PRIMROSE DELORAINE

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10277, 4 July 1911, Page 2

PRIMROSE DELORAINE

By MAISIE PENDENNIS, Author of "Sir Reginald's Whim," "The Forgotten Hear," "Rival Beauties,' 'etc.

PUR SERIAL.

THE MISER'S DAUGHTER.

CHAPTER IV.—Continued. Poker Bill stood still and looked j at her. | "You don't seem over-pleased bo see me," he said, with-a sinister I sinil-3. "Why do you look so frightened? I won't hurt you—if youVe reasonable." Then he put his heavy hand on her shoulder. "I said that I would give you three days to think things over," he went on, "and I have, and I have now come for your answer. You had better lie* it be the sort of answer that I want. It is useless to fight- me. My mind is made up, and when once I make up my mind to a tiling that tiling has to be." Primrose looked blankly round her. Trapped .and helpless, what could she do? she asked herself passionately. "I can only," she said tremulously > "give you the same answer that I gave you the other night. Never any other. Poker Bill scowled darkly. "That isn't'the answer I want," he said, "and I won't accept it. No, surely not! What do.' you take me for? Do you take me for the sort of man who takes W frem a woman?" He clenched his hands threateningly, bending his savage face down to hers. "I can never many you," she said an a low tone. "I told you so the other day. Oh! why do you oome ! and torture me like this ? You might leave me this evening in peace—my last evening here. I am going away to-morrow, and I don't suppose that I shall ever see my old home again." Her voice broke as she uttered the . words. J "You're not going away to-mor- I row," said Poker Bill gruffly. "You j ore going ito imanry ime and I' rest of your life at Red Tree Camp. Oh! I know ail about your being a big English swell and- a great heir- j ess. I know ail ahout your arrange- \ ments to go to England, too; but this isn't to ho. I love yon; I've told you that a dozen times before; and ' I love your money, too. I want both, and I'm going to have both! It will suit me down to the ground (to marry a pretty wife, and live at ■my leisure on her fortune. Primrose -was pale and trembling, >ut: she faced him with toe courage of despair "I will never marry you," she. told ■ ■ him. I Poker ©ill's dark, sullen face grew 'idarker'andmore sullen still.. ) ' "That's •where you make a mis-itek©,"-he. answered her. "You'll have to marry me,' as you'll find, and if you were a sensible girl you would have given in pleasantly, without amy (fuss. No 'amount of (fuss will alter my determination. I know iwhat to, do if you won't give in of your own. (free will. I have thought out a plan; I "will tell you wihat it is."'.-. ■ ' .'j He went' a little nearer, and his sullen, deepnset eyes glinted with a ■ lurid fire las they drank in all the wistful,, ipatlhetic^charm of her face its foaming halo of soft, lovely -hairi The more she shrank from him the more desirable she appeared in his eyes, and (the more he coveted her. He wanted her, and he wanted her money, and he wias not easily foiledv,m iearryang out a ( set v purpose. "If," he went ©n, "you won't promise to marry me I'm going to look you in the hut here; and than to- , night, when the iboys have, gone to roost, and .there's nobody awake in the camp, I shall come and take you away to a cave in, the mountains that nobody knows of but myself. Then I shall hide you safely till you change your mind, and mo one will ever get $o you there. You may scream yourself hoarse, you may cry you eyes out, and no one will hear you. You will sing a different tune 'tihen, ariywild ibdrd. You'll learn to be 'isoinry that you ever set your "Will against mine. I am a had enj •ffl6''i.vpice rang menacingly, and Primrose, shivered. Yes, hewas a had enemy* She knew that, and so did '©very'man and woman in Red Tree Cainp. She knew, too, that he would ©tick at nothing to gain that which he desired', and the knowledge filled her shrinking heart with sickening fear. She could not move, could not speak, could; only crouch there, dumb, terrified beyond words.

"I will leave you now," Poker Bill growled, "but 1 shan't go far away. It's no good you calling <~r help, or trying to get away, as I shall be near the hut, and I shall keep wt-tch until everything is quiet in the camp Then I shall come for you. If you are a sensible girl you will have altered your miaid by ihei. Tf not—well, you must take the consequences tma if (they are not pleasant, do not b!arr.. > me. Remember, ;hi»re is .10 help for you, and ro escnfe. Vou are mine forever!" l\ :!•' a last look he Wiii/ away, having first barred the cl.--r h*i\i '? behind him. rriniTOsi', matching through th» wit:4* wuv him slip into the «Ij:i-!ow of thi' t'eef that dotted ilje lire, and take up his. stand a few yards from the hut; and she knew that, with the doged persistence and patience that characterised Mm when on tlhe trail of a quarry, he would wait there all. night if need be. She knew that he wouldi spare mo pains to accomplish the end that he had in his mind—knew that he would keep watch and ward wiith relentless ferocity. She knew that his words, "There is no help for you, and no escape," were only too true—bitterly, torturingiy, agonisingly true—and the terrible truth of them, the appalling horor that they held, sank deep into the inmost depths of her shrinking soul. That was the blackest moment of all her Kfe, and in it she would have welcomed even death itself as a relief from heir awful sufferings. But Death does not always come to those !who would welcome him gladly, and Death was far away from Primrose. Help seemed far ' away. Release seemeu far away.

CHAPTER V. j ONE OF SOCIETY'S BUTTERFLIES. The fire burned brightly in the little boudoir of Mrs Vivian's cozy house in Pont Street, and the room was full of the„soent of winter violets. It was. a pretty room—a dainty nest of old-rose .brocade furniture, and white woodwork, and soft silken' curtains, and luxuriously cushioned seats, iand fragile bric-a-hrac, and sweet-smelling winter flowers. ' Such a pretty room, hut the prettiest thing in it was the Owner thereof, Valerie 'Vivian (herself, .as she lay lazily- hack an a long, low chair, her hand clasped at the back of her head ,and iker tiny pink slippered feet crossed on the 'brass rail off the fender. The flickering firelight played On the dainty figure in the big chair, throwing into bright relief the very graceful diorm, in its softly sweeping tea gown of rose petal, pink satin and old yellow lace, and the small oval face, with its flushed cheeks and forget-me-not-ibhie eyes, and its fluffy tangle of flaxen ihair. She was lsoking her prettiest, and she knew .it.. , f The knowledge,, of course, ought to have Drought' intense and perfect happiness to her frivolous (butterfly. soul, but somehow it did not,/ There was a crumpled' leaf in her 'bed of roses, and the name of that crumpled leaf was debt. "What a bother bills are," she reflected, audi pursed her lips into a petulant' pout. "Particularly when ■one has no money to pay them with. I'm sure I daren't think of wihat I owe the milliner; and, as for my dressmaker, well, if I thought of that my hair would turn white in a single might. And then there is the I bridge whist. That runs away with ! a ismall fortune, too, when one has tno hick; aoid somehow, lately, I always seem to be out of luck. Things are going from bad to worse with me, but perhaps the unexpected will happen. Who knows? Perhaps- I mayfind a way out of my difficulties. Perhaps-—-" . The door opened softly, and a manservant aippeared on the threshold. (To be Continued).