When Love Rules The Heart.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9538, 9 July 1909, Page 2

When Love Rules The Heart.

CHAPTER lll.—Continued,

Duncan sighed, and Cecil Howard moved impatiently. "It is a bad piece of business" Howard muttered.

"The past is mere sentiment. We live in the present and the future." "You are a cold-blooded wretch, growled Armitage. "My path is not a rose-strewn one." "Pshaw!" Armitage turned away rudely; then he held out his hand.

"I am going for a long walk, or a pull in the river, The moonlight will be beautiful to-night. Make my adieus to your people, and to the uassons if they are going with you. I am not supposed to know that they are running away so sooii, and lam in no mood for the civilities which are expected ot me. It is understood that Helen remains as my sister's guest for a while She will be taken care of, Cecil. Good-bye" The shook hands. Cecil did not speak, and Armitage strode down to the river's edge.

Countless fairy-lights were gleaming beyond the foliage. Strains of delightful music were wafted on the summer air. The moon beamed serenely form a purple, star-gemmed sky; but now and again the siren of a steam launch made honid discord.

Armitage stepped into a boat, pushed it off, and for a shoit time drifted with the stream. He had no notion where the "Arabella" lay, but when he heard the matchless voize of the sweet girl singer his face flushed and his eyes sparxled. The song was, "Whisper, and I Shall Hear," and it was being sung by comamnd of the Honourable Mr Etherington. Dunaen Arraitage felt his blood tingling. But he had no right tointerfere. What nonsence it was! The girl was singing for a livelihood, and it mattered not to her whether she sang to a bishop or a blackleg, so that she was rewarded for her services. He made his way among innumerable craft until within a boat's-length of the "Arabella." The occupants of other boats had paused to listen to the music and singing, and to view the illuminations on the punt of the minstrels. The colured bunting, the Chinese lanterns, and the twinkling fairy-lamps hud been tastefully arranged. It was evident that Gus Etherington had promised liberal remuneration. He was seated on the deck of the "Arabella." suirounded by half a men of his order. When the girl ha J finished they all cheered to the echo, and Armitage saw that the eyes of Etherington rarely left the sweet face. "A pretty little thing, by Jove!" some one observed aloud. "Too good for such business as this! But there, you can never tell! Women are such frauds. Makes a good thing out of it, I suppose?" At the careless words the girl half turned, her face crimsoning. Then she caught the intent gaze ot Duncan Armitage, and a thrill passed through him.

Song followed song, and at last Etherington paused with impatience. He signed for the performance to come to an end, and invited the minstrels to supper. The girl glanced appearingly at the pianist, and the invitation was regretfully declined. Etherington frowned, and held a whispered conversation with the leader of the troupe. Then he kissed the tips of his fingers to the girl. "To-morrow evening," he said aloud, "mind that you do not disappoint me!. Your daughter must come, too, or the engagement is void. I would not a brass button for the singing of all the others put together. I never hesrd any real music in a man's voice yet. Can't I tempt you to partake of a glass of wine? No? Then off you go!" He was frustrated and annoyed. Wandering minstrels usually considered it an honour to be noticed by him. The punt moved away, and he watched it with envious eyes. Not once did the girl look back.

"A gipsy wench" he muttered. "She carries herself a though sh3 were a queen. Splendid little thing!" Suddenly his dark face became disfigured with rage. A man in a boat had followed the punt, and was talking to the leader of the troupe. Etherington immediately recognized in the young Adonis the "impertinent fellow" who had so rudely accosted him in the morning.

"If you are not engaged to-morrow night," Armitage was saying in his clear, ringing tones., "I should like you- to give a concert on Lady Annandale's lawn."' The man with the saturnine face hesitated, wliile a swift blush mantled the girl's neck and face. She had read in Duncan's eyes both sympathy and admiration, and she was afraid of the other man.

"What shall 1 say, Zilla?" the leader asked. "There is the promise to Mr Etherington." "That is not binding, father, because I am determined not to go. You remember his stipulation." she replied, with rising indignation. "Name your own terms," lArmitage put in. "Mr Etherington gives me ten

5 BY OWEN MASIEKS. § ? j ( 0 Author of "Captain Emlyn's Daughter," "The Woman L ? Wins," "The Heir of Avisford," "One Impas- $ sioned Hour," Etc., Etc. £

pounds," the saturnine man said persuasively. "I will give you fifteen," was the hasty rejoinder. "Your card. sir. I accept at once. I hope that I shall not make an enemy of Mr Etherington," he added a little reproachfully to the girl singer. "We cannot avoid him at the different race-meetings, Zilla, and he has considerable influence everywhere." The punt had drifted beyond earshot of Etherington's house boat. The saturnine man again turned to Armitage. "My name is Seton, sir—John Seton—and this young lady is my daughter. My troupe shall be at Lady. Annandale's place to-morrow evening at eight. I know it—the Nook—next to the place of Mr Merryway, the great actor Whom shall I ask for?"

"Here is my card—Duncan Armitage. Lady Annandale is my sister."

A sudden gleam of interest flashed into the eyes of the saturnine man. Like most men of his class, he had the names of the peerage at his finger-ends Duncan Armitage was the son and heir of Lord Rainhill. He bowed profoundly and raised his hat.

The shrili whistle of a steamlaunch warned Armitage that he was in the middle of the river. He doffed his cap to the girl minstrel, and was delighted to see a responsive smile on her sweet face. Then he bent to his sculls, and, as the launch swept past, he saw the elder Howards and Cassons gathered together to view the illuminations. Cecil Howard was in the stern gazing at the seethjng foam in the wake of the flying boat. A minute later it was gone. "What have I done?" Duncan thought, as he pulled homeward. "And what will my sister say when she knows? She has a genuine horror of actors and actresses —even of the great artistes whose names will live when the Rainhills are forgotten. And these poor, Bohemians who can claim neither a habitation nor a name!" He gazed up at the purple sky. "Zilla," he murmued. "It is a pretty name — a gipsy name. She is a lovely creature, and, at all risks, I will warn her father—it id my duty. 1 may never see her again after to-morrow night; but I know that her voice and her eyes will haunt me forever'" | TO BK OONTINI/ED.I