Hugh Gretton's Secret.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8483, 10 July 1907, Page 2

Hugh Gretton's Secret.

By EFFIE ABELAIBE ROWLANDS. Author of "Selinrts Love Story," "A Splendid Heart," "Brave Barbara," "The Temptation of Mary Bar," "Ihe Interloper," etc., etc.

CHAPTER Xlll.—Continued. ! "I am here really at Charlotte's -■rggsstion," he said; with a faint ,niTe, as he drew out the book. Sigrid's heart gave a little leap. lie lad not, then, wished or cared to co ne on his own account. The fire seemed to have receded, or died down, for she suddenly shivered; it was certainly much cold'ir it this big room. John held the little worn book in his hands a moment before giving it to her. "Charlotte begged me to say how sorry she is you have not had this long ago." Sigrid took the book, kissed it reverently, and laid it on her knee. "I have mourned for it almost as if it were a living creature," she said to him. "I thought I had lost it, dropped it, perhaps, coming from the boat, and oh! it has been such a sorrow!" She was no longer cold or proud; die was speaking in that same passionate, thrilling voice that he associated with their short walk ampton that sorrowful evening. Pie had risen to give her the book, and he was standing by the fire now, very handsome, yet still pale and sad-looking. "You are happy here?" he asked her hurriedly, when they had been silent a moment. She gave him a faint smile. "Very—oh! very! I shall remain for a while longer, I think—l hope. It is so good to feel one is of real use." She rose, too, here. "You must come to Mrs Harlowe. Fortunately, this is one of her good days; she will enjoy having a visitor." As they were turning away, she paused again. "I have not even tried to thank you and your dear mother," she said unsteadily; "but " "Are thanks always necessary?" he asked her. "I wish," she answered him, '•'that it was never necessary to speak. I am always dumb when my heart is flooded with eager words. I often think life would be so much easier if our hearts could be revealed unconsciously; then the full truth would always be known." Her eyes went upward to him as he said this, half lightly, half seriously, and as they met the gaze of his deep blue ones it was as though, indeed, the curtain that veiled his heart from the world was lifted to her, and the truth was revealed. She flamed a .hot red, and a current of fire seemed to run through her veins; then she trembled as the passionate surprise went from her. The desire to respond to that eloquence was not born in her—yet—nevertheless, she felt a sudden longing to be good to him. Her eyes, downcast now, rested on the little book. She held it out to him. "Will you keep this—a souvenir of a sad and eventful voyage? I—I — know you will not need a remembrance, but I should like you to hav it, if you will." % - ' '-'■ His answer was to bend his head and lay his lips on the cover where her lips had rested a moment before, then he slipped the book back into his pocket, as they passed out of the room. CHAPTER XIV. A REMARKABLE PIECE OP EVIDENCE. "Ridiculous! Why is it'ridiculous, Aunt Philippa? I think that is a very cruel and wrong word to use.'' "Suppose you go and put the matter before Althea. No doubt she will give you a better definition of the word ridiculous than I can." Mrs Harlowe spoke very dryly. Her unseeing eyes were turned in the direction of the fireplace, where Nigel, Lord Yelvertoun, was standing, his back to the warm blaze of the fire, an aggrieved, not to say, bad-tempered expression on a fac-3 that was comely enough as being boyish, but was otherwise undistinguished either by [an intellectual expression or handsomeness. He was, in fact, a very ordinary-looking young man with an evident taste for checked trousers and other conspicuous garments. "I am not going to ask Aunt Althea anything about the matter! No thank you'."he observed as Mrs Harlowe spoke. "I hav3 had about enough of Aunt Althea; in fact I haven't seen or heard anything of her for the past fortnight." 'What is [it now? The same old question?" Lord Yelvertoun dropped his coattails. "By Jove! she is a hard woman, and no mistake! I thought all this knocking about the world might have changed her a bit, but she's just worse than ever. The life she leads her unfortunate servants is enough to j kill them. As for her house—well, I would rather stay at a cook shop than stop at Storr; at least, there one would get a decent meal occasionally!" Mrs Harlowe laughed. "Poor Nigel—a martyr to your appetite." She paused a moment. "So, then, it is money still?" she asked, after that pause. Lord Yelvertoun approached and sat down in a] big chair near the invalid's couch. "What on earth makes Aunt Althea -•o close?" he asked impatiently. "She is an incorrigible miser. It is decidedly rough on me to have to keep up my • position on next to nothing." I told her so the other day. I had to speak out my mind. That was the begining of our quarrel." There was quite a gleeful tone in the young man's voice, as if the re-

collection of the quarrel pleased him. "She says I must,; marry money !" he added, an instant later; he said it thoughtfully. "Althea is always wise. You must marry money, Nigel, my dear." Yelvertoun censed rocking himself on the big chair. "I am going to marry Sigrid Carleton," he said, in the quietest way possible. e Mrs Harlowe's delicate brows contracted the least little bit in the world. "I presume, with Sigrid Carleton's consent?" she observed, also very quietly. The young man's face flushed. "lam not afraid of getting that, if other people only leave her alone." Mrs Harlowe moved a little restlessly. "You must put this idea out of your mind at once and for always. Nigel, my dear," she said. She knew by the rapid way the rockingchair was moving to and fro that the occupant was considerably ruffled. She was deeply attached to that same occupant; she knew all his faults and imperfections by heart, but she also knew that, though conventional and far from brilliant, he was good in the main, and she did not want him to be unhappy. |He had been as her own child to her for so long, she might reasonably claim allowance of deepened tenderness on that score. Blind as she was, it had co~ne to her instantly that Yelvertoun's association with Sigrid would be productive of more than a passing emotion to him. She had not anticipated so early a surrender, however, and now that it had come, she felt hardly strong enough to cope with the matter. "I mean to marry Sigrid Carleton," he had said to her almost on arriving on this particular day. It was very nearly a week later than the day John Bynge had called. Lord Yelvertoun had never missed paying his invalid aunt a visit since his return to town. Sigrid had made his acquaintance and had accepted his eager and admiring friendship with all the quiet dignity ard pride with which she had receive 1 the admiration of so many other men. She had, however, unbent a little to him as time had passed; he was so young, and his whole manner was an amusejnent to her. She felt he was selfish to a large extent, and she had quickly gauged his intellectual qualities; but he had a pretty, boyish, way of petting Mrs Harlowe, and was so sincerely sorry for all her sufferings, that Sigrid gave him more liking than she bestowed on most people. To imagine, however, that she could be the subject of such an important question as was passing between Mrs Harlowe and himself just now was something that could never have come to her. She was fortunately out, and so there was a chance of Mrs Harlowe setting the matter before her nephew in a different way. She felt he was capable of rushing at the unsuspecting girl with a declaration of his passion, and that would, mean much that would be sorrow to Sigrid, to herself, as well as to the young man himself. "You must put this idea out of your head at once, Nigel," she repeated, in her gentlest way. "Just now you were hurt with me for calling such an idea ridiculous, but if you pause and reflect on the matter you will see that it was not such a cruel or wrong word to use after all. How long have you known Sigrid? Not a full month yet; and do you think that this month's acquaintance gives you the right to imagine you have only to make a proposal of marriage to become an accepted lover? The mistake you are making is a bigger one, Nigel, my dear child, than the more material one—which most people would urge first, however—of an unequal marriage. I set that behind the other. You are deceiving yourself about Sigrid, and you are going to make yourself very unhappy if you do not stop short and realize your folly. Sigrid is a more than usually lovely girl. I know her power, for her beauty is not her only possession. She would not marry you were you to ask her a hundred times, dear Nigel." The young man answered his aunt's softly spoken words quite harshly: "You think she looks upon me as a fool, then, Aunt Philippa?" (To be Continued.)