A HEARTS TRIUMPH.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9122, 23 June 1908, Page 2

A HEARTS TRIUMPH.

CHAPTER VllL—Continued

The girl's delicate sensitive nature was. as clear to him to read as a printed book. He had hot been a student in woman's ways all this time not to understand and appreciate the meaning of Cecil's swift flashes of colour an her shy, beautiful eyes. Her appearance pleased him altogether. "1 am hardened to all weather, Cecil answered him. "I have- been accustomed to be drenched by the rain and to let the sun dry me and my clothes." 1 "All this sounds very pretty, hut it is distinctly wrong, Miss Lacklyne. I beg you will allow me to accompany you to the house." He held his umbrella well over her brown curly head. He himself was carefully guarded by his overcoat and stout boots from the rain. "i was coming to see you, but never hoped to find you," he told her. ",I wanted to have at least a few words with you uefore returning to London." "I am not a difficult person to

find," Cecil said quietly. She heard "him speak of his departure with a new regret, something that pained quite as' much as the regret over Paul Darnley'a leaving. She obeyed Felix most simply. His,care for her, his evident concorri, were very sweet. It was the first time her hand had rested in the warmth of a man's strong arm. Felix had drawn her hand within his arm quite naturaUy. > Pie looked down at her in his quizzical fashion. "Are you not? Well, I think there are two side 3 'to that matter, since you are a wood-nymph who flits hither an thither in sun and moon, hail or shine." "" I could not rest indoors," Cecil said, with all the confidence of a child. He pressed her hand close within his arm. "I understand—l understand," he said so-tly; "and the air is so invigorating, only you must n!)t be rush. I wish I could change places with my uncle; then I could be always near to see that you were well and taking care of yourself." He-was talking only in the ordinary , commonplace way which was customary with him where girld and pretty women were concerned. His professional scoldings were proverbially delightful. His great success lay in his manner. He was considered "such a dear," because he always said something nice, something tender, and because he was oo big. and strong, and handsome, as well as being so very clever. There was possibly a dash too much of the conventional flirtation in Felix's manner to 1 please more refined and thoughtful women; but, on the whole, he charmed nearly every one, and'in the case . of such a girl as Cecil Lacklyne his mock expression' cf concern," his seemingly earnest regard for her, were altogether sweet and consoling. "I am very foolish, I suppose," she answered him as steadily as she could, "but I have never stopped to think—l have never had need to think. I—l do not now know that it will be different in the future, and yet " Felix paused in their walk and looked down into her eyes*- - "Is it so, then? Does tjhis spell that fell upon me the first instant I met 30U belong only to me, and not to you, too? Have you thought of me in these/long, dreary dass, Cecil, or have I been wholly forgotten?" She answered him dreamily, her eyes fixed on his. It flashed across him then, as it had flashed at other times, that there was an element of magnetic influence in the power ho could wield so easily on certain natures. "I have thought of you all tho time," Cecil said truthfully. "It has been so strange. You have beon near, and yet far. It was as though 1 had known you years ago, and yet we never met till that tarrible night." She shivered, and Felix diew her closer to him. "It tortures me to leave you here alone," lie said under hia breath, as though the. words escaped him unconsciously. "I have lived a new life, Cecil, since I have known that you are in the world. We are not stran- .. gers, yet we cannot even count our . friendship by hours. There must} be in this some work of fats, some bond of destiny, that will link us together, no matter how widely apart our D atha in life may bo. I feel like a man in a dream. I have laughed so often at these tales of deepest love. To me love has been a myth, an idle story. Now, I suppose, lam to be punished, for I find it a sweet, yet a sorrowful reality." Cecil listened to him with ears that saotned deafened by the beating of her htart. His words, his cleverly assumed maimer worked too surely on her nature. Imagination touched her hist mtly. She felt that there wts power and value in what he said. Wore it otherwise, she would have bosn different. But how could she account for the strong current that drew bar nearer and nearer to tHs unknown man's heart, pave in that it was tin work of destiny? She had no sens.; of strangeness with him. It was cvt'ii natural to her to fin.) her hand clasped in hie arm, to feel the gaze of his eyes steal into hers. She fdlt that with this new and dear friend she coald have strength and courage to face the entir.- world. In the innocence she found a slight solution of what might have been difficult to describe in the fact that ho was kith and kin with the old doctor, who, with Paul Darnley, had beon the only friends she had even known. She looked Up at him, troubled at his final words. "Why should you be punished? she asked him.'"Why should not your

By Effle Adelaide Rowlands,

Author of "Hugh Grotton'a Secret," "A Splendid Heart," "Bravo BaAara," "Tl-« Temptation of Mary Bavr," "Soliua's Lovo Story," etc.

friendship continue as long as we live? I ilo not want to lose it." Felix laughed his soft, caressing laugh. "It will not satisfy mo," he said, and hie eyes sought hers again. Then, as the rain'fell with renewed force, lie led her onward "Listen !" he said, as fiey passed over the wet path to the house. "Listen! I cannot leave you for long. You are now alone in the world—you, a child; one who has no knowledge of what life means, which I fear may prove heavier than you can accomplish. You have promised my uncle the happiness of turning to him if you want help. Now I entreat you to let me share with him this happiness. Do not let any foolish things I may have said stand in the way of my frienship. I feel that perhaps I ought to have been silent, but your eyes, your beauty, you yourself, Cecil, have gome strange power upon me, you drag the truth from me unknown to myself. I have to leave you now to go back to my hard work." Felix always had an effective sigh to be used when he spoke of his "hard work"; heused.it now with greater effect than he had ever/ used it before. "But you will not forget me—you will send for me—you will let me come, even if you do not send for me? Promise—promise!" She pro nised him, poor child! Not with her lips, but with her eyes, with her sweet, eloquent face; and Felix, knowing the value of a dramatic parting, and feeling full sure now of his position, chose this moment to carry her hand to his lips, to press it tightly, and then to rush from her and stride down the path so quickly that he was in a very few seconds out of sight. Cecil stood and watched him go as she had watched Paul Darnley, but with whßt a difference! Already in the gray, mysterious gloom of her life there was a promise of gold. Her heart went wholly to this magician who had stolen into her life with such indescribable sweetness, and by whose power the misery, the doubt, the sorrow, the loneliness, even the perplexities of her present and future seemed to have been swept to one side. She now knew why it was that this man had been so dear to old Sebastian Thorold. Henceforward she vvouLl share with the old man all the pride, the enthusiasm, and the jov that the mere mention of Felix's name signified. She roused herself reluctantly to pass indoors, and as she gave her wet cloak to one of the servants she caught sight of Michael Everest standing half-shyly in the distance. With a little exclamation, Cecil went hurriedly forward. "You have waited to speak to me," she said, with her beautiful smile. "I am glad you have done this, though lam sorry to say farewell. I shall hope to hear of you, Mr Everest, and to be assured you are succeeding. You will let me know if there is any way I can serve you? My poor father had a great admiration for your talent. Are you going home?" Michael answered, "Yes," simply. "But I shall go elsewhere to work," he continued. "I cannot be idle. II am very, very sorry to leave White Abbey. 1 have been happy here." Cecil smiled again. "And your hand is better? Ah, you will have your mother to nurse you now. When you are quite well you will writt) to me, just to tell how you are and what you are doing; and some time, it you care to come, you will always find a welcome at the White Abbey We will say au revoir and not farewell." She gave him her hand and looked kindly at him. She had never seen him in aught but his working-clothes. Now he was dressed in garments which even Felix Bingham would not have deipised. He wore black for he had followed the funeral, and he looked very tall and distinguished. Cecil realised to the full that Paul Darnley had been right in his eulogy of this young man. (To be continued).