When Love Rules The Heart.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9562, 7 August 1909, Page 2

When Love Rules The Heart.

CHAPTER XVI. "WE WILL BE MARRIED AND DEFY THE WHOLE WOKLD." With one hand resting in one of her lover's hands, her head against his shoulder, °as they drove towards Battersea Park, Zilla fell into a dreamful sleep, The motion of the cab, the noises of (he street became a soothing lullaby. She was again a child in the penaionnat. How innocent her young life had been! The years passed swiftly. She hungered for a view of lhe great world beyond—for England, the land of freedom and of her birth. The women were beautiful and good '—the men she likened to demigods. Of herself she knew nothing. She did not even remember the father of whom the curate spoke sometimes. But he was an Englishman, and he must be a good and true man. He had paid liberally for her education —at least, it appeared to be sj in the eyes of her French friends. And at last her father came. He had sent no warning —he came and demanded her—and she beheld a man from whom her whole being recoiled. Now that England was bo near she hated to part from the friends she had learned to love and revere. Then life with her father was almost a blank, an ugly dream. Her father was not a gentleman, and the .people with whom he associated were of the lowest type. The women were neither beautiful nor good; the men were not heroes. Oh, the mockery of disenchantment! She herself was beautiful her voice was sweet as the voice of the nightingale. Her father, made capital out of that and her personal beauty. She revolted, but he taunted her with his life of self denial for her sake. Ke could be cruel in his own way. He was a wanderer, a vagabond, a beggar! He herded with gipsies and criminals! He followed the fairs and the race-meet-ings, Zilla's finer feelings became blunted, until she half believed that the world was all tinsel and sham, and utterly evil. Then Duncan Armitage caraa into her '.life. She looked into his grave face and listened to his voice. " 'And indeed he seems to me Scarce other than my own ideal knight, Who reverenced his conscience as his kini. Whose glory was redressing human wrong, Who spoke no slander—no, r.or listened to il; Who loved one only, and who clave 16 her — Her —over all whose realm-, to their fast i?le, Commingled Jwith the gloom of imminent war, The shadow of hia loss drew like eclipse, Darkening the world.' " Her father saw it all, and smiled his ugly smile. It was torture to know what wan passing in his cunning mind. She hated him for it. The small eyes were glowering at her now. She tried to shriek:

"Oh, Duncan, save me!" "Here we are, little woman!" It waa Duncan's voice; Djncan's arms were about her.

"You were sleeping so happily that it would have been cruelty to disturb, you Zilla!" "Sleeping?" A blush dyed her cheeks. She heardjthe clatter of the horse's f she felt the motion of the cab. Had this been merely a dream, in which she had lived over again years of her life? "That is Battersea t'ark," Armitage said, pointing to a distant line of trees. "We can have a pleasant I time there for an hour or two. I wil 1 tell the cabamn to wait so that he may drive us back to Brixton. What were you dreaming about little woman?" "A portion of my life. I lived years of it in a few minutes." "And it was not pleasant?" "Pleasant? Oh, Duncan, until I knew you it was a living death! I mean since my father claimed me. I wonder how I have endured it so long. I think that my finer sensibilities mUst have been dead." She shidkredL The cab stopped outside the park gatea. Duncan sprang out and assisted Zilla to alight. He spoke to the cabman, and the man touched his hat, well pleased. He was engaged for the remainded of the evening, and he could refresh himself and his horse while the lady and gentle-' man strolled in the park, Such a piece of luck did not often fall in his j way. j "Take my arm, sweetheart," Dun- j can said tenderly. "You are quite unsteady. lam afraid that you are very tired." "No—only a littla dizzy. Already I smell the scent of the flowers! What the world would be \ without its woods and gardens!" j "Do you luve cheni so much, darling?" "Did you ever know a gipsy who did not?" I His brow darkened. I "Why will you refer to a past J which has been but brief, dear one? I know that it pains you, and I, ! too, want to forget it." | She laughed defiantly. j "Oh, Duncan, 1 don't kjiow what

S BY OWEN MASTERS. 6 (* Author of "Captain Emlyn's Daughter," "The Woman (j, V Wins," "The Heir of Avisford," "Ono.linpas- «* / sioned Hour," Etc., Etc. /

13 the matter with me to-night! I don't know whether I am exquisitely happy, or utterly miserable. Now I am getting hysterical. Scold me, darling." He kissed her. The flush in her chees, the glow in her eyes alarmed him. They wandered into the subtropical gardens, and Armitage made her rest in a pleasant corner, where they could see the western sky "twinkle radiant fires." For a little while they were both silent. The birds tvvittersd in the trees, insects hummed, the winds whispeed softest music to ?the dancing leaves.Then discord broke into the sweetness and Armitage toured round angrily. A man h*d approached unseen, uihead, and was running his fingers lightly over the keys of a portable harmonium. "Your pardon, sir," the musician said apolegetically. "1 hope that I am no intruding. I must live. A copper " He waited, his eyes fixed upon Zilla's face in aeger scrutiny. "Oh, let nirn play and sing!" she whispered, half contemptuously, half bitterly. "I seem to know him. Remember that he may go supperless to bed—if he has a bed —as I have done often and often! I can find pity yet in my heart for the poor wretches, because I have been one of them!" The man played; the muisc was execrable. He sang; his voice was pleasing. He chose and old ballad: ' "Old Meg she was a gipsy, And lived upon the moors; Her bed it was the brown heath turf, And her house was out of doars. Her'upples were swart blackberrier, Her currants pods o' broom, Her wine was dew of the wild white rose, Her book a churchyard tomb. "Her brothers were the craggv hills Her sister's larchem-t-ees; Alone with her great tatnily, £She lived as she did please. No breakfast had she many a morr, No dinner many a noon, And 'stead of supper she would stare Full hard agaL.st the moon. " 'But, every morn of woodbine fres^, She made her garlanding, And every night the dark glen yew She wore, and she would sing, And with her fingers, old and brown. She plaited mats and rushes, And gave them to the cottagers She met among the bushes. | TO BK CONTINUED.]