A HEART'S TRIUMPH.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9115, 15 June 1908, Page 2

A HEART'S TRIUMPH.

CHAPTER IV.—Continued. He had a good deal to occupy himself in this way, and most of it was not agreeable. "The old man must act tu-mor-row," he said to himself between his teeth. "I shall speak out plainly when we meet. It is too ridiculous that I should have to be worried, in this wav, wh§n all he has to do is to write me a cheque and put an end to the matter." Now and then he rose and went to the bedside, and each time he had some tender word for the girl sitting crouched there, so full of pitiful sorrow and of overwhelming helplessness. There was no man so clevor in simulation as Felix Bingham. His very nature was the quintessence of falselness; he could, and did at times, deceive even himself. He was, unlike most really handsome people, inordinately vain, and he was never content till he had won everything for himself. His face failed him rarely, yet there were times when his charm of manner had done more for him even than his physical beauty. His power with women was something phenomenal. He was übiquitous in his attentions; young or old, ugly or pretty, it was apparently the same to Felix; he never lost an opportunity of posing as being chivalrous to all. He made it almost as great a point to be on terms of friendship with all men. His one method of work was to be true with no one. He had set himself a role to play, and he played it to perfection. Cecil, sitting there chilled to the heart with suffering, fearful of what lay beyond, and seeing her father's spirit fade out before her eyes, was in that condition most desirable to Felix and his tactics. Each word he spoke, each thoughtful act and as the night wore away he insisted on bringing the girl wine, and making her change her position—a dozen such I like things—planted his influence ; stronger in the girl's heart. It seemed to her, as she met Felix's wonderful eyes, that some angel had been sent to her to help her to meet and bear this heavy sorrow. Instinctively she clung to him. When he bent over her father, it seemed to her aa though some of Felix's radiant strength must pass to that tortured, s'ilent frame; when she saw him moistening the dry lips an.l bathing the brow so suddenly and strangely ■wasted, Cecil could have caugnt his hand and carried it to her lips. The dawn came slowly, and found them watching. Felix had peremptorily drawn Cecil away from the bed and made her sit by the window. "You want air," he said to her, as he put a cushion under her head and pushed the casement wide open. Cecil looked up at him, with eyes made more lovely by her suffering. "Oh, you are good to me," she sa'd brokenly. "Can you not be good to him? can you not help him? "He —looks in such torture. Oh, can you not help him?" Felix left her and went to the bedside; he stood bending over the prostrate figure a long time, and then he came back to her. "Your father is no longer in pain," he said, his voice strange in tone. Cecil's eyes met him with an unspoken question. He Bowed his head before he answered her. Then, in a low voice, he gave her the news : ■« "He is dead!" She did not cry—she only trembled.. Her eyes went out of the window to where the old familiar trees were beginning to show against the clear, cold dawn. Her whole life seemed to slip past her vision in this instant, her youth seemed to die, and with it her peace, her knowledge of happiness. | A wildness of fear fell upon her. "Oh, father, father!" she cried aloud, and she rose to her feet, her hands pressed to her heart; she looked at Felix with unseeing eye?. "He has left me alone!" she said, with the accents of a terrified child. "I am all alone; I have no one in the world, but my father, and he has \ gone! I—l " I Felix caught her in his arms as she swayed on her feet. "No," he said softly, in her ear, as she fell across his heart —"no, you are not alone, Cecil. You shall nevar , be alone again. lam here to give i you all my life. lam strong. I can j protect you, and I love you, Cecil! I; love you ! Open your eyes and let me i read that you hear my words and that you accept them." Cecil's head moved on his breast; then it was raised, the heavy eyelids uplifted, and the soul of the girl was revealed. The next instant the heavy cloud of unconsciousness had swept ■, over her again, and Felix, laying her back in the chair, went to rouse the house and to tell the inmates that the master of it was dead.

CHAPTER V. 'THE SON OF MY MOTHER'S ENEMY SHOULD BE MY ENEMY, TOO." The beautiful September night was followed by a clay that was cold, gloomy, and distinctly autumnal--a day cheerless enough under all circumstances, but doubly so now at the White Abbey, when death, sudden and moat unlooked-for, had visited the old house and the current of the busy, curioU3 life that had swayed its destinies so long lay stilled, silent, and grim in the last long sleep. The news of Sir Charles' death fell upon nil his servants as a blow. None had loved him, yet all had found him a master worthy to be served, and all felt now that they had lost one who was in a sense a friend to them, for wages at the White Abbey had been the last

By Effle Adelaide Rowlands, Author Jof "Hugh Gretton's Secret," "A Splendid Heart," -'Brave Barbara," "The Temptation of Mary I3arr," "Selina's Love Story," etc.

thing that had troubled its master. He required and he got servants of an unusual order, and he was prepared to pay high wages for such servants. The blank look on the faces of all these ihrii matched the look of the cold, gloomy clay. Paul Darnley, although he was a strong nature, could not resist the chilling influence of his surroundings. He had sent a message to Cecil's room that she was to leave all things in his hands, and that he and Doctor Thorold would arrange matters tor her as well as was possible. Felix Bingham had gone back to his uncle's little house early in the morning, but he had told Darnley that he should return with Doctor Thorold, and that he would hold himself in readiness to serve Mi3s Lacklyne in any way in his power. "While I suppose I am, in a sense, a stranger, the events of the past night, apart from the fact that my uncle was a real friend of Sir Charles', seem to give me the right to feel that I, too, am Miss Lacklyne's friend. Under any circumstances I suppose I had better remain." "You do not consider there will be any need for an inquiry into the death?" Paul asked hurriedly. Doctor Bingham shook his head. "Oh, no. My uncle as well as myself can testify to all the symptoms. The death, though sudden, was not an unusual one. I meant that I had better remain to officiate further, for my uncle, should his service be required. I fear it is just possible Miss Lacklyne maybe very ill, after all this mental strain." Darnley sighed. "It is an awful coil," he said, in a low voice. "I wish I could see a clear outlook. I shall be glad when Doctor Thorold comes. I would prefer to act with him." "Are you an executor or trustee?" Felix queried; and his eyes narrowed a little as he looked at the honest face of the man beside him. "Not to my knowledge. In fact I don't know even if poor Lacklyne has made a will. I will propose to act now, because I fear I am the only person, apart from your uncle, to whom this poor child can turn. Long as I have known them, I have never heard either her or her father speak of kinspeople. The girl seemed alone in the world. This is whv I regard the circumstances of last night as being, ala 3! only too lamentable." "Did Sir Charles make any refutation of what this woman said?" Felix asked. It was highly necessary for him to know exactly everything there was to know. He had taken a great step already/ Still there was always time for him to drawback if tip found complications arising that I would make Cecil's position less as- ' sured and less desirable. | "He never uttered a sound. It all ' happened so suddenly I cannot even now tell you exactly what occurj red." Darnley answered. "We had I been in the workshop together, where Lacklyne had been explaining all his latest inventions and improvements —poor fellow ! he was a wonderful chap in his way—and we had ! strolled back to the house, smoking J and chatting. The sight of the cab standing at the door roused Lacklyne's anger. He was quick to fly into a rage over small things, as perhaps you have heard.,He imagined it ■ was some one from the town; possiI bly one of the officers came to hunt him up for some reason or other — I they had a trick of doing this —■ • and he entered the house in a fury. (To be continued).