Hugh Gretton's Secret.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8481, 8 July 1907, Page 2

Hugh Gretton's Secret.

By SFFIE ABEL.AIBE ROWLANDS. Author of "SelinaS Love Story." "A Sph-txlid Heart," "Brave Barbara," "The Temptation, of Mary Bar," "Hie Interloper," etc., etc.

CHAPTER Xll.—Continued. The poor lamb has had me about long, and the circumstances are so strange, I assure you, sir, I often think of you, and feel sorry for you, for it is an anxiety for you. I always wish the poor master had spoken out moie about himself. He must have had some family somewhere, sir. It seems so sad, poor Millicent to have all that, money, and never kin or kith of her own. But there, sir, I speak out of my heart to you, and this I must say, my young lady doesn't want anybody more than she's got. I'm sure I thank Heaven everyday that she's where she is, and that she's so happy. And she is happy, sir," Charlotte added; "she was only saying so this morning; that is, as happy as she can be without him that has gone. Why, I'm sure Mrs Bynge is just like her own mother,; to my young lady. I of ten think what she'd have done, poor Millicent, if she'd been thrown on the world like other young ladieslike Miss Carleton, for instance. Oh! and that reminds me, sir. Might I be so bold as to ask you to wrap up this little book, and address it to Miss Carleton? I'd like her to have it. She leftj it behind at Southampton, and I packed it in with my things, and though I know her address, I'd be obliged, sir, if you'd just do this for me.' I am not a particularly good writer, sir." John Bynge took the little volume. It was Sigrid's book of daily prayer marked with lines put there at different times of her childhood, and full of holy pictures and wise texts, that had the look of being frequently used. He had a sense of reverence as he held this book in his hand;' it touched him with the faint yet sensible beauty of some delicate fragrance, j He was paradoxically nearer to her, yet set farther from her at this mo- j ment. I "You may leave it to me, Charlotte," he said, in a low voice. He was stirred to the depths of his heart in a vague and almost troubled way. "I will see that Miss Carleton has this at once." He stood looking down at this little book after Charlotte had gone away. How much it seemed to say to him, tnat little, shabby brown book, rubbed and worn by the contact of the girl's young fingers. A thousand pathetic and beautiful pictures seemed to rise before him as he looked upon it. He had known her to be of a proud, refined nature; here was mute testimony to the divine purity of her young heart. He felt chilled and divided from her, as he conjured up the knowledge conveyed to him here. There was something too high for earthly love in this influence, and yet the every fact of the book's worn surface spoke an instant later of the girl's humanity. Beautiful, pure as she was, she •was yet of the earth, and she must walk on the world's path even as he did. What if they might tread that path together. He'strong, she pure. His heart beat tumultously. As though bending before a shrine, he knelt and laid his lips upon that little book"Oh! Heaven bless our love! Heaven help me to treasure it all the days of my life," was the thought of his heart, and as he rose and put the book into an inner pocket, it was to him as though the sacred sanction and blessing had been given to his love, and Sigrid was already his wife! CHAPTER XIII. TWO KISSES. A whole month had elapsed between the last time he had seen Sigrid at Southampton and the day Charlotte sought John Bynge in his study to lay the burden of her anxiety before him. To the* man it seemed both very, very long, and yet a short time. Thought of Sigrid had been so vivid, so actual with him, that the separation had been robbed of its full significance. He had not} intended, it is true, to live so long without seeng her, but fate had been against him in this. On the only time he ■was in town, and had called at Mrs Harlowe's house, he had been met with the information that Miss Carleton was out driving, and he had gone home to Drylstone with a longing deepened and unsatisfied. There had come to him, the day following, a letter from the girl, written in that simple fashion that spoke of the youth that had been cioaked beneath her proud, cold bearing. Sigrid's expression of disapnointment at not seeing him was written with such earnest sincerity, it seemed to send his love up with a new rush, and gave him further contentment and patience to wait a little while before trying his chance with fate. Many letters had passed between his mother and Sigrid, and messages had been delivered from Mrs Harlowe to himself and to Mrs Bynge, expressing a desire to meet them. It was not, however, until Charlotte brought to him this serious commission about Millicent that Sir John had found another convenient moment for going once again to that big house where Sigrid now lived. He was somewhat amazed at his own excitement when this moment came to him so unexpectedly. He wondered vaguely too how he had managed to live so'long without having yielded to this thrilling pleasure. Mrs Bynge approved of Charlotte's plan. She, too, had begun to have some fears about Millicent's health, and the idea of having the girl's case diagnosed secretly by some eminent

doctor seeme.i Vo her a wise and even an imperative proceeding. No mention was man'' between mother and son about tho other visit Sir John intended to p:ry. As a matt".' of fact Mrs Bynge's fears concerning Sigrid had almost faded from her memory. The demand upon her nctive friendship had come to an end; the gill's future was no longer likely to be an uncertain one. Mrs Harlowe had, it was quite evident to Mrs Bygne, conceived a great liking for the girl, and this mast augur hr.ppily for Sigrid. Moreover, the new interest that Millicent had struck in Gertrude Bynge's heart had gradulaiiy grown to be very dominant wkh her. She no longer shut her eyes to the hope she had vaguely imagined at the beginning. 'She knew mw quite clearly that the possibility of a marriage between her boy and his ward had become something more than merely desirable to her; it was an eager, n yearning wish, fostered chiefly because she saw day by day how each thread of Millicent's weak, delicate nature was twining itself closer and closer about her son. The secret of Millicent's heart was so clear to the mother's eyes that she found herself at times unconsciously shielding it. For, indeed, John was very, very far removed from being in a recipient mood for this mute offering of love. His mother half feared he migl.t almost have resented it. He was everything that was kind with Millicent. The girl had but to express a wish, and he accomplished it "for her. He surrounded her by tender thought. As instinctively as a woman he had learned to know her tastes and pleasures, and he superintended them as though she were a child, as indeed to him she was. He was so good to her that his mother might easily have been deceived, only that such a nature as Gertrude Bynge's is never entirely deceived. It was this knowledge of her son's character that urged her to hide the truth of Millicent's heart from him for a time longer. To herself she preached the wisdom of patience, and she cherished hope, although John gave her absolutely nothing whereon that hope could be fed. When they were alone, talking about the girl, as they did almost daily, his manner about Millicent implied as clearly as possible that he regarded her as a ward, a responsibility, an anxiety, but never as anything dearer. "It "is her vast wealth that will stand between them," Mrs Bynge always said to herself uneasily. She felt a little bewildered at times as to the best course for herself to pursue. Already wooed by her loving care, Millicent had grown 1 to look upon John's mother as though she were her own. They were much together. The girl's frail health kept her indoors, and Mrs Bynge, herself not a strong woman, had from the first drifted into being Millicent's companion. The Bynge girls were fond of their brother's ward, but they admired her much in the same way that they admired a piece of priceless china. Sho was very sweet, very pretty, very dear, but she was quite useless in their brisk, busy outdoor life; therefore she was left to their mother, and the young woman and the old thus thrown together were soon* bound together in truest sympathy. "She is so dear to me, Johnnie," Mrs Bynge said to her,, son on the morning he left to go to London. There were tears in the mother's eyes; Millicent had seemed to her even more wan and fragile that morning. "It will be a great anxiety to me till we have had a good professional opinion about her." "Do not distress yourself needlessly, dear," Sir John had answered gently. "I believe we are exaggerating things very much. As soon as the weather is milder the girl will be better. Thank Heaven, she is no longer grieving so deeply. The influence of a happy home life 'must do her good. But if we find she is really delicate, we must make immediate plans for going to the South. Sunshine and flowers are probably what she wants." His feeling was not so cheerful as he was alone in the train. He had gone to Millicent's own sitting-room before starting, and his feeling about her, tuned into keeping with his mother's and Charlotte's anxiety, had never been so strong or so uneasy before. "I am going to London on business. What shall I bring you home?" he asked her, in that light, jesting way he had always talked to her. (To be Continued.)