When Love Rules The Heart.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9583, 1 September 1909, Page 2

When Love Rules The Heart.

CHAPTER XXVII.-Continued. The next day dawned brilliantly. Armitage visited the sick-room at an early hour. He found Helen rather excited; her face was flushed, her white hands tremble. The nurse immediately left them alone. "Duncan," the girl whispered shyly. "Yes, little sweetheart." | "It is our wedding-day to-day. 1 am glad that the morning is so lovely! 'Happy is the bride that the sun shines upon'"' "Hush, dear-oh, hush!" His eyes were full of pain, his voice was tremulous. "But I am really happy, Duncan." She looked up at him wistfully. "Oh, my darling, it is you I am sorry for! : You will be so lonely in the tuture—j when I am gone!" Then the sweet i face brightened. "Open the window, i and lee in the warm sunshine. How 4 impatiently the honeysuckle is tap- | ping on the pane! The music of the ] bells will reach me here.'" I He stoopad and kissed her, to hide \ the misery in his eyes. | "I must go now, little sweetheart 1— little wife soon ! There is so much to do this morning. I have told the nurse to fili the room with flowers, . because you love them so." ( "I wish to Heaven that this ! wretched farce were ended!" he I thought. His brow was damp. The | torture was almost beyond human ent durance. ! The rector arrived in good time. 3 The news of the wedding was i known in the village, and there was n general holiday. The simple country folk would not believe that the jj angel of death hovered at the feast. j "The bells will begin to ring 1 promptly at the half-hour after i noon," the rector said. "1 have left ] (instructions with the ringers, and 3 we must contrive to conclude the I ceremony to the minute." | Shortly after twelve the nurse an- « pounced that Miss Howard was | ready to receive what she playfuly ]\ termed "her guests " The rector II led the way, followed hy Lord- Ramj hill, General Howard and his wife | and son, and L«dy Annandale. 5 The bridegroom whs last of all. « His head was bent, his steps falI tered, he was deathly pale. He looked up and saw that Helen had : been raised on her pillows, her face irradiated with joy. She held out her hands to him, and the witnesses averted their eyes. Then the solemn service began. The ring was produced; the responses were madtj hi clear, audible tones; then the clerk entered with the church register. Nothing had been omitted. The bride and bridegroom signed their names in tne book, and the marriage-bells burst into a joyous peal. "It is over," remarked Lord Kainhill, with a deep sigh. With bitter tears in their eyes, the I parents and the brother of the bride ] kissed her sweet facs. They then left the room, and husband and wife were one. ****** "This strange marriage will create a sensation if the story of it leaks out," Lord Rainhill said to General j Howard an hour later. "I think that it will be wise to send our own version of . the affair to the papers." "I am of the same opinion. I shall be satisfied with anything that you may do, Rainhill." General Howard sighed. "I shall never get over this —my life is blighted! And the poor mother! We will say 'good-by' to my child, and then we will go home. You will send for us immediately if there is any change for the worse? Yes~-I know that you will! That is quite un- | derstood." I But there was no change for the worse for several days. Helen ap- ] peared to be supremely happy. Duncant sat for hours by his wife's bed- j side, her hand clasped in his. Some- j times he read to her, at others they ! talked, of the dreamful, beautiful j past, of the present, and of their future in a brighter world. "Oh, my love, we have been married three whole days!" Helen said one morning. "It is hard to believe that I shall be dead and buried within one short week?" A look half of mournfulness, half of terror, crept into her eyes."l do not want to leave you, darling! I am so young—l am lilttle more than n child—the best j of human life was all before me! Must I die?" j "Dear little sweetheart, let us; hope for the best! It is hard for both—for all who love you," her husband whispered. His heart was almost too full for words. "You see how selfish I really am," she sobbed. "I know that it will be' doubly hard for those who are left behind. I had a dream last night—l thought that I heard the angels calling me. Then I awoke, and the nightingales were singing in the copse." After this Armitage spoke to the doctor. Sir Edward Black was staying at Rainhill Court until his services should be no longer needed. "The end is not far off," the doctor assured niin. "The poor lady may linger a few days longer than I anticipated but not more." "Can nothing be done?" mitage, in anguish. "It is terrible!" "Nothing, sir " The surgeon's reply was curt and cold. "If you doubt my diagnosis--agreed to by two other doctors " He frowned and turned away bruskly. "Lord Rain-

l BY OWEN IIASTESS. & 1 1 {f Author of "Captain Emlyn's Daughter," " L'he \\ oinan |» » Wins," "The Hnir of Avisford," "One liapas- j» / sioned Hour," Etc., Etc. /

hill is satisfied—the lady's relatives are satisfied- -I am satisfied." "But her husband is not satisfied," Armitage fiercely retorted. The surgeon sneersd. He had heard something of the young man's story from Lord iiainhi'll. The two men parted, Sir Edward Black to lay an angry protest before Lord Rainhill, Duncan Armitage to hasten to London to consult a noted specialist. The specialist was interested. "Sir Edward Black and I are old rivals," he said thoughtfully. "If I consent he will promptly withdraw, Air Armitage. I can offer no opinion until I have held a consultation with Sir Edward and the patient. An operation might kill or cure." He spoke absently, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. "The lady will consent—and her friends?" "I will answer for that, sir," Armitagb energetically replied. "In any event, no harm can be done. Sir Edward says that my wife must die in any case." "No harm except the suffering, the excitement, false hopes, and the shortening of life if I fail. Expect me at Rainhill Court to-morrow about noon. Further, I pledge myself to nothing. At my time of life I cannot afford to make mistakes. With my reputation, I can run no risks." Then he smiled. "I owe one to Sir Edward Black." Armitage did not linger in town. Having seen the specialist, there was nothing to detain him. A letter was awaiting him when he reached the Court. It bore the Etherington crest, and he opened it with fingers that trembled in spite of himself. It ran thus:— "My Dear Armitage: I ain in a bad way, and wish that you would come and see me. I am at Etherington Hall, in Devonshire, and don't suppose that I shall leave the house again until my toe 1 ? turn up. Dropsy has got hold of me, and my case is hopeless. A few weeks more or less will sea the end ot me. Virtue is its own reward, you see! Wc were once foes; I now feel that you are my only reliable friend; there is a strong bond between us, because of my child—poor Bessie's daughter. 1 wish that 1 had been a better man; but it is of no use whining. Though I believe Zilla to be dead—drowned, you may depend upon it —frightened to her death by her own fatherHeaven forgive me!—though I believe her to be dead, 1 have made a will in her favor. Every penny goes to her, if she is alive, and, faiPng her, to my next of kin. I want you to be a trustee, jointly with my lawyer; I can trust you to see justice done. You won't refuse? I have taken the liberty to appoint you already. My man of business will write to you. Come soon if you can. "Yours, "GUS ETHERINGTON." I TO BK OONTINt/ED.I