Selina's Love Story.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 825, 27 September 1906, Page 2

Selina's Love Story.

CHAPTER XXVl.—Continued. 'Now, ynu dears P she said to her two dogs, 'you'ie goiog to have a lovely scamper, but you must bohavo yourselves. No chasing the sheep, if you please; poor, dirty thing. And no barking at poor little children. You are two gentlemen from the country, remember, and •you must not get any bad town habits.' Unknown to Lady Durnstone Selina had cultivated the trick of slip- ' ping out into the park whenever she oould find the opportunity. Ibe grass was dusty and ill kept, and the sensation of people was always there; yet it was an outlet, and sometimes when she sat alone under one of the trees she oould imagine .herself miles away from London. She was particularly eager to be out this evening. She wanted to think over things herself. In particular, she wanted to think over the question of her immediate future. 'lf George does not object,' she said to herself, as she crossed, the road and approached the park, 'I think I shall ask Polly to hnve me a IRtle while. Dear old soul! I know she would be so happy if I went to her. I don't want to leave George,' was her next thought, 'but still I arc sure Dorothy and he will get on much better without me. How strange she was to-night, when 1 suggested going back to the couu'trr. I am sure lately she has been awfully bore*d with me, so I can't think why she wants me to stay.' And then Selina had sighed, as she ha,d stopped to let her dogs loose. 'I am afraid I must give up trying to understand Dorothy,' was the thought that went with that sigh, and then a tender feeling came. 'After all, poor child, she must not be judged hardly. I am sure I should have been changed if I had gone through what she has.' Then followed a thought which was very rarely absent from Selina's mind. 'lf Dorothy only had her mother; if that old bond had not ■been broken, I should bo so much more happy. Poor Mrs Haralriinel 1 wonder, where she is now. 1 wish I oould know. I wish 1 could write to her.' Selina passed slowly down the path, and the dogs ran here and there, delighted to be froe. Selina watched them with a half •smile. Her life in London would have been a very dull affair if she had not had these old friends with ber. Then some one spoke her name and she gave a start. The colour flamed into her face V and then died away. •You did not know that F was eo near,' said Delaval, softly. 'Was there no spirit moving in your heart to warn you of this?' 'You frightened me,' said Selina, '■ and indeed she bad turned very pale. Pie had put out his hand, and she gave him hers, but with a .little reluotanoe. .He noted this only too surely, and it made him set his teeth in a savage way. •Frightened yon!' ho answered. 'Why, dearest, if your thoughts had been where they ought to have been you would have known that I was here waiting for you.' He released her hand, and Selina stood a moment looking helplessly about her. All at .once she felt nervous, as though she were with an absolute Btamger. That ease,that vague sensation of pleasure whioh had been with her 6n other occasions when she and Delaval had been together, had gone altogether now. And the man knew this. He turned as white as death, and his eyes took a strange glow. 'Why should you be a?raid of me, Selina! This is something quite new. Come, my dearest, we will walk auross the grass. I see a vaoant settee over there, where we can sit and talk; there is so much to say. I was just oh my road to your brother's house. I knew you were going to be at home alone to-night, and Bo I put aside all my other engagements because I had a longing to be with you; because the time has •come when we must arrange our future.', Selina caught her breath. She looked at him, half earnestly, half nervously. 'Listen,* she said, and her voice was low and pleading. '1 will walk across to where that settee is; indeed, I am glad 1 have mot you, for, I too, have something to say to you—something I would rather say to you myself than write.' 'What is it, I wonder?' said Delaval, in a loir seductive voice that he could assume so easily when he chose. , "What is it tbat my dear little child has to say to me. It must be something very sweet, beoause nothing but sweetness and gentleness has place in her heart.' There was a tone of mookery in bis voice, which Selini felt, and which impressed, her painfully. Her manner was cold as she answered birn. 'I do not know whether you will jflnd my words sweet or not,'she said, 'but tbey must be spoken. 1 have done you a wrong,' she added, with dignity. 'I havo lot you imagine things which have had no existenoe. It Is on this tbat I would speak to you.' 'lf this is, indeed, what you would have t" say to me,' said St. John Delaval, 'you do right to describe it as a wrong. Bnt I will not believe it Something has [ocuurred ■to trouble you; something, which I ought to share. Say nothing till we sit down quietly, Selina, then you shall open your heart to me. But promise me,' he added, with a faint sa\\\% 'that you will put all fear out ■of your heart. There should be no fear where there is love.' The dogs earne back from their run, and 'walked soberly beside tbeir mistress.

By Efiie Adelaide Rowlands. Author of "An Inherited Feud," *' Brave Barbara," "IA SplendidZHeart," " Temptation of Mary Barr," "The Interloper," etc., etc.

Tbey seemor] to know that sbo had lost her happy spirit; that she waß in need ot sympathy, and even of protection. Without speaking, Selina and her companiou walked across the grass, and made their way to the settee which Delaval had indicated. A curious feeing had sprung up in Selina's mind, a sense of resentment—that same hot feeling which had actuated her the first time he had spoken of love. She resented his studied indifference to the meauing of her words, to the suggestion which her little speech had tried to convey, and her heart beat uncomfortably. When tbey were seated she turned to him. 'lf I have done you the slightest wrong,' she said, 'J ask your forgiveness; but you should acquit me, for yon know how ignorant I was of what was passing in your mind for me. it is not so very long ago,' said Seliua, gaining courage, 'that 1 told you 1 was going back tu the country, and that 1 was heppy to go.' 'Why recall that day?' said Delaval. 'lt is one of the black days of my life. 1 want only to rememter the glorious ones that have come since. It is true that yon were ignorant then; but you have not been ignorant since. Look me in the eyes, Selina, and tel' me that you have not willingly learned to love me.' 'I deny this,' said the girl, hotly. 'I deny, firstly, that I love you at all; if I have drifted into a closer sympathy with you, Mr Delaval, you are the one pera-n to know how little of a free agent 1 have been.' •No woman is obliged to do anything that she does not want to do," Slid Delaval, coolly. Then he changed his tone. Bending forward he put his hand, on Selina's wrist. 'But we are not going to quarrel, yr.a and I,' he said. 'What has come to you Selina? Why has this cloud fallen upon us? Have I not obeyed you in everything? It was your wish that we should not speak openly for the moment. I agreed, though it was against my sense of what was right. I have been waiting for [you to give me the signal when I shouli approaah your brother.' Selina oaught her breath, and a mist came into her eyes. He spoke so gently that his ton« hurt her. •Oh! lam so sorry, Mr Delaval,' she said. 'I know I have seemed to fall in with your wishes, but of late everything has been one curious dream to rae, and now I am awake.' Delaval kept bh fingers on her wiistA They pressed a little firmly; ♦hey gave her the sensation of iron. Something in the touch, something in his expression made her heart cold. "What does this mean?' he asked, still in the same low voice. •It means,' said the girl, looking at hire, quietly, 'that I have m*de a great mistake; it means that I ought never to have listened to you, Mr Delaval, because \ have no love for you; because 1 have no. right to your love; it—it has been a mistake!' The pressure of those fingers in- i tensiflei.' He was hurting her now; he brought the blood rushing to her j face. | •you do not love me,' he said, in a low, quiet voice, 'and you do not want my love! All this is too late. Selina. You have given me your love, and 1 have dedicated my life to you. There can be no drawing back.' The summer dusk was beginning to creep over the sky. In the streets the lamp* were being lit, a thin mist was floating over the trees in the distance. Though the park was full of people, and some were quite close, Selina seemed far, far away from everything, and a great sense of desolation crept over her. She turned her face away from these strange steady pyes. With her right hand she motioned the dogs to her,and as they sat close against her the warmth of their todies brought her a sort of comfort. 'There can always be an explanation,' she said. 'What sort of explanation do you intend to give to a man whom yon have wronged so terribly?' 'I have not wronged you, Mr Delaval,' said Selina. He released her haud with such roughness, throwing it from him so violently.lbnt Billy stood up and growled. Once again Delaval changed his voice. (To be Continued.)