For Honor's Sake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXVIII, Issue 7934, 6 January 1906, Page 2

For Honor's Sake.

By Bertha M. Clay. Author of (i Wife in Name Only i( Wedded and Parted il Dora Thome," "A Queen Amoufj Women," " A True Matjdalene," etc., etc..

CHAPTER ll.—Continued. "Why. Mr Davenant, where did you spriue from?" "Oh! we've been living iu Paris the last four months, my wife aud my ward, aud I. I am married since I met you—turned quite respectable, eh?" laughing merrily. "You must come aud see us; here's the address," j drawing out a card, "aud if you've nothing better to do this evening join us in our box at the Ambigu to see the new piece." "Thanks, 1 shall be much pleased," said Stewart, who, having ■no engagement for that evening, thought he might as well kill time in tho Davenant box as anywhere else. "First circle," said Davenant. "Number ." "I shall remember." They chatted a little louge r, aud then bade each other au revoir, and went their several way«. "i wonder who goes to maKe up the we?" mused Stewart, with a shrug. "Very likely not Mrs Davenant; Chris is rather gay. Ward? H'm! I shouldn't like •any cirl 1 cared for to be aa inmate of that house; if she has money, I make no doubt Chris will have his share of it." I But it was no concern of his, ! and so, with another ehrug, he dismissed tho matter. 1 When he reached the hotel he found a Setter from Pauline awaiting faimj He did not take it up rand kiss it, as a lover should, as Erie Stewart certainly would, were he a lover, for all tne currents of his bsing ran strongly; but he drew his straight brows together, and set bis teeth; and it WBS some minutes before he at last took the letter, opening it half iiupatiently, half carelessly. His brow darkened aa ne read. "Infernal gush I" he muttered. "What does she expect? She knows well enough 1 don't love her, and Bhe wants me to write to her every day. I wonder," with a <*hort laugh, "what I should find to say? it is no easy task to write at all." He' tore up the letter, and threw the fragments into a waste-paper basket. He dined with a friend, M. le Oomte de Verglas, at the Cafe Anglais, and the Frenchman asked him to come afterward to a fashionable party where'card playing was a spe cial attraction; but Stewart, who •oared little fo>* cards, pleaded a previous engagement. "There's a new piece at the Ambigu," he said, "and I am due there." "To meet a fair friend!" said De Verglas, laughing. "Alas! no a mat.— honour bright." "How slow!—au revoir, then. Perhaps you will come to-morrow night." "I shall inform you hereafter." Shtewart walked on to the Ambigu. He would miss the first aot; but he did not care in the least for that; he had only selected the melodrama aa being a few degrees less boring than cards. On such slight chances turn often weal or woe, life or death; the missing of a ■train, the cn punctuality of a friend or a servant, the toss up between a theatre or a club, have saved a life or lost it, brought misery ..r happiness. "Is the first aot over?" Stewart asked the attendant who was about to conduct him Davenant's box; ho thought he would not disturb the inmates of the box while the act was proceeding. "Oui, monsieur; it is just finished." A minute later the door of the box was opened and Stewart stepped within. There were only two people in the box—Chris Davenant, who instantly rose to meet the newcomer, and a young girl, who sat in the norner, and of whom, in that brief glimpse, and in the shadow in which she sat, Stewart had only a general impression that she was slender, had dark hair curling all over her head, and wore an amber gown. "Very good of you to come," asid Davenant. "Claude, my dear, this is Captain Stewart. My wardMiss Verner." The girl turned, and the beauty of her face made the man catch his breath, sent a sharp thrill to his heart; a pure, creamy skin, ourving crimson lips that soemed ready to smile—lips at once sweet and firm, a broad, low brow, and great, lustrous, long-lashed eyes of the genuine violet-blue—eyes as soft as velvet, aud lull of light, with that earnest cloudless gaze that .so rarely survives childhood; and there was heart, aud soul, and mind in this countenance of a mere girl—powers that were unknown to Pauline Arnold's eichtand twenty years. Esric Stweart sat down in tho vacant chair by the girl's side; all his pulses were stirring with a new and Btrauge emotion; such be«uty as this was a perpetual delight, to feast his eyes and charm the senses —ay, tc witch a man's heart from him; for here there was not only the glory of form and tints, but so much more besides —a heart that could throb, a soul that could aspire, a mind that could tbink. But whatever Stewart felt, if he was startled, bewildered, be was a man of the world, and when Davenant said, almost immediately, "You have'missed tho first act," he answered carelessly, laughing as ne spoke, "I dare say I 3ball understand the rest quite as well without it." "Very likely; I'm sure I couldn't tell yon much about it," said Davenant; "but Claude can, if you care to know." He didn't—not for his own sake; but ho like anything that this girl told him; and she was evidently not shy or self-conscious, as young gir s so often are; siie seemed quite at her ease, as those are who have no thought of solf; but surely she must have known she was lovely?-

must have scon how she was being stared at, especially by the men. Stewart turned to her. "Would it be troubling you too much," he said, "to ask for an explanation?" How oould he help it that even his soft voice took a softer tone when he spoke to this bewitching creature? How he held bis breath for the sound of her voice! "It is no trouble," she said simply, and the tone was what be had expected—full, aud sweet, and flexible. "I think it will bo a rather original piece, aud the fiist act shows you tue motive of it; it hasn't so much talk either as first actd iu French plays generally have." "You are a great playgoer, then , Miss Verner?" No recently emancipated sohoolgirl evidently. Well, he had known that before. There was nothing of the school-girl in her graceful ease of pose and manner, and yet all the cbarm of girlhood. She laughed. "Oh, I have been witnessing plays since I was twelve years old. I love them; don't you?" "Intensely. I can't say that I care much for melodrama." "Nor do I," returned Claude; "but I like to see the new things; aud, besides, there are some very good people in this piece. Lefevre was splendid iu the first act." "He is always good," said Stewart. "What part does he play?" "He is Aime's father." And then Claude told tersely, and with a descriptive power and dramatic insight extremely rare even among men and women twice her age, the story unfolded in the first act, quite unconscious—there seemed to be no wpice of the coquette in her—that her listener was iu a paradise of strangely-mingled happiness and pain. "Thank you so much," he said, when she had concluded, "for enlightening my ignorance. It is too bad to come in late, and then impose on your kindness to elucidate matters to me." "There's no kindness, Captain Stewart, if you can only make it out from my description." "Nothing could be clearer. You have winnowed out the story as tersely as if you were adramatio critic. Don't laugh at me, please, I am speaking the plain truth—l am, indeed." "Well, lam very glad, for your sake," said Ciaude. And then the curtain went up on the second act. Stewart saw enough of what went ou on the stage to comprehend it; he had the faculty, which a soldier's experience had cultivated, of, in a manner, attending to two thiugs at obce. His realattention, his deepest interest, were bestowed upon bis young companion. He watched, covertly, her speaking face, noted the obanging emotion that has passed over it. afl she gazed at the progress of the ptay; his eyes dwelt on the exquisite outline of her features, the soft aontour of the white throat, the frank, unconscious grace of her movements and gestures. (To be Continued).