For Honour's Sake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXVIII, Issue 7946, 23 January 1906, Page 2

For Honour's Sake.

CHAPTER Xlll.—Continued. "Good-morning," Stewart said — lie had not seen her before—and was turning toward the door again when his wife's voice arrested him. "Esricl" she said, and he paused, and came back a few steps. Something in her toue startled him, aDd made him draw in his breath silently. Let the struggle come aud,bo over: but it would bo torture to him. Coar9e natures have always this empire over the nobler natures, that they can inflict infinite pain, and are proof agaiust retaliation. Pauline glanced at her husbaud, as he stood near the piano, reßtin hie hand lightly upon it; but she could make nothing of hia face, which generally, in repose, was stern and grave; all her stratagem, and diplomaoy were but sorry : tactics to him—ho saw through : them at onco; but Ehe could never begin to understand him. How ' should she? "1 want to go to the theatre tonight," she said, building up a toppling rose; "I have no other engagement." "Very well. Which theatre? As J lam going out I ,will got a box for i you, if there i 9 one.to be had." : "I don't much care. H'm, the ' Haymarket will- do; 1 haven't seen < the new piece. You will oome too?" < "1 ail sorry, but 1 have an engagement this evening." j "Can't you put it off?" said Paul- I ine, pouting. You hardly ever go out 1 with me." j 'I go out with you enough to save I appearances; more than that, I i imagine, we neither of us desire." > "But ldo desire it now," said she. i "We ought to bo seen together more often." Captain Stewart smiled. "Don't ynu think it's rather late in the day to arrive at that view of the case?" he asked carelessly. '.'No, 1 think its time enough," < said sV-e, turning round and dropping hex bands in her lap; "I suppose you. won't go with me this evening because you are going to call on those Davenants." Just a flash—a dangerous flash—in thu-'man's dark eyes, but not a change of colour. He said, wittna light laugh: "I am not in the habit of accounting to you, Pauline, or to anyone for my comings and goings. When 1 tell you that I cannot accompany you this evening, there is nothing more to be said.". He nioved from his position, and onoe more turned toward the door, as if the subject were closed, when Pauline sprang to her feet. "There i 9 more to be said!" she exclaimed, her voice harsh with anger; "a great deal more. You never told me who that girl was you loved* bat I know cow—it's Claude Verner-—-" Stewart turned back, his face white as death, and went straight ud to his wife, and grasping her wrists ■with a gtip of iron, forced her back into the ohair from which she had risen. "Go on," ho said, in a strange suppressed way; "let there be a beginning and an end of this at onco." The force of his passion crushed her like a physical force; though he\ put out but a minimum of aotua strength. She cowered, and trembled, and looked up at him, panting, and half imploring, balf defiant, like a baffled animal that would, if it dared attack its conqueror. "Let me go!" she muttered; "you frighon me." "You are not frightened; only cowed and angry. lamin no mood for trifling Pauline; and you shall aot move from here until this matter has been settled between us, once and for all." He released her hands and drew baok. "Now," be said, "what have you to say to me?" Pauline looked down at her wrists, -which bore but lightly the impress of his hands; then up into her husband's stern, handsome faoe, and all the malice of her nature glittered in her blue ejes. ; "I have to say this," she said, emphatically, "that whatever faults 1 may have, I have always been true •to you; and I won't'tolerate any rival! lam not concerned with her name; she can look after that, 1 suppose, if you can't; but I am concerned wiith my own name. lam your wife; nothing can undo that;" She "paused. "Go on," Stewart said, with a quietness that a far mote stupid woman than -Pauline would never hare mistaken for calmness. She glanced at nim fleeti'ngly; but, after- all, ho would never treat her roughly; let her goad him to the •uttermost, he. was a gentleman to the core, aiad could not forget her womanhood. She said, with a -kind of boldness that belongs to a measure of fear: "Of course, i can't interfere with your movements, but you caunot prevent me from—using—other means in my own defence." "No? Mow, Paulino hear me," said her husband, in that same suppressed tone and manner, which only shows the mastery, not the absence of the passions that, let loose, consume or destroy. "You do well to say that you cannot interfere with me; you can scarcely be mad enough to imagine that, considering our relations to each other, and the very conditions of our marriage, I should, for an instant, bold myself .responsible to you for any action of mine. You yourself—my wife in name, but in nothing else—have not. by one act, word, t.r even look, helped to keep me from utter moral ruin; 1 owe it to the love of whioh you dare to be jealous—not to you, that I am not what you would have me. But you, forsooth, will tolerate no rival!—you will cross my will, not by woman's weapon of slander, inu■eudo, anonymous letters, maybe;' or' oven personal appeal to Miss Veruer, of whom I warn you to speak, in my hearing, with respect. You think that in such warfare as this I

By Bertha I. Clay. Author of " Wife in Name Only," "Wedded and Parted," "Dora Thome," " A Queen Among Women," u A True Maf/dalene," etc., etc,,

am powerless; and so I am, if you are willing to accept the peualty of sfcrikine at] me through Claude Vera or." fie came cluse up to her uow, and cut his two hands on her shoulders—aho had risen to her feet while he spoke. "Let her name," he said, /'be shamefully liuked with mine; let any insult, direct or indirect, be levelled against hor; let a slight ba put upon her by you, in look, word v or deed; let her receive one stab, however secretly given, because of mo. and 1 shall know at whoso door lay the wrong. I shall aek no questions of you, to be answered with lies, hut I will hurl ydin down from the high place you hold, and leave you the dubious placo of a woman who is neither wife nor widow—a woman separated from her husband. Now" dropping his hands from her. shoulders, as, with a smothered cry, she sank into the chair again, "you know the penalty—incur it if you dure!" "You cannot!" Pauline gassed. "It would injure your own honour." "Cannot!" Stewart said hoarsely; he was still shaken to the soul. "Do you know me still so liptle? You nave roused in me a demon chat will not spare your very womanhood if you brave mei Watoh yourself that you keep your own counsel, or. by Heaven, you shall bite the dust!" Once more he turned to the door, and this time Pauline did not attempt to stop him. Like most shallow people, she was quite unable to gauge the depth and force of passions with which she had no affinity, and she had in her folly, acted like a man who should, alone and unaided, fling himself on to a battalion of armed men. (To be Continued).