Hugh Gretton's Secret.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8489, 17 July 1907, Page 2

Hugh Gretton's Secret.

CHAPTER XVll.—Continued. "Say no more now, Althea," she gently whispered. "You can trust me. The girl shall never Know. No on c shall know—save if, in the strange workings of life. Hugh Huntingdon should come back to England, family, and honour—but this, I feel wiil never be now." Lady Yeivertoun Lent forward hurriedly. "Oh, Phiiippa!" she said brokenly. "'How little we know! How pitifully \va measure ourselves against God I" She sank suddenly on her knees beside the couch, buried her face on the silken coverlet, and then, as Mrs Harlovve, with a rush of new tenderness and tears, was whispering words of comfort, she lifted her head. "Hugh will never come to you again, Phiiippa," she said, in a strangled sort of way. 'He is dead. He died in my presence. Yes, you mav start, but it is true." j Swiftly, half-inaudibly, she told \ the story of the homeward trip from New York to Southampton, Nothing was left unsaid from first to last. "It was the sight of the girl—his child, my image, as I was that must have struck him down, Phiiippa," she whispered at the end. "It was the shock of seeing me, my actual self, that brought death itself. Oh! I have suffered torture since that moment. Oh! Hugh! Hugh! if I could only have heard you «ay, 'I forgive®you, love!—I forgiye you!' " Mrs Harlowe was trembling from head to foot. "Althea," she said nervously, "control yourself; be calm, be brive, dear. What is done is done—but all is not yet done. Althea," the sightless brown eyes went up to the tall form as it rose obediently from the ground—"Althea, do you not realize the difficulty. How clear it comes back to me now! Gretton! Gretton! That was the name of the Englishman with whom Hugh was going to share life and fortune seventeen years ago. That was the name of the widower with the little girl, Althea! This girl, Millicent Gretton, was never Hugh's child. I knew he would never take another wife. His only child was the child of your marriage. Sigrid was his daughter, and that being so, she was, and is, his rightful heiress." CHAPTER XVIII. "LEARN TO LOVE HER, FOR—FOR MY SAKE!" Although there was a bright, big fire gleaming from both the grates irrEhe drawing-room, Sigrid shivered as with intense cold when she found herself shut in the big room alone. She had obeyed Mrs Harlowe literaily. "Go to the drawing-room," the invalid had said, and to the drawingroom, therefore, Sigrid had gone, with that unquestioning obedience which was so definite a part of her beautiful nature. She was full of agitation. What would Lady Yeivertoun say? What would result from this interview? How angry, how very, very angry the proud, cold woman had looked! Sigrid had one moment of yearning and pain. "Why should she be so cruel to me? Why should she hate me so much?" she asked herself passionately. It was impossible for the girl to sit still; she wandered about the big room looking at all the pictures and costly things she had learned to know well by this time. The opening of the door eventually made her start. It was a maid, who ushered in a visitor. £ "Lord Yeivertoun," was Sigrid's first thought, as she caught a glimpse of a man's form; and then she was conscious of an exquisite 'joy, of a surprise and gladness that sent the icy touch of nervous pain from her altogether. Sir John's coming was so unexpected, and yet it seemed natural, just as it seemed natural for their hands to go out to each other, and remain in a close, lingering clasp. "I came, instead of writing," Sir John said hurriedly. "I came to tell you what the doctor says." He had to confess to himself he had overrated his strength, and the force of his will and courage. "I will go to her; I will tell her all. I will put the matter in her hands," he had|said to himself at last, when the hours of agony, of self-communion after that speech of his sister Sylvia's, had left him exhausted, but unsettled, and more and more miserable. But now he was looking down once again at the love of his heart; he was standing in her presence; he was conscious of a change in her, of a deeper comprehension, of a passion newly-dawned; but, oh! so beautiful in its promise of fulfilment, and his heart's courage went from him. How could he turn from the knowledge of a joy passing all description and speak of a duty that meant death to love and happiness. Sigrid had no need for him to inform" her the news he had to bring her was sadness itself. It was strange how quickly her sympathy and nity went out to Millicent. "tell me," she said to him gently; "your feai's were right? There is danger?" "She is very, very delicate," John said, ; tjying to speak quietly. "There may be a consumptive development, "but again there may not. Sir Oswald dwells most upon the mental phase. It was the shock in the first place. She has been so clnsfly cherished, you see." Sigrid drew her hands away from

By BF'FSES ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of "Selinas- Love Story," "A Splendid Heart," "Brave Barbara"The Temptation of Mary Bar," "Ihe Interloperetc., etc.

his, but he took them back into his clasp again. "I am in great grief," he said to her, and he spoke hardly above a whisper. "I —I have come to you for help dear." She moved a little nearer to him. "Oh! if I can only help you! Try me—tell me all." She .vas trembling like a leaf. pi "Sigrid, I love you —I love you! It is no news to you. You saw it in my eyes when I was here a week ago. Oh! lry love, I love you —I love you! I—l have never known the joy or I misery of life till now!" I ™ He turned from her, sat in a chair, and buried his face in his hands. She stood and looked at him. His words seemed to have painted a sudden glory, an unspeakable beauty on the dusky walls of the room. He loved her! Would there be greater happiness in heaven than such words gave her! Then there came the swift, cold shadow of sorrow. Joy and misery! He had said it himself. | Joy and misery!- What could it mean? "Will you tell me all," she said softly, as a moment passed and he did not move. He lifted his head. "Come and put your hand on my eyes, Sigrid," he said wearily. "The pain is terrible!" In fact, he was half spent. He had walked miles and miles. Instead of returning to the house, as Mrs Langtone rode away, he had gone into the country for a tremendous walk, forgetful of food, of time, of distance, till, suddenly finding himself at a station, he had boarded a train and come to London. He had sent a telegram to his mother to allay any anxiety she might have. He looked the mere shadow of his strong, handsome self as he sank into the chair m Mrs Harlowe's draw-ing-room. The mental struggle of this one day seemed to. have taken youth and strength from him. ' Sigrid came to him obediently. She put her cool small hands on his tired and bursting head. His illness was a physical pain to her. She would not let hm speak for a long time, but after a while he broke into words. He told her what his sister had said, he told her what the doctor had commanded. "It is her life I am fighting for, Sigrid," he said brokenly. "If she is made happy, she may be made well. Her father left her in my charge. I have to face the sacredness of my duty, but —I am not strong enough alone. I have come to you for help, my love. Your hands shall guide me. Your word shall be my law. Tell me, in your simple faith, what path I must tread. Does duty demand so much from me. Is my own love to be put on one side to serve my duty? I have never sought to put thoughts of love into the girl's mind. When I hoard what my sister told me to-day, I was like one stunned. Millicent has always seemed to me like a child. With all my heart and soul laid at your feet, Sigrid, how could I think of any other creature? How can I go to this girl and play a part 1 can never feel? Oh! tell me what lam to do! I can think no longer for myself." Sigrid stood with her small hand resting on his hot brow. She was very, very quiet for a long moment. "Dear love," she said faintly, when she found she must speak, "you come to me for help.- I have prayed Heaven to help us both. I do not know how to deal with big and difficult things, but I have been taught to be good to others, even at the greatest sacrifice to myself. It is, therefore, so clear to me that you must think of . Millicent in this matter, not of yourself—not of me. She is ill, poor child! She—she loves you! You must give her happiness even at the cost of your own. It seems cruel," Sigrid said, with a break in her voice, "to speak so coldly, but I am not really cold. I am only trying to do what is right. You must go back to her. Think how sad she is, how sad she has been. Try to conquer all your own pain. Be very good to her, and learn to love her, for —for my sake!" (To be Continued.)