Hugh Gretton's Secret.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8489, 18 July 1907, Page 2

Hugh Gretton's Secret.

By ESFFXE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS. Author of "ScUna's Love Story," "A Splendid Heart," "Brave Barbara," "The Temptation of Mary Bar," "Ihe Interloper," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XIX.

he cannot reach here for a little while, and " Thieve was not a remaining thought of self in Sigrid's mind as she ran from her room and hurried to the woman who needed her. She found Powell —the maid who had been sent to Southampton to meet her, and with whom she was great friends —leaning over Mrs Harlowe, fanning the still, white face, and touching the pale brow with some stimulant. "It is a faint, miss. I've never known her have such a bad one as this., these many days. I knew h?r ladyship would upset Mrs Harlowe; she always does when she comes. She was here nearly an hour. It was too long for my mistress." Sigrid knelt beside that silent, wasted form. Oh! how could she have rebelled even for one inscant against her fate? What comparison was there between her trouble, and the suffering of this poor, patient woman? Her heart reproached her, too, that this illness might have been caused partly by her. Lady Yelvertoun's manner had shown her only too clearly that she had come there with no intention of being conciliatory. It was a long, long time before the dark-fringed eyelids' moved and a sigh came from the white liffs. Sigrid was alone with her friend when full consciousness returned. Mrs Harlowe seemed to divine instantly all the girl's trouble and pain, She was almost too weak to move, but her hand went out feebly to the young creature kneeling beside her. "I am better—much better, my child," she said. "You are here atone, Sigrid, are you not? Give me your hand, dear one." They sat with clasped hands for many moments saying nothing, till Powell came in and administered a stimulant in a masterful way. "I'll make so bold as to ask her ladyship next time she comes to have a little more consideration, ma'am," was what she said. Mrs Harlowe smiled faintly.

"THOUGH THERE MAY BE SOME MYSTERY ABOUT YOUR PARENTS, THERE IS NO SHAME." | She bent her head,""piit*"her lipsTo his brow, then she moved away, and when he started to his feet she was gone and the door was chut. In moments of great mental trouble no mercy can be equal to that Drought by the effort of having to cast off thought, and being called upon to answer to the demand of helping others. Such a mercy was meted out to Sigrid almost in the very moment of realizing and combating with her heart's first great anguish. Her interview with John Bynge had lasted only a short time, but to the girl it seemed as though -some long epoch had stretched itself between the moment of their meeting and the moment of their silent and absolute farewell. She went up-stairs to her room in a dream-like way; yet all was coherent enough. She found herself noticing little things in the same casual manner she would have remarked on them under more ordinary circumstances. As she passed the door of Mrs Harlowe's room, she paused, half consciously, half by force of habit. No sound of voices came to her ears, but she knew Lady Yelvertoun had not yet left the house, and she felt that the interview was not yet ended. She therefore moved onward till her own room was reached, andonce there she sat down deliberately and looked thoughtfully into the fire. She made acquaintance with many new and startling emotions as she sat there. It was her first meeting with the actute phase of mental suffering. The enormity of her sacrifice, of her loss, came to her with a shock that made her heart contract and her breath leave her lips in sharp, panting sighs, as if some mighty gust of wind had suddenly rushed to overwhelm her. She was frightened at what she had done. The picture of the man she loved, sitting there alone, so desolate, so pathetic in his sorrow and feebleness, smote on her painfully. He, who had been to her the epitome of strength, of manhood, of gentle protective power, he had come to her for help, as weak as any poor, sick child, and she had had to turn away from him, and bad thrust him back to fight the fight out bitterly alone! She broke down all at once into tears. The womanhood in her yearned over him, and his pale, tired, changed face, and she had to clench her hands to her breast to still the pain that each new thought of him brought. Had she yielded to the impulse of that one anguished moment, she would have taken back her renunciation, and have rushed down to stand once more in his dear presence, and clasp him to her heart. It was a terrible moment of temptation. Millicent's pretty, white face, that had been before her so clearly, pleading so eloquently all through their interview, was blotted out. She saw instead her own barren life, a future—on which love could have breathed such an infinite beautygrowing gray, and cold, and desolate. She realized how much this gift of love meant to her. It was something she had needed all her life, something that had shaped itself vaguely in her dreams, had woxked in vague form in her girlish longings, and in the struggle for freedom against her lonely, mysterious life, her strange, isolated position. Here at last had come a wonderful gift into her hands—at last she was made equal with others —she was no longer destitute, she could be a queen; a kingdom was offered to her, the kingdom of a man's unlimited devotion. And this she must renounce —this great, great joy she must set apart. This indescribable bond of spymathy, this chord of true melody, must be thrust away from her. Oh! the sacrifice was greater than she could accomplish! She dried her eyes feverishly, and sat with her hands clasped over them as she argued with herself. What woman living was called upon to make such a sacrifice as ihis? , What claim had ..Millicent Gretton upon her, that she must strip tier very heart, and lay it at this girl's feet? Did not this Millicent Gretton possess everything that life could give her? Was not the difference between them, already overwhelmingly large, unbrfdgeable? Must she, a stranger, an alien creature, who stood, as it were, at the gates of the world Millicent inhabited, must she of her own free will denude herself of a joy so wonderful that neither words nor thoughts could picture it, only because it was necessary to the rich girl's happiness? Sigrid shivered; her cold, trembling hands, pressed to her burning eyes, became weak and tremulous. Little by little the tumult in her heart subsided, little by little stray words, gentle, beautiful words, that brought with them the influence of that sunny, fragrant convent-home, stole over her passsionate thoughts. Self and self's demands faded into the background. The frail vision of a sick girl, a child bereft of all, stricken as she had been never stricken, came to her once again, borne to her eyes ant' her understanding on the wave of regret and reproach. A few moments passed away heavily, and she had conquered herself. She was lying back almost exhausted, when one .of the maids came in search of her. ''Oh, miss!" the servant said, in much distress, "if you please, Miss Powell says would you be so very good as to go to her? She is with my mistress, who seems very ill. We've gent for Doctor Ludlowe, miss, but

"Do you suppose you will have any success, Powell?" she asked, in her quaint fashion. The maid pursed up her lips grimly. "I don't know, I'm sure, ma'am, but I shall try, just the same!" was her reply. Powell's ministrations were so efficacious that in a little white the invalid was restored to her usual strength, and brightness, and was speaking with all her old calmness and contentment. "I am grieved to have alarmed you, dear child," she said to Sigrid; "but you must be prepared for these occasional fainting fits; they come upon me every now and then, but they mean nothing serious." Sigrid felt she could not agree to this, for anything more frail-looking than Philippa Harlowe was at this moment it would have beenimpossible to imagine. She said nothing; she knew if there was anything to be told her she would hear it without questioning. It was a long time before Mrs Harlowe spoke again. "I know," she said gently—"l know quite well what is on your mind. You are reproaching yourself because you think you were the cause of this illness. Be content, dear one. It is true I spoke of you a little, but that part of our discussion was soon over. It was another point that agitated me. It always does upset me to bring back the past." She paused here. To say more would be to betray Lady Yelvertoun's confidence in a small degree. "Althea has relinquished all further claim to your obedience or to interfere in your ilfe, Sigrid," the soft voice said, when the pause came to an end. "You must not be disappointed with me child, if I tell you plainly I cannot give you the story of your birth; all I can do is to tell you that Hannah Carleton is no kinswoman of yours, and that though there may be some mystery about your parents, there is no shame. For the rest," Philippa Harlowe said tenderly, "I mean to assert myself. Years ago I coveted you—now I have you, and I don't intend to give you up to any one, unless that person can suggest a very good reason for robbing me of my child." Sigrid was crouching beside the sofa, her head buried in the coverlet. Mrs Harlowe touched that bowed head with an infinity of love. (To be continued.)

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