ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9039, 4 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS. Author of "Nina's Repentance," " Clyda's Love Dream," " Her Soldier Lover," " For Love of Marjorie," " The Mystery of Woodcroft," etc.

CHAPTER I. THE WOMAN AT BIARRITZ. The Continental temples of chance are usually gih will) splendour. Rooms v/illi parallel! walls, and fluors of nnwiuV. mosaic; lufty and gorgeously painied ceilings, from which spring myriads of electric sparks of fire; haniieumn pictures and beautiful statuary ; miniauiro forests of palms; scented ijuntaino, whose subtle and gentle music is heard amid the rattle of the roulette-ball and the halfhushed voices of the eager crowd within.

"Yes," said Eastwood encouragingly. The blood pulsed madly through his veins. Discretion was thrown to the winds. "When I was younger I was interested in psychology, countess." "Were you? Oh, I don't really understand these things, and you are so extremely clever Mr Eastwood. I am so glad that you have come," she added pathetically. "No gladder than I am." He gulped down his tea. "Are you in the same sort of trouble, countess? If you are —if it's money—or —or- " "There—there. Your powers of divination are wonderful." She sobbed. "I would not dream of telling anybody else, buc you are a countryman of mine, and 1 despise all foreigners. In some unaccountable way I feel "

Two men were lingering in the vestibule of one of these palaces at Biarritz—Britishers, every inch of them, burly and prosperous-looking. The face oil one of the men was glum and scowling while he listened to the bandinage of his friend. "It's of no use, Charlie, your luck's dead against you. How much have you lost?" "Five or six thousand; but what 1 hate most is being oeaten by a foreigner. But I'll have my revenge!" He looked awny over the terraced gardens of the Casino to the promenade, with its crowd of moving colour; and beyond the Atlantic swells were breaking against the rocks at the mouth of the bay into sheets of snowwhite foam. " Pshaw ! Charlie! Let's get out of this." "No." He spoke with fierce energy. "It's baccarat to-morrow, and I'll bring the dandy Frenchman to his knees." He shook his head defiantly. "Look here, Jack Berrington, I haven't asked you for advice, and I won't have it; I can take care of myself!" His face flushed and his dark eyes flamed. "There you go—choleric as ever! If I weren't your friend, I should be offender!. I believe that you are ready to quarrel with me over that scheming widow. Can't you see, man, that the elegant Vipont is in the running, and prime favourite? Can't you see that he is winning your money to lay at her feet? Yes, I know that she is an Englishwoman who was picked up by a French count in his dotage. A painted chanteuse of the worst kind, and now a handsome widow, looking for a wealthy husband! Bah! there's no fool like an old fool!" The two men faced each other.

She paused and flashed upon him a bewildering glance. "That I love you!" he broke in hoarsely. "And by Heaven it's true. Marry me, countess, and I'll take all your cares upon my shoulders. I'm a rich man — have a nice home —and I am not so very old." AHe took her in his arms, and she did not resist him; he kissed her ruby lips, and the glow in the deeps of her dark eyes was well-nigh insupportable.

CHAPTER II

VIPONT'S DISCOVERY. Three delicious days for Charles Eastwood. He fancied that his youth was renewed, and the matter-of-fact man of the world gave himself up wholly to the glamour of the hour. Long walks among the scented pines when the sun was high, and whispers on the shore in the light of the moon. He told the countess of his English home—his collieries, bis wealth; then, with certain misgivings, he spoke of his daughter Miriam. "She is a good girl," he said tenderly. "Amiable, lovely and obedient. People will think that you are sisters —I mean, countess, those who know no better." He was conscious of an awkward silence. The countess was smiling. "Charlie, you must use my Christian name —you must call me Stella. I never wish to hear the word countess from your lips again. I hate it —ah, you cannot guess how much, ft is associated with so much unhappiness—so much grinding, bitter poverty." "Stella!" he said, and his pulses leaped. The woman was cool. "Stella —Stella! You shall never again want for anything and not have it. You love this place?" "For some reasons —yes," she softly answered. "Did I not meet you here, Charlie? But I shall leave Biarritz without one pang of regret, and I don't care how soon." She reddened. "Don't think me unwomanly, Charlie." "Stella—Stella, you are all that is beautiful and good." "If you are satisfied, Charlie ——" His name lingered upon her lips, and his senses were intoxicated. "You haven't been to the baccarat-rooms again?" "No, I would not break any promise made to you much as I wished to be revenged upon Monsieur Vipont. I have met the scented dandy two or three times looking daggers and breathing sulfur. But I can afford to pity him, Stella. He won my money, but I have won you !" She shivered in the moonlight. The sea was trembling at their fett. "You are cold?" he asked anxiously. "No, but I am afraid." "Afraid of what, dear one?" "We have enemies—you and I. Oh, Charlie, if they came between us now." He laughed ferociously, and clenched his right hand. "You mean Vipont. Pshaw! Don't forget that I am an Englishman." The woman's eyes dilated, and a low ripple of laughter passed her lips. "How absurdly foolish I am —a creature of moods. Yes, Henri Vipont dislikes you, Charlie; and your friend Mr Berrington simply hates me. How lovely everything is to-night! Do you believe in the sea-fairies, Charlie?" He did not answer. He was staring straight before him, his brow dark, his eyes sullen. (To be continued).

"You've gone too far this time, Jack Berrington. You are an impertinent meddler."

"You are on the verge of second childhood,, Charlie Eastwoud. I've warned you, and I shall go home tomorrow. It's pretty hard that an adventuress like the Countess of Pentoise should sweep away a friendship that has lasted for forty yeasr. I hope that Vipont win 3 every cent of which you are possessed. That would effectually squelch your chances with the widow. But I'm sorry for your daughter." Berrington turned contemptuously upon his heel, while Charlie Eastwood strode off in the opposite direction, his hands clenched, his face wrathful.

"Confound the fellow's impudence ! He believes that he has a prescriptive right to lecture me, and to meddle in my affairs. He has called the countess a painted cbanteuse, and hints that my daughter Miriam .But it's too absurd. No, I will never forgive Jack Berrington, and but for our lifelong friendship, I would have knocked him down I"

He walked rapidly from the Casino, and very gradually his hard features so.teneu, ana a look of pleased expectancy crept into his eyes. He would call upon the countess, and put all doubts at rest. His egotism would not permit him to think that the dandy, Vipont, had a ghost of a chance with the beautiful widow while he was in the field. Four o'clock. The countess was dressing after her siesta, and in half-an-hour would be drinking tea in the pretty garden of her charming little house. He was acquainted with her habits perfectly well, although he had been in Biarritz only ten days. He knew, also, that the coast would be clear, for he had left Vipont in the baccarat-rooms.

The countess rented a villa on the cliffs, whence there was a glorious view of the beach, the flashing of blue sea, and the Pyrenees. Here she lived like a queen in exile, and cosmopolitan Biarritz smiled and shrugged its shoulders. The Countess of Pentoise was youthful, fascinating and beautiful, and men were fools. Sometimes ; there were card-parties at the villa, productive of high play. Well, it was only right to pay the cost of even one passionate hour.

Charlie Eastwood mounted the white steps leading to the vinewreathed veranda, and sat down. He wa3 hot and thirsty, and the aroma of tea and cream was in his nostrils. Then his heart bounded, for his goddess was standing before him. arrayed in while, a reu rose at her throat, a red rose in her hair, and laughter in her dark eyes. "1 saw you toiling along the steep road, Mr Eastwood, and the tea is waiting. Isn't the day perfectly beautiful? And the scent of the pinea fills the air. Come!"

Eastwood followed his hostess to the garden behind the house, where a deft maid-servant was placing tea and fruit upon a table within a bower of roses and clematis. The countess dismissed the maid, and turned upon Charlie Eastwood, her face illumined with a swift, ingenuous smile. "I have been praying that you would come this afternoon, Mr Eastwood, and I'm rather startled now that you are here." Her voice vibrated; then she looked away in seeming confusion.