Selina's Love Story.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8204, 7 August 1906, Page 2

Selina's Love Story.

CHAPTER Vl.—Continued. ] 'My dear child, 1 he said, 'if Miss Baraldine has left the house, you oan take it from me that it is because, like yourself, she* could not rest. She has had a great shook tonight. She is a highly strung, nervouscreature; I saw that when she was a child. She must be suffering. It is tho natural instinct to suffer in the open air. Let me take you back to tho hou-e, aud then let me go in search of her. 1 am a friend of her mother's, and perhaps she would not mind speaking with me.' Selina wavered only for a moment; then she turned, and obed untly walked with him across the wet giasa to the drawing room. )«It will be advisable not to rouse the house,' Mr Delaval murmured as they went. His lip onrled a. little es he pictured to himself George Durnstoue sleeping and ignorant of what was passing at this moment-. 'On which side is your brother s room?' he asked, in a low voice, a minute later. «Iu the front of the bouse, Selina told him.' 'Tread softly on the grass and wait at that window. You are not afraid to stand there alone? Selina shook her head. 'No; I am only afraid for Doro-

'1 will bring her to you,' said St. John Delaval, in his quiet way. He vanished into the shadows, as he spoke, and Selina stood there waiting. That pressing, painful burden of dread that had settled on her heart when she ha* looked into Dorothy's empty room was lifted almost entirely at this moment. It seemed to her, somehow, so natural that this man—about whom she had heard so much, and, in a dim way, had made a kind of hero in her mind —should appear and corner to her resoue. There was something natural, too, in accepting his help. His nature was so powerful, and yet so tender. The very tone of his calm voice seemed to quell all disturbance. , But it was not only of him that Selina thought as she stood shivering a littlo in the ohill night air 16 was of the girl he sought; it was of the future and how that future was going to work out for the brother that was so dear

to her. , , . . , Till nuw Seliua had yisioned only the pretty side of life for George DurHStone when he married; she had occupied herself in pictaring Dorothy flitting about the old house, illuminating each room with her beauty, and with that calm self abnegation of the very young; she bad pictured herself jittiog op tins aide, and finding he* own happiness in watohing the happiness of the two she loved. But all sorts of difficulties thrust themselves upon her at this hour. There tad been something in her brother's look and hisfimannei this night that hurt her to remember. She knew that roun the neighbourhood Sir was considered a hard man. It had always stung her to know that her brother,was not popular. Whenever

Miss Lascombe had dared to BUggest that Sir George was rather ' selfish Selina had flown into a pa«aion; yet how she was not so sure that Mary Lascombe had not read him aright. Putting aside all' the worldly objections to a marriage with ; Doro-<

tby, there came to the girl a kind of presentiment that sorrow, and not joy, would'come to the Gate JHoaee with the advent of this beautiful youna mistress.

While she had lain awake the girl had gone through an oideal that was new to her. She recalled the words that she had spoken just recently in Miss Lasoombe's room, and recalled tbenvwitb pain. She conjured up all Dorothy's sweet little ways—her gentleness, her refinement, her affection, and her unselfishness. 'Who am I?' she asked herself, 'that I should arrogate to myself the riyht to say that she is not a fit wife for George? I know there will be serious trouble, but I must not be the one to make thincs worse! Dorothy will want all the , friends she can get; must I be the first one to fail her?' It was this sudden rubh of selfreproach, that had made Selina rise - and go to room, and now,, as she Btood straining her eyes'to look into the darkness, all she longed for was to wrap her arms about Dorothy, to press her faoo on her breast and call her sister. It seemed an interminable time before a i'nint sound warned her that someone was approaching; then, little by little out of the shadows, there caulo a man's figure, carrying a woman. Selina went to meet him, but he whispeced to her to go back into tho room. 'She has not exactly fainted,' he said; 'she seems only prostrated. God knows what was in her mind tonight! I found her crouched on the ground by a bridge that seems to lead to a river or a creek.' He bad followed Selina into the

room whera she had cautiously lit a couple Of candles/ and, panting a little he. placed Hit. burden on the couch close at hand. 'Let her .reßfc there,' ho said. 'Cover her with some light wrap juet for a while. She ia fully dressed, bo Bhe will not experience any ; 11 result from cold. I suppose, poor child, she thought of ranking her escape before uny of you were stirring' He looked at the white beauti fal face lyiny on the cushions. Once again he seemed to road the real nature of this helpless, innocent creature; he seemed to see the sorrow that she would bring to herself aud othore. dl 'Sne should have been called Dolores,' he said, unconscious that he Rpobe aloud, but Selina turned to him.

By Effif Adelaide Rowlands. Author of "An Inherited Feud," "Brave Barbara," " A Splendid Heart," " Temptation of Mary Barr," "The Interloper," etc., etc.

'No, no,' she whispered, 'abe is not going to be sad and sorrowful; • she is going to be very, very happy. I am, determined to make that happi- | ness for her!' Delaval looked at her. She had not a quarter the beauty of Dorothy, yet to him her face expressed far more. '1 believe you oan do this,'he said, slowly; '1 believe you will do it, even though it costs you your own happiness.' He stretched out his hands, 'I wonder if you will let ue call myself your freud?' Selina'n pale face flushed. The strangeness of the moment went; the fact that they were practically alone in the night hours, that he was a stranger to her, that friendship given to one like him might i mean a bond She left her haud in his, then stooped and kissed his fingers. •I shall be hunoured if you call yourself my friend,' she said. Just for one moment their eyes met; then Delaval turned and went slowly away. And Selina closed the window, and then went back and knelt beside the couch on which Dorothy lay. Long afterwards, when her heart was wraoked with anguish, [and she seemed encompassed by every sort of hlaaknese and misery, the picture of St. John Delaval entering her old home, with Dorothy, a beautiful, unconsoious burden in his aims, came back to her, carrying with it a significance bitter as death 1

CHAPTER V.. •IN xaY HOUSE TBEFE IS ROOM FOR YOU!' Ou the outskirts of London, in one of those neighbourhoods which up to the present moment seem to have escaped the ruthless tra,ck of the eleotrio conveyance, there stands an old-fashioned house. When oue is inßide the high walla whiob surround the gardens of thiß, house one might suppose oneself to be far|in the heart ofj the country; the trees aie bo beautiful 'and venerable, the grass bo like velvet. In summer all sorts of oldfashioned flowers bloom in the beds, and one part of tho house ia garmented in ivy. An old woman, unmistakably French, vas standing at the doorway of this house one spring morn iog.

It had been raining, but the sun now shone, and the trees as they moved to and fro in the faint wind seemed decked with jewels as their wet leaves glistened in theusanshine. The old woman seemed to be watching and listening With impatience, even with anxiety. She muttered something' to her self in French every now and then, and onne she hailed a gardener who was passing. 'See, mon ami,' she asked, 'is it not the hour for the noon oostman? The postman went by a quarter uf an hoar ago,' said the gardener, touching his cap, for Mathilda was a person ot importance in the household. 'Ajjain no letter from the child I' she muttered, as again to go indoors. She went with eteps that seemed to hesitate, but she had scarcely stepped into the hall when a voice called her, It was a voice to attract and to hold at-

tention—full, round, clwar, and yet soft. 'ls that you, Mathilde?' I-The old woman advanced toward& the open door of tho room on the left-hand side. Yes, madame,' she answered, with assumed gayety; 'for once our little lady has forgotten us.' Mrs Baraldine started forward in her chair. There was some fancy needlework in her Ibp with whioh she had been tryirg to busy herself, though, like her old servant—a faithful companion of years; one who shared with her in her triumphs, her sorrows—she bai been counting the moment till the noonday post should bring her news from her dearly loved ohild. 'No letter!' she said now, and her eyes dilated. 'Mathilde, it is strange! You must get my things ready. I shall go!\ The old woman stretched out her hands, They both spoke in Frenc. 'Madame!' she said, 'but that is foolish! Why? Because the little one has missed one dayi Have patience IThore are more deliveries. Let me now get your chocolate; you have touched npthing this day.' Mrs Baraldine sank bnck in her chair, and her eyes closed a mom eut. In that brief spell of repose ouo could see how marvellous had been her beauty. Though her hair waa snow white, there was still a softness in her skin, a roundness that should have belonged to youth. (To be Continued.)