A Wonderful Woman.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 454, 15 March 1890, Page 6

A Wonderful Woman.

By MAY AGNES FLEMING,

Author of ‘‘Guy Earlescourt’s Wife," “A Terrible Secret," “ Lost for a Woman,” *' A Mad Marriage,” eto

BOOK ir. CHAPTER XI. ITS ENGLISH READING. Lady Cecil then was heartless — you say, a flirt,a deceitful flirt, from first to last—luring with innocent eyes and soft, childish smile, even at sixteen, only to fling her victim away the moment her conquest was made. Wait. She had bidden Redmond good-night. There was a tender, tremulous happiness in the soft hazel eyes that watched him out of sight, a faint half-smilo on the rosy, parted lips. She scarcely knew vvliat her new sky-bliss meant; she never thought of falling in love—was sjre not to marry Sir Arthur Trcgenna ? only she knew she had never, never been half so happy before in all her life, and that Ireland was fairer and lovelier than the ‘lslands of the Blessed ’ themselves. * Good-night, papa,’ she sai 1, taking her candle and turning to go. ‘Oh! —wait a moment, Queenie, will you?’ her father said, somewhat hurriedly ; ‘I want you to do a little copying for me before you go to bed.’ ‘ Copying?’ she sat down her candle and looked at him in wonder. He did not choose to meet those large surprised brown eyes. ‘ Yes, my dear. Don’t look alarmed ; only a line or two. Here it is. Copy it oil, word for word, as I dictate.’ ‘ Write “ Mon Ami.’” She wrote it. *1 am inexpressibly distressed. Papa has told me all. What lie has said is true. My promise is given and must be kept. It is best that I should go.’ Here Lady Cecil came to a sudden, alarmed stop, and looked up with a great disturbed face. ‘Go, papa,’ she said ; ‘ what does all this mean ?’ ‘ Be kind enough to write on, and never mind asking questions,’ her father retorted impatiently ; ‘ “ best that I should go." You have (hat? Go on then. “ Farewell ' My eternal g?atit-de and friendship art ■yours.” Now sign "Cecil.” That will do. Thanks, my dear. What a pretty hand you write, by the way.’ ‘Papa,’ his daughter began, still with disturbed face, ‘ whom is this written for? What does it mean ? I don’t under stand.’ * Don’t you ? Please don’t ask too many questions —curiosity Iras ever been the bane of your sex. Remember Eve and Lot’s wife, and be warned. Perhaps I want your autograph. Apropos of nothing,’ he was busily folding the note now. ‘Thcrese will wake you early to-morrow morning. We start immediately after breakfast for Enniskillen.’ ‘ Enniskihen !’ She said it with a sorb of gasp. ‘ Papa, are we—going away ?' Ho luid down the letter, and looked her full, keenly, steadily in the face. Her eyes shifted and fell under that pit'iess scrutiny. •And if we are. Queenie —what then? If I had said we were going to the antipodes you would hardly look more aghast. Your attachment to—ah, Torryglen, of course—must ho very strong, my dear, since the thought of leaving it aflects you thus ’ She shrank away from his sneer as though he had struck her. Her sensitive lips quivered, her face flushed. Again she took her curdle and burned to go. ‘Good-night, papa.’ Her voice sounded husky, and the earl watched the alight, fragile figure ascending the stairs, with compressed lips and knitted brows. * Nob one second too soon,’ he thought. ‘ Another week and the mischief would have been irrevocably done. Given a lonely country house, and two moderately well-looking people, thrown constantly into propinquity, a love affair invariably follows. My young friend O’Donnell, I thank you for epeaking in the nick of time. You have a pride that" boars no proportion to your purse or prospects, and I think those two polite little notes will effectually wind up your business.’ Lady Ceeil slept very little that night—a panic had seized her. Going away—did he know? would she see him to say good-bye before she left? would they never meet again? And that n>te what did that cold, formal note mean ? Whom was it for ? Her cheeks were quite white, her eyes heavy, her step slow, her tones languid, when she descended to breakfast. Sire was already in her riding-habit, and the horses were saddled and waiting. During breakfast her eyes kept turning to the door and windows —up the valley road leading to the O’Donnell’s ruined keep. Would he come? The earl saw and smiled grimly to himself. ' No. my dear,’ he said, inwardly. * You strain your pretty brown eyes for nothing —he will not come. A handsome lad and a brave, but you have looked your last upon him.’

They arose from breakfast—the hour of departure had come. Then out of sheer desperation Lady Cecil gathered courage and spoke with a great gulp : ‘ Papa does—does Mr Donnell know we —’ She etopped, unable to finish the sentence. ‘Mr O'Donnell,’ with bland urbanity, ‘ well I’m not quite positive whether I mentioned to him yesterday our departure or not. I shall leave him a note, however, of thanks and farewell. Of course it wasn’t necessary to tell him, mv dear—a very tine fellow indeed, in his sphere, and much superior to the rest of the peasantry—a little presumptuous, though, X fancy of late. Come, Cecil—the horses wait, and “ time is on the wing.” ’ What could she say ?—what could she do? There was passionate rebellion at her heart —pain, love, regret, remorse. Oh, what would he think ? how basely ungrateful she would appear in his eyes. Hew unkind - how cruel of papa, not to have spoken last night before he left, and let them Bay good-bye, at least. She could hardly see the familiar landscape for the passionate tears that filled her eyes. Here was the river only a placid stream now. where he had so heroically risked his life to save hers, yonder the steep, black cliff up which he had scrambled at the ri-k of his neck, to gather a cluster of holly she had longed for. There were the grim, rugged, lonely towers and buttresses of the once grand old Irish ca9tle, there the spot where p- she had sat by his side hundreds of times sketching the ruins. And now they were parting .withont one word of farewellparting for ever ! They rode oh; the tower was reached. All the way Bhe had scarcely spoken one word—all the way she had been waiting, watching vainly for him. They dined at Ballynahaggart, and started in the afterriodn for Enniskillen. They made no stay :i_otily : thafc one night; in two days they y :wero in Londons , . . They remained a week in the metropolis, at the residence of a friend. The earl reT turning feowe’to dinner one evening, sought

out his daughter, with an interesting item of news. In Regent street that day he had come suddenly upon whom did she think? Their young Irish friend, Redmond O’Donnell.

She had be‘ n sitting at the window looking out at the twilit street. At the sound of that name she turned suddenly. How wan and thin she had grown in a week - how dull tho bright brown eyes. Now a sudden light leaped into them—a swift, hot flush of joy swept over her face. ‘Rapa! Redmond! You saw him !’ ‘Yes, my dear,’Lord Ruysland said, carelessly, * and looking very well, too. I asked him to come here—said you would be glad to see him—very sorry at having to leave Ireland without an opportunity of saying good-bye, and all that—but he declined.’

‘ He—declined !’ The pale lips could just shape the words. ‘ Yes, and rather discourteously, too. Said he did nob mean to stay in London over a week, and that his time would be fully occupied. He did nob even send you a message; he seemed filled with boyish elation over his own affairs. He is going out to Algiers, he tells me, to seek active service under the French flag. These hot headed Irishmen are always “spoiling for a fight.” He seemed in great spiiits, and qui e w ild to he off. Bub he might have found time to call, though, all the same, I thinK, or even send you a message. It’s “out of sight, out of mind,’’ with these hare-brained sorb of people, though, always. Go to tho dickens to do anyone a service, and forget them for good the instant they are out of sight.'

Dead silence answered him He tried to see his daughter’s face, but it was averted, and the gathering twilight hid it. He need not have feared. She had an English girl's ‘ pluck.’ Her eyes were flashing now, one little hand clenched hard, her teeth set. She had liked him so much—so much, she had nob known one happy hour since they had left Ulster, for thinking of him ; and now he was in London, and refused to come to see her—talked to her father, and would nob even send his remembrances—on the eve of departure forever, it might be, and could find no time to call and say good bye. She had thought of him by day ami dreamed of him by night, and he returned it—like this ! * I’ll never think of him again—never !’ she said under her breath. ‘I am glad, glad, glad he does not dream how much 1 —like him !’—a great sob here. ‘l’ll never think of him again, if I can.’ If she could ! One thing is certain, she never uttered his name from that hour, and slowly the sparkle came back to her eyes, the old joyous ring to her laugh, an i La lleine Blanche was her own bright, glad self once more. ‘ Love’s young dream ’ had come and gone, had been born, and died a natural death, and was decently buried out of sight. Bub this also is certain —no second dream ever came to replace it. Good men and true bowed down and fell before Lordltuysland’shnndsome, dark-eved daughter; names, titles, hearts, fortunes, and coronets were laid at her teeb, to be rejected. The world could not understand. W'hatdid she mean ? What did she expect? She felt a sorb of weary wonder, herself. Why could she nob return any of this love so freely lavished upon her? Men had asked her to be their wife whose affection and name would have done honour to any woman, but she rejected them all. Many of them touched her pity and her pride not one her heart. Her father 'ooked on patiently, quite resigned. None of these admirers were richer than his favourite, Sir Arthur Tregenna. Sir Arthur Tregenna, when the time came, she should marry. In all these years of conquest, and triumph, and pleasure she had heard nothing of or from her Iri-lr hero. Long before, perhaps, his grave might have been made out yonder under the burning Arab sky ; dead or alive, at least he was lost for ever to her. She could even smile now as she looked back upon that pretty, poetic, foolish idyl of her first youth—smile to think what a hero he had been in her eyes—how willingly she would have given ‘ all for love, and thought the world well lost ’ —smile to think what simpletons love-sick girls of sixteen are.

And now six years were past, and he stood before her. Stood before her changed groaily, and yet the same. It was a superbly-soldierly figure - tall, stalwart, erect, strong but nob stout muscular, yet graceful. The fresh, beardless face of the boy she remembered she saw no longer ; the face of the man was darkly bronzed by tire burning Algerian sun; a most becoming, most desirable auburn beard and moustache altered tire whole expression of the lower part. It had a stern, something of a tired look, the lips a cynical curve, the blue eyes a keen hard light, very different from their old honest simplicity and frankness. No ; this bronzed, bearded Algerian chasseur was not the Redmond O'Donnell she had known and liked so well, any more than she was the blushing, tender heart of six years ago.

She stood for an instant looking at him. The surprise of seeing him here, as suddenly as though ho had ri.-en out of the earth, almost took her breath away. But for the Lady Cecil Clive to lose her self-possession long was nor. possible. A second later and she held out her hand to him with a smile and glance as bright, as frank, as pleasant as any that had ever been given him by the Lady Cecil of aTorryglen. 4 lt is—it is Captain O’Donnell. And after all these years ! And so changed by time, and whiskers, and Algerian campaigning, that I may well be pardoned for doubting his identity.’ He bowed with a smile over the little hand a brief instant, then resigned ir. ‘Changed, no doubt—and not for the better; grown old, and grey, and grim. And you, too, have changed. Lady Cecil—it might seem like flattery if I told you how greatly. And yet I think I should have known you anywhere.’ ‘ Queenio lias grown tall, and doesn’t blush quite so often as she used to at Torryglen,’ her father interposed. ‘ You have had many hair-breadth escapes by flood and field since we saw you last, but I don’t thin you ever had a narrower one than that evening when we saw you first. Oh, well-perhaps excepting yesterday at the picnic.’ Captain O’Donnell laughed—the old, pleasant, mellow laugh of long ago and showed very white teeth behind his big trooper’s moustache. * Yes, the risk was imminent yesterday ; my nerves have hardly yet recovered the shock of that tempest in a teapot. lam glad to find the lady I rescued eo heroically from that twopenny-halfpenny squall is none the worse for her wetting.’ ‘ Here she comes bo answer for herself,’ returned the earl, as his niece came sailing up on bhe arm of Major Frankland. ‘ Major Frankland, behold the preserver of your life from the hurricane yesterday. Lady Dangerfield has already thanked him. Major Frankland, my friend Captain O’Donnell.’

Major Frankland bowed, but he also frowned and pulled his whisker. Why need the fellow be so confoundedly goodlooking, and why need women make such a howling over a triflo ? He hadn’t even risked a wet- jacket for Lady Danger*

field he had risked nothing, in fact; and here she was for the second time pouring forth her gratitude with an effusion and volubility sickening to hear. Captain O’Donnell bore it all like the hero he was, and stood with his ‘ blushing honours thick upon him’ perfectly cool, perfectly easy, perfectly self-possessed. ‘ So you were the knight to the rescue, Captain O’Donnell ?’ Lady Cecil said, with a laugli that had a shadow of her father’s sarcasm in it. I might have known it if I had known you were in the neighbourhood at all. You have an amiable mania for saving people’s lives. It reminds me of declining a verb. First person singular, he saves my life, second person singular he save=i your life, third person singular he saves his life—meaning Sir Arthur over yonder. Really, if the b mrnamenr. and tilting days were nob over you might ride forth a veritable knight errant with visor closed, and corselef clasped, and lance in rest, to the rescue ob fair maidens and noble dames in danger. Bub all this while, papa, you do nob tell us what good fortune has sent Captain O’Donnell to Sussex, of all places in the world.’

‘ And why nob to Sussex, Lady Cecil ? One could hardly select a fairer county to ruralise in. However, the choice on this occasion was not mine, but my sister’s. She wished to come—why, Heaven knows I never presume to ask the rea-on of a lady's whim. She wished to come to Sus-ex, to Castleford, and- here we are,’ ‘Your sister?’ LMy Cecil said, interested.. ‘Yes, Mr Wyatt told me in town she was with you ; in ill health, too, I am almost afraid he said.’ ‘ln very ill health,’ the chasseur answered gravely ; ‘ and I can set her anxiety to visit this place down to nothing but an invalid’s meaningless whim. My great hope is that its gratification may do her good.’ * Your sister here, and sick, Captain O’Donnell ?' Lady Dangerfield cut in ; * and we nob know it ? Abominable! Where are you staying ?’ ‘ln very pleasant quarters,’ with a smile at her brusquerie ; ‘ at the Silver Rose.’ 4 Very pleasant for an Algerian soldier, perhaps not so pleasant for an invalid lady. Your sister conics here, Captain O’Donnell oh, I insist upon it and shall make Scarswood her home during her stay. You too—Sir Peter and I will be most happy ; indeed, we shall take no excuse.’ But Captain O’Donnell only listened and smiled that inexorable smile of his. * Thanks very much ; you are most kind ; but of course, it is quite impossible.’ ‘No one ever says impossible to me, sir,’ cries my lady, imperially. ‘ Miss O’Donnell is she Miss O’Donnell, by the bye? She is. Very well, then, Lady Cecil and I will call upon Miss O'Donnell to-morrow at the Silver Rose, and fetch her back with us here—that’s decided.’ ‘Gad ! my dear’,’ interrupted Lord Ruysland, ‘ if you can prevail upon O’Donnell to say yes when O’Donnell has made up his rnind to say no, then you are a greater diplomat than I ever gave you credit for. ’Ron my life you should have seen and heard the trouble / had to induce him to honour Scarswood with his presence even for a few moments to-night. Said it wasn’t worth while, you know—intended to leave in a week or so—didn’t want to pub in an appearance at all, by George, even to see you again, Queenie, one of his oldest feiends.’ ‘ lb is characteristic of Gaptain O’Donnell to treat his friends with profound disregard. Not over flattering to us, is it, Ginevra? By the way, though, I should have thought you would have liked to see Sir Arthur Tregenna again, at least. He certainly would have put himself to considerable inconvenience for the pleasure of meeting you.’ ‘What!’ O’Donnell said, his eyes lighting with real pleasure, ‘ Tregenna here ! You are right. Lady Cecil; I shall be glad to meet him again—the best fellow ! —Ah! I see him very pleasantly occupied he appears to be, too.’ * Flirting with the governess,’ put in the earl, stroking his iron-grey moustache. ‘ Miss Herncastle must have something bo say for herself, then, after all; she has succeeded in amusing Tregenna longer and better than I ever saw him before since he came here. How is it she comes to be among us to-night, Ginevra ? Her first appearance, is it not ?—and very unlike your usual tactics.’

‘Queenie would have it,’ Lady Dangerfield answered, with a shrug; ‘she persists in making the governess one of the family.’ ‘ Oh, Queenie would have it, would she?’ the earl responded, thoughtfully looking at his daughter. ‘Very considerate of Queenie, and she likes to have the baronet amused—naturally. Captain O’Donnell, you honour Miss Herncastle with a very prolonged and inquisitive gaze—may I ask if you haven fallen a victim as well as Sir Arthur?’ ‘ A victim ? Well no, I think not. lam trying to recollect where I have seen Miss Herncastle before,’

‘What!’ cried Lady Dangerfield; ‘you too? Oh, this is too much. First Lord Ruysland, then Sir Peter Dangerfield, now Captain O’Donnell, all are transfixed at sight of my nursery governess, and insist that, dead or alive, they have met her before. Now where was it you knew her, Mon Cap'llciinn ? Suiv ly not in Algiers ?’ * Nobin Algiers, certainly. Where I have seen her beforel cannot tell; seen her I have, that is positive—my memory for facts and faces may be trusted. And hers is not a face to be seen and forgotten, yet just now I cannot place it.’ ‘Our waltz, I believe, Lady Cecil!’ exclaimed a gentleman, coming upandsalaaming before her. It was Squire Talbot, of Morecombe ; and Lady Cecil, with a few last smiling words over her white shoulder to the chasseur, took his proffered arm and moved away. ‘ How strange,’ she was thinking, ‘ that Captain O’Donnell should have known her too. t Really Miss Herncastle is a most mysterious personage. Why is it, I wonder, that she attracts and fascinates me so ? It isn’t that I like her—l don’t; I doubt, I distrust her. Yet I like to look at her, to hear her talk, to wonder about her. How rapt Sir Arthur looks! I never succeeded in enchaining him like that. Four hours ago he was on the brink of asking me to be his wife now he looks as though there were not another woman in the scheme of the universe than Helen Herncastle. Am I jealous, I wonder ?- do I really want to marry him after all? Am I the coquette they call me ?’ She smiled bitterly as she looked towards them. Squire Talbot caught that look and followed it. . ‘Eh ! Quite a flirtation going on there, certainly.’ He was rather obtuse the squire. ‘ Didn’t think Sir Arthur was much of a lady's man, but gad ! to-night he seems—oh, good Heaven !’ He stopped short—he stared aghast. Miss Herncastle had lifted her stately head from bhe book of engravings arid turned her face full towards them. And for the first ‘time Squire Talbot saw her.

Lady Cecil looked at him and laughed outright. Amaze, consternation, horror,' were actually pictured upon bis face. ‘What! another! Upon my word the plot thickens rapidly. You, too, have known Miss Herncastle then in some other and better world ? Is she destined to strike

every gentleman she meets in this sen sational manner?’

‘ Miss— what did you call her, Lady Cecil ? Good God ! I never saw such a resemblance. Upon nry sacred honour, Lady Cecil, I thought it was a ghost !’ ‘ Of course—that’s the formula —they all say that. Whose ghost do you take her for, Squire Talbot?’ ‘Katherine Dangerfield, of course —poor Kathie. Ibis—Good God 1 —it is as like her as—’ the squire pulled out his cambric and wiped his flushed and excited face. ‘ I give you my word, I never saw such a resemblance. Except that this lady has darker hair, and yes—yes, I think —and is taller and more womanly—she is —’again the squire paused, his consternation only permitting disconnected sentences. ‘ I never saw anything like it—never, I give you my honour. What, does Sir Roter say ? He tausb have noticed it, and gad, it can’t be pleasant for him.’ * Sir Re ter has been in a collapsed and horrified state ever since she entered Scarswood. Oh, yes 1 lie sees it—nob a doubr, of that. Miss Herncastle is like one of Wilkie Collins’ novels the interest intensifies steadily to tho end—the “Man in the Iron Mask ” was plain reading compared to her. Really, if she keeps frightening people in thi3 way, I greatly fear Lady Dangerfield must send her away. A living ghost can’t be a pleasant instructress of vouth.’

‘ She does not seem to frighten Sir Arthur Tregenna, at least,’ said Squire Talbot, beginning bo recover from hU sudden shock. ‘ And so she i 3 only the governess. I never saw such a resemblance never in all my life. What would Edith say, I wonder, if she could see it ?’ * Ediih ?’

*My sister, you know —used to be Katherine Dangerfield’s bosom friend and confidante—married now, you know—De Vere of the Plungers and gone to the south of France for her health. Gad! I don’t think it would be safe to let them meet she’s nervous, Edith is—took Katherine’s death, poor girl, very dearly to heart; and if she came suddenly upon this —this fac-simile, by Georgo ! of her friend, I wouldn’t answer for the consequences. Never saw such a striking resemblance in all my life.’

And then they whirled away in their wa tz. How strange ! how strange ! Lady Cecil kept thinking. Perhaps that was why her eyes rarely wandered from these two at the table. No one interrupted them. It was a most pronounced flirtation. Even Captain O’Donnell declined the request of his hostess and the earl that he should go up and speak to his friend. ‘ By no means,’ he said, with a smile ; ‘that can wait. It would be a pity to interrupt him—he seems so well amused.’ It was M iss Herncastle hcself who broke up the tete-a-tete. Sir Arthur had become so interested, so absorbed rn his companion and the pictures, as to quite forget the flight of time. Women never forget the proprieties, les convenances , in any situation of life. She arose, Lady Cecil still watching her with a curiously set and interested expression, spoke a few last half-smiling words, and hurried away. Like a man awakening from a dream, she saw Sir Arthur rise. No, Lady Cecil, you never succeeded in holding him spell-bound in this way, with all your beauty, all your brilliance. Then from an inner room she saw the tall chasseur make his way through tho crowd, and approach. She could even hear his deep mellow tones, ‘ Tregenna, my dear fellow, how goes it?’ Then with a look of real pleasure lighting up his grave face, she saw the Cornish baronet clasp the hand of the Irish soldier of fortune. Was there anything in the sight of the cordial handclasp of those two men unpleasant to the sight of Lady Cecil Clive? Over the fair lace an irritated flush came ; into the brown, bright eyes a sudden, svVift, dark anger passed. She turned away from the sight to lier next partner, and for the rest of the night danced and flirted without intermission. Her laugh was gayer, her eyes brighter, her cheeks rosier than any there had ever seen them before. Bright at all times, some touch of feverish impatience and anger within made her positively dazzling to-night. The 1 festive hours ’ drew to a close ; the guests were fast departing. The music was pealing forth its last gay strains, as for the first moment she found herself alone. No touch of fatigue dimmed tire radiance of that perfect face ; that starry light gave her eyes the gleam of dark diamonds ; the fever rose tint was deeper than ever on her cheek, when looking up she saw approaching Lady Dangerfield on the arm of Captain O’Donnell—Sir Arthur, stately and dignified, on her other hand. Her brilliant ladyship was vivaciously insisting upon something, the chasseur laughingly but resolutely refusing. ‘ Oh, here you are, Queenie ! ; her ladyship impatiently cried. * What an inveterate dancer you are becoming. It was fatiguing only to watch you bo-nighb, Perhaps you will succeed where I fail. You and Captain O’Donnell appear to be old friends ; try if you can prevail upon him and overcome his obstinacy.’ ' To overcome the obstinacy of Captain O’Donnell I know of old to be an impossible

task. But to please yon, Cfinevra ! On what particular point is our Chasseur d'Afrique obstinate now ?’ ‘I want him to leave the inn at Castleford with his sister, and come here. The idea of stopping at an inn—a lady, too—preposterous ! Sir Peter insists, I insist, Uncle Raoul insists, Sir Arthur insists—all in vain. And I used to think Irishmen the most gallant and yielding of men—could not possibly say no to a lady if they tried. 1 ►hall have another opinion of Captain O’Donnell’s countrymen after to night.’ * You will come,’ La Heine. Blanche said, with a glance of her long, luminous eyes, that had done such fatal service ere tonight. Few men had ever bhe moral courage to say no to those bewitching eyes. ‘You will. Our riiotto is “ The More the Merrier.” We will do our best not to bore you. Scarswood is a pleasanter place than the Silver Rose. You will come —l wish it.’ * And nobody ever says no to Queenie,’ Lady Dangerfield gaily added ; ‘ her rule is absolute monarchy.’ He looked down into the beautiful, laughing, imperial face, and bent low before her, with all the gallantry of an Irishman. all the debonnaire of a Frenchman. ‘1 can believe it, Lady Dangerfield. And that La Heine Blanche may have the pleasure of a new sensation, oermib me to say it—for once. To please Lady Cecil ivhat is there mortal man would not do ? In this trivial matter she will, however, let me have my own obstinate way. If the Peri had never dwelt in Paradise, she would nob have wept in leaving. I may be weak, but past sad experience has taught me wisdom". I take warning by the fate of Peri.’

; His tone was very gentle, his smile very pleasant, bub his will was invincible. The velvet glove sheathed a band of iron, this was not the Redmond O’Donnell she had known—the impetuous yielding lad, to whom she had bub to say ‘ come,’ and lie came —‘ go,’ and he went. Wa3 she testing her own po.wer ? If so, she failed signally. Ashe turned'to go to the cloak-room she heard him humming a tune under his breath, a queer, provoking half-smile on his face. Sho caught the fag end of the words: ■ ■> . " t •:.

‘For the bird that is once in the toils, my dear. Can never be caught with chair.’ That half-amused, half-knowing smile was still on his moustached li.s as lie bade her a gay .good-night, and was gone. The Itish Idyl had been written, and this was its English reading. ( To be Continued.)