Hugh Gretton's Secret.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8490, 19 July 1907, Page 2

Hugh Gretton's Secret.

By SFFSE ROW£/i !*■??. Author of "SeHna's Lore Sforif." *'A w . ./W. cjh'ave Barbara," "The Temjifftfton o, J»j •».. // Bar,"'"She Interloper/' etc., etc.

CHAPTER XIX. —Continued. "Will vcu take me for your mother, she asked, half wistfully, "f am oniv a poor apology of a creature, still- " . " , -Oh!" the girl said passionately, '--on .-.re more than a mother! iou ;■■•■■' "!V haint, an s.;gei ci purest ■-■■o.-vre":3! To serve you is a life such «3 f imagined could t>e :n;no. tobvevoujs as aa drawing my hrcuLh. 1 shall c:ass irom this inotaor.t to cave abcat > my Heaven is so good," the child said brokenly, as her head fell down in her hands once again. She knelt there, weeping softly, almost unconsciously, for a long, time, and the blind woman rested her hand on the bent young head, while a pained newly troubled look appeared on her patient, worn face. "There is something more, Mr? Harlowe said to herself. "I feel a new sorrow—a new influence. What is it? Will she speak? I will give her time. She is so simple, so childlike, in her pure, clear nature, she will be cu'-e to tell ma all, ii' the burden too much for her. I can wait, and, now that she is to be my own child, I shall sour love upon her m one continuous flood. Sorrow and she have been too long acquainted. I must give her all the joy that is jiers by right." And the firelight, shooting tongues of fiery red over the darkened room, dwelt upon the face of the blind, helpless woman, as though it found something supremely beautiful in her wide brown eyes, even though they glistened with tears, and in her look of eager love and tender happiness.

CHAPTER XX

THE BETROTHAL. It was a most unusual circumstance lor John Bynge to be ill, and when it came to his mother's ears that her son had returned from a hurried visit to London, with such a severe neuralgic headache that he felt quite unequal to appearing at the dinner-table a pang went through her heart. She felt there was something passing that was deeper, more painful, than mere indisposition. Wisely—though it was a tremendous sacrifice—she retrained from going to see him. The dinner was not particularly cheerful that evening. Mrs Langtone and her husband had joined the family party, and, while there was a. general chorus of regret at John's absence—with surprise added on the part of the Bynge girls Sylvia Langtone had an uncomfortable suspicion that she was to a great extent responsible for her brother's illness. The thought annoyed her. It was, after all, she argued to herself, simply rdiiculous that Johnnie could have been so utterly blind as to what was going on. Why, even to glance at Millicent's downcast face at this moment was sufficient to let* any one understand that the advice given to Sir John in the morning was the proper and the only advice that could have been given under the circumstances. Sylvia consoled herself, as the dinner progressed, with much worldly wisdom of this sort. She was pleased to be satisfied with Miss Gretton in every way. "The girl is a lady, and she is distinctly pretty. Johnnie can settle all her mor.ey on herself," she planned out comfortably. "So absurd of him to let Millicent's wealth become such a bugbear. I consider it really idiotic." Mrs Langtone, however, refrained from speaking to her mother any further on the subject of the engagement. Having said so much in the morning, she could now afford to let the matter rest awhile. "A headache sometimes clears the brain," she said to herself, just a little too spitefully for a rector's -wife. "No doubt in the morning Johnnie will see the wisdom of everything, and then perhaps he will thank me for opening his eyes." Mrs Bynge did her best to make the evening pass pleasantly, but she was not her usual self. She was troubled about her son, and troubled equally about Midi cent, and things never went quite harmoniously when Mrs Langtone was present. It was a relief to the mother when this prosperous daughter of hers took her departure, and the evening came to j an end. Not even then did Mrs Bynge attempt to disturb Sir John. She went, as was her custom, to see Milhcent tucked up in bed, and to administer many kisses and tender words. ""* It struck her to-night that there was an element in Miss Gretton's nature she had never realized before, a touch of something that might be akin to Mrs Langtone's undisguised self-importance. Millicent was evidently out of temper. Some instinct, perchance, had come to the spoiled child to warn her that there were limits even to her posses- j sions. Seme curious chord must j liave been struck in her woman's j vanity, some dawning gleam of the j true position she held in the esteem i and affection of the man who was her guardian. j She was peevish with Mrs Bynge, ; and her manner was in a sense resentful. When she was warmly embraced, her feebleness asserted itself, she broke into floods of tears, and wept unrestrainedly for sorrow at her own misfortunes. For the first time the possibility of this marrlcge being unsuitable came to Gertrude Bynge's mind; for the first time the fear that such a wife was not the wife for John suggested itself to her. She sat long into the night blinking and thinking and when morning came it found her prostrate with such a headacbe as that which had seized

John the night before. She lay, white and tired, on her pillows, and one by one her children i came in to sec her. John was tiie ; first, i His ears hungered for the i sound of Ills voice; it seemed to her ;. she rkould know every chin;.:: in his i heart as foon as he r-pt.ke. hwi John j rroing to spoil the magnitude of his \ work by any small touch of forgetful- j nesa. He f'j;oke and seemed absolutely unchanged. Ivlrs Byr.ge's heart j was relieved; but later in the day ; when lie hroaght Miilicent to her I and the story of their betrothal was ; told her the quid ma and doubts and.j fears cf the night returned to her. j fcdic was very sweet to Miilicent who j now that all war, going as she de- j sired seemed radiant with hapniness and almost with health and she kissed | and blessed them both; but she did | not look very closely at her beloved boy's face for it seemed to her all at once that John's share in this marriage was no voluntary step, but something that was closely allied to a sacrifice. There had been very few words said by John Uynge in his interview with Miilicent. He had gone to her little sitting-room, as was his wont each morning after breakfast, and he had found the girl crouching over the fire, looking wan and pathetic. She was a different creature the moment he entered. If there had been a lingering hope in John's breast that what his sister had told him was not true, it vanished utterly in this moment. Miilicent's changing colour, her brilliant smile, spoke volumes. He was tender with her, as usual. "Do you think it will hurt you to come for a walk with me, Miilicent?" he said. She jumped at ( he idea. It was impossible for her to tell any one even Charlotte how dull she was beginning to find Big Drylstone. Her father's life had been spent in giving her amusement and enjoyment and she missed all this very much. She could not be always crying and talking over her trouble. In fact she was quite iwve her father would have been the fi'3t to urge her to have some brightness, some change, she told herself many times. She should ask John to arrange for her to go away for a little time, was what she had decided on doing, just before he appeared. A walk with him was a small excitement. She told him so in her | birdlike, childish way and his heart sank. He saw himself in the light of a toy, a necessary amusement, and excitement to this poor, vain little soul. And what when the excitej ment was spent? The remembrance of Sigrid's earnest lovely face came before him as a saint in comparison. The nobility of her nature the beauty of her woman's sympathy, that could carry her so far—seemed like truths imperishable beside this other girlsmall, self-engrossed, worldly. An attack of heavy coughing recalled him to the more determined demand upon his duty in this matter. The walk was vetoed instantly. "It is too cold," he said. Then, as Millicent's face fell, he drifted back into his old feeling of protector, nurse, almost, to this child. "I must take care of you," he said gravely. Miilicent looked up at him half shyly, half coquettishly. "If you take care of me, I shall ] soon be well," she answered. John drew her near to him and kissed her brow. "I will take care of you all my life, if you will let me, Miilicent," he said. And that was their betrothal.

March had evidently a. desire to play the coquette; the month began, continued, and ended in a most unusually mild mood. - Big Drylstone was golden with primroses, and the London shops seemed to be stacked with flowers. The mild weather was undoubtedly one of the reasons for a marked improvement in Millicent Gretton's health. From the day she was engaged to John Bynge she seemed a different creature. Great was the satisfaction of Mrs Langtone over this. She made the observation. "I told you so," in every possible key, to all who came in her way, Sir John excepted. (To be Continued.)

If you should contract a cold, get rid of it as qsickly as possible, for ev?ry cold weakens the lungs, lowers the vitality, and paves the way for moro fieriouj diseases. Chambarlam's Cough Bemedy is a preparation that can always he depended upon, ar.d not only cures the cold, but counteracts any tendency toward pneumonia. For sale by all dealer.