When Love Rules The Heart.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9567, 13 August 1909, Page 2

When Love Rules The Heart.

j? BY OWEN MASTEKS. 5 1 1 {, Author cf "Captain Emlyn's Daughter," "The Woman {, 2* Wins," "The Heir of Avisford," "One Impas- v sioned Four," Etc., Etc. /

CHAPTER XVll.—Continued. '•You are quite determined, Duncan?" "Quite. I shall leave the house within ten minutes." . He felt Helen's gentle hand % on his shoulder, and he shuddered.* If ; she only knew the truth! She was [ regarding him with misty, per- ! plexed eyes. He taok one of he I hands, and caressed it almost pasI sionately. "Then we will walk as far as Regent Street," Lady Annandale said faintly. "The morning is lovely. If anything happens to us it will be your fault." She was growing hysterical. "I have a great mind never to speak to you again, Duncan!" She left thejoom hastily, and her brother muttered: "How absurd a woman can be! What can possibly happen to you? Kiss me, Helen. Perhaps it is for the lasts, time." He seized hsr\ fiercely. ~"Something may happen to me.'*' -Don't—don't! Oh, my darling, how you terrify me!" the girl cried. "You are unhappy—and I have expected everything to be so different! Don't think that I am blaming you, my dear. I understand your imperious nature. Ysu cannot bear restraint. But in a little while all will be well—when we are alone together." Her eyes dropped for a moment, and a burning flush mounted to her face. "My sweetheart of the old, happy days!" he said. "Ah, what a time of bliss our childhood was, had we only known it then! Now it is u tale that is told, a dream that no encha.itment can restore to life." 3 "But the present and the future should be brighter, happier still, darling! The joys of childhood are ephemeral and unreal. I was then your sweetheart in fancy—now I am yours in reality, and we love with a love that only the angels know!" "I must go!" he said hoarsely. He kissed her with burning lips, then hurriedly put her from him and strode from the room. Lady Annandale was in the hall. Her face was pale, her eyelids were red with weeping. "You are tfuuig, Duncan?" she said. "Oh, my t-zother—ray foolish brother!" "How much do you know?" he demanded, with lowering brows. "I am. aware that much of my misery —and hers' - he glanced at the door of the room which he had juat left—"l am aware that much of my misery and hers will be of your making, Florence. I have played into your hands—into the hands of Lord Rainhill; but you may both as well attempt to stem a mountain torrent as to turn the current of my will. You perhaps realize it now that it is too late—now that poor, loving Helen, the playmate of my boyhood™ Oh, Heaven, I cannot endure it!" He turned away, his eyes full of anguish. He held out his hand. "I forgive vou, Florence. You have ever been an effectionate sister." "You are going, Duncan—to her?" she whispered. "Yes; to Zilla Seton, the singing girl—the.woman I love!" CHAPTER XVIII. CLARENCE MOUNTARBON'S MISSION. Zilla's feverish and fitful slumbers on the night of her visits with Duncan Armitage to Regent Street and Battersea Park were filled with horrid dreams. The night seemed as if it would never come to an end. Mrs Chatty came several times to her room, giving her cooling drinks, and trying to sooth laer with kind words. At last day dawned. Zilla got out of bed and dressed herself, determined to combat the weakness that assailed her. trembling limbs. She opened the window and exposed her hot face and brow to the morning breeze. "My lover is coming to-day," she thought. "I must keep strong or he will be sad. We are to be married to-morrow, and then here will be no more partings, no more tears. I wonder whether or not he will always love me as he loves me now? His people will hate me, and I shall hate them! The eyes of that woman I shail always remember— Mrs Francillon, Duncan called her. I shall not forget her name. Where have I seen those eyes before? Ah, I remember! They are like the eyes of a wicked magpie that used to look at me through the window of the dear old 'pensionnat.' " A policeman passed slowly through the street, the sound of his heavy footsteps reverberating in the stillness. He glanced up at the girl, half curiously. She stared down at him. "I am not at all afraid new," she murmured "I have been so nervous and foolish! It is good of Duncan to take me to see my father. He may be selfish and cruel, but 1 cannot forget the teachings of the good old curate." She sat at the window for a long time. The sun had risen high in the heavens. Men, women, and boys were hurrying cityward to earn their bread, some of the latter

whistling or singing as they went.| Zilla left the window. How weak she was! Yet she was conscious of a strange exhilaration. "My lover is coming," she laughed, "and we are to be married to-mor-row ! I ohall triumph someday over the woman with the fierce eyes!" She broke into a merry song—one of her father's favourites. He had always endeavoured to make her understand that they were gipsiesmere roving vagabonds. He had scoffed at her learning, her quaint fancies', her accomplishments—all save her cultivated aptitude for music and singing. This he could turn to account for his own benefit. He had fiercely abused the people at the 'pensionnat.' They had exceeded their duty. f^^y/ Zilla was not thinking of these things now. The song rose to her lips spontaneously: " 'Under the greenwood tree Who loves to He with me,. And turn his merry note I'nto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither*,' come hither, come hither,' Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. " 'Who doth ambition »hun, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the foodjhe eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather.' " She held he hands to her head. Her brain reeled. She heard Mrs Chatto moving about briskly downstairs, and she could smell the aroma of freshly made coffee. Breakfast would soon be ready. Zilla took up Duncan's "Echo," and was dreamily scanning the closely printed colums, when a sharp, gasping cry escaped her, and the pink. flush in he cheek gave way to a deathly whiteness. She saw her father's name in print—"John Seton" "Ex-convict" "Great jewel robbery." The furniture in the room seemed ' to float around her; the cries of the children in the street under her window sounded more and more distant, until they became only a far off hum. She remembered the newsboy's words the night before—"Capture of a desperate convict!" And that conivc*; was her father! By a determined effort she partly regained her composure. Perhaps thers were two John Setons. | TO BE CONTINUED.!