide, wrapped in her veUet dressing-gown, j her turban awry, her goggles pushed back. She looked down upon the white, wan face of the dying gill with a moifetuie • in her eyes. Maiguente was tossing rc-t \ le^>sly, and cU^ping and unelu'-pine hei J thin little hands. , 'Oh, papa," she moaned, plainli\el\. 'I ; \*ill do it ior your bake : bv\t I shall die — t 1 know the good Lord will let me die. It , would be sin to be Sir Bayards wile, and ■ my heart another's — and [ love fi mi -n\y • darling ! my darling " The dowager arose with a determined j air, and grasping her cane stumped out ot \ the room, leaving Judith with her young ' lady. The countess went in search ot Lady Neville, and found bet on a silken couch, with a jewelled salts-bottle at her nose. i 1 Lady Neville,' she began, abruptly, 'if ' that poor child should die, 1 shall feel al- i ways that we've murdered her.' j Her ladyship uttered a little shriek. ' Oh, for mercy's iake," she ciied, ' do not I say such dreadful things • lam so worried now, and have suffered bo much— --' 'Don't speak of what yoii^a suflered,' interrupted the countess ; ' think ot thatpoor young thing that we've brought to i the brink of the grave. What did she suffer when we were trying to force her into a marriage with a murderer '" Think of that, Lady Neville. Her ladyship sobbed hyaberically. ' I'm sure wedidn't k..0w — we thought — ' ' Yes, we did know,' cried the dowager ; ' we did know that the girl hated him, and that was enough. I see my error now. If the man had really been Bayard Brompton, the wrong would have been the same. I see it now, and I've come here to tell you what I'll do.' Lady Neville ceased her sobbing, and was gracefully attentive. ' There s but one thing that will tave Marguerite's life. She loves Fossbrooke — she must marry him '.' pursued the countess. Lady Neville uttered a cry ot dismay, and covered her face with her hands. l Hush! hear me out 1 ' the dowager continued. ' Fossbrooke will be here tonight ; let him go to Marguerite ; let her know she is at liberty to love him, and it will save her life. We can't wait until we h'nd the earl, but you can win him over — he won't object when he knows her life was at stake. Consent to this ; let Maigueritc marry the captain, and I will make him my heir, just as I intended to do by Sir Bayard. What do 3 ou say ?' Lady Neville reflected. In the opace of a minute hershrewd brain, always keenly alert where its own interests were involved, took in all future possibilities. A marriage with a captain, a man with no name or pedigree, was a deplorable thing : yet as the heir of the Countess of Mortlake, it would be no difficult matter to secure for him a peerage. ! 'What do you say/ repeated the countess, impatiently. ' What can I say V replied her ladyship ; ' if the child's life's at stake ?' * Why, say that you'll try to save it. Well, well, 'tis settled; it won't be difficult to make it right with the earl when he comes ; and he might search England from end to end and not find a better husband for his daughter. ' So it twts understood that Lady Marguerite was to man-y the man she loved ; but, all unconscious of this great happiness in reserve for her, the poor girl lay, suspended as it were between time and eternity The golden September afternoon waned ; the crisp, cool twilight fell, and Captain Fossbrooke drove up the avenue under the yellow gloom of the oak boughs. The countess met him on the terrace. ' How is she ?' were his first words.

' Alive,' responded the countoss, wi(,h gloomy significance. The captain's handsome face betrayed his deou emotion. ' There is hope V he questioned, his voice thick and hoar.se. 'There's always hope while life lasts,' answered the countess; 'but only one tiling en n save Marguerite's life. 1 'And that?' said the other, undei his breath. ' She lo\es you — and if she lives she .shall be your wile. You must save her, or lose her. ' '1 can't lose her I'll sa\e her -my love shall tear her from the veiy grave itself.' He was rushing past her, but the countess wa\ed him back. i 'Not now,' she said, 'the doctors aro with her. Wait !' ' I can do moio than the doctors.' 'No doubt; but wait. Where's the earl : J1 'Heaven know*. lie has not been in London they know nothing ot him at his club - nor anywheie. The last fright that was had of him was at the railway station in Perth. I'm afraid he's come to harm." '.So am J,' echoed the countess: 'he would h.-i\e boon here before this if he had not conic to harm. ]'m a I raid the poor man has lnst his roason — ho wa^ in a fair w.iy for it.' 'Even in that ease he would be heaid iiom. I fear eNenwoi^e than that. The ; eai I has enemies. But I'll leave no stone unturned till he is found, or the m^teiy of his di^ippeanuujo made clear.' It was midnight. The little French clock on the mantel in Margueiite'-* chamber liic-t- pointed to the midnight hour. I'octor Kent row stood beside l>i i patient w ith a a rave face. She lay like a marble image, her face as white and wan as moonlight, her sweet eyes, sealed, her lips parted by a faint, gapping effort to bteathe: all her glorious golden tresses streaming unbound aiound her, h«r slender hand* clasping and unclasping themsehes in a nervous wandering way. The old physician shook his head, and glanced across at Lady Neville. ' 'Tis almost OA'ei ,' he whispered. Judith, standing by, vrunjj her hands in asony, and the counters sat silent, with an awed, remorseful face. Captain Fossebrooko arose, and approaching the head of the bed, benb overthe lovely, dyin^ lace. Strong man and brave soldier that he was, he wept in his- despair like a woman. ' My darling,' he nmrimued, clasping the little wandeiing hands in his own, and holding them to his. lip?, while his tears rained down on the white face, ' my precious love, can't you speak to me once more 'i Only one word — say tlmt you know me, that you love me, my beautiful little Pearl.' The passionate, plaintive voice, the tender kisses, and raining tears, around the failing senses of Marguerite, called her back trom the very gates of death. She lay entirely motionless for an instant, even her veiy breathing suspended : then with one painful ga^p, her sealed lids fluttered open, and the sweet blue eyes looked up full of recognition of deathloss devotion. ' You know me, you <\o know me. Pearl ?' cried the captain. ' I know you — and I love you.' The whispered words, fainl as a d>in<> /ephv- reached her lover's ear. and he clasped her to his breast in a tran.-poit oi bliU. ' And you are mine - mj own tore\cr and ever ; there is nothing to separate us now, sweet one, and you shall live for my sake,' he cried. ' For your dear sake,' losponded the ieeble lips, and with a smile of ineffable content, she settled down ; her head against his bieast, her thin, white fingers clasping his hand, as dropped oil to sleep like a babe. 'Shell lne'* uttered Docioi Renfrew, diawing hi> hand across hi- <:\<_>s as he left the i oom