PRIMROSE DELORAINE

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10284, 12 July 1911, Page 2

PRIMROSE DELORAINE

OUR SERIAL.

THE MISER'S DAUGHTER.

By MAISIE PEKDENNIS, Author of "Sir Reginald's WMm," "The Forgotten Heir," "Rival Beauties,' 'etc.

CHAPTEIt IX.—Continued. Perhaps, after all, it was not his fault. Perhaps it was Fate. Anyway, she had learned to love him; he knew that now. And he—and he —well, he must just make the best of the matter. "Primrose," ho said, very quietly, "I'm going to ask you something, and then I'm going to ask you to do something. It is this I have to say—thateven if our paths never do cross again even if we never meet again in all the wide world, I shall never forget you, I shall always think of you, and remember you. Do you believe me?" She raised her eyes to his. "Yes!" she impressively whispered.

Captain Jack caught his breath quickly. She was so pretty —so pretty with that dainty flush in her soft r-hceks and anew, tender light in the iv.rple velvet depths of her blue eyes. ; So pretty! And she loved him, and I he loved her, and he was only a man. | A moment later lie had put his arm j round her and drawn her close to him, ! and laid his fact down carressingly on the- bright waves of her hair. "I shall always remember you and think of you," he said again. "Don't forget that. And —and, Primrose, there are things that I should like to say to you, hut I daren't say them. 1 can't say them. I ought not to say them. If thirvgs were different with me—if my life was different—but it's no use thinking about that." Then his strong arm - tightened a little round her, and his voice sank lower still. "I dare say," he went on, and his leps touched her hair for a moment, "you can guess what the things are. If you can't, I won't tell you. I ought not perhaps, say even as muoh as lam going to say, but somehow I can't help it. I'm not quite master of j myself to-night. You see, we may] never meet again. And so —and Ho paused for a moment. ! "Primro:e," he went on, very low, "the day may come —there's just a i chance that the day may come —when things may be different with me, and my life may be different. If it comes will you let me say the things I should like to say to-night? Tell me, Primrose. Will you let me say them — then?" She stirred in his arms. "Yes," she whispered again. And he drew a long, deep breath. "That's all," he rejoined. "I've said all that I can say, and more than I ought to. have said. But you must forgive me, because, as I said before, I'm not quite master of myself tonight. You will forgive me, won't you Primrose?" He paused for her answer, and it j came at once. j "Yes," she whispered for the third time. His arms were still around her, his face still rested on her hair. "Now," he went on, "I've told you what I was going to tell you, and now I am going to ask you to do something. T want you—l want you 1 " He broke off and bent lower still, and put his face down to hers, and clasped her soft arms, around his neck. "I want you to let me kiss you, Primrose," he said. "Will you? 1 .want one kiss for a keepsake, Will give it to meP PerhV.ps I" should not ask ydu> but—.but Will you letme kies you\ Primrose?"

1 and swung her lightly into the saddle. | "Now, little girl," he said, "keep j cool." Trust everything to me. ReI member, this is a matter of life and death." As he spoke he vaulted into I the saddle behind her and turned the grey mare's head. "Buck up, old girl," he said to the horse, and they were off. ! Even as ho spoke a shot rang out j through the air, a terrible shout that I sounded like the fierce, snarling cry j of a wild animal baulked of its prey, j and Poker Bill came into the opening > running as if for clear life. 'I have you yet!" ho shouted, and swore a bitter oath between his teeth ; "I'll have you yet!" Quick as lightning he levelled his revolver and fired.

.PHftWose said nothing, but she turn- j ed her face to his, and he kissed her ] very tenderly, holding her closely, in | his strong arms. | As they stood so, clasped in one another's arms, heart to heart, the pasisonate happiness of the moment was so great they forgot everything else—everything hut one another. Just for that brief rose-coloured moment they forgot all that had been and all that would be. They forgot the parting that was to come. They forgot the future *hat lay before them, the future when they two would be far apart, and remembered nothing hut that they loved one another and were together. The memory of that moment • lingered with them both all through the rest of their lives. They never, forgot its dear delight. But it was only a moment—just one moment snatched from the abyss of time, and, like other moments, it passed. Even as he kissed her, even as he felt her soft lips warm on his, the spell was broken—the dream was shattered. A long, low whistle sounded suddenly in the stillness, and the two in the cave left their world of dreams and came back to reality with a start. "The danger signal 1" exclaimed Captain Jack; "Eve's danger signal." He put Primrose away from him and went to the mouth of the cave. Eve was standing outside in" the moonlight, and she had unloosed the grey mare and led her close to the mouth of the cave. Her face looked white and set, and her eyes gleamed wierdly as she met Captain Jack. "You haven't-a moment to lose," she whispered hurriedly; ' "I sighted Poker Bill when I whistled. He is just behind that group of gum trees. He is almost upon you. Go before it is too late! Go, for Heaven's sake! Take this letter and read it when you are in a safe place. Don't forget it. Now go! For Heaven's sake, go!" Captain Jack took the letter that . she pressed into his hand, and gathered up the reins that hung loosely on they grey mare's neck. '/Thank you," he said. Then he turned to Primrose, who had followed him, and lifted her in his strong arms

CHAPTER X. TELLS OF MANY THINGS. But, quick as Poker Bill was, Eve was quicker still, and even as he pulled the trigger she sprang forward and struck up the hand that held the revolver. There w.a*s a flash, a swift report, and Poker Bill swore another shocking oath. He had fired, hut he had missed his mark, just as the grey mare with her precious burden disappeared from view behind a huge boulder. Primrose shivered a little as tho shot rang out, and nestled closer in the strong embrace that held as if it would hold her from all the world, i And Captain Jack leaned forward over her shoulder. "Safe," he said, between his teeth —"safe, Primrose, thank Heaven* There's no need to trouble now, little girl. No need to be afraid. You and I and the good grey mare have it all our own way now, and it will be very strange if to-morrow does not see you on the high seas on your way to Eng • land." As he paused she heard him laugh —an odd, half-mocking laugh. <"t seemed to her that his arms held her a little clossr. "I wish," he said, very low —"now, what on earth do you think I wish. Primrose ? It's the maddest wish in all the world, you may be sure, or else I shouldn't wish it. I wish you were going to stay here with me, or that I was going to England with you. Isn't that midsummer madness,? I should look nice in a London drawing room, shouldn't I? Captain Jack, the bushranger! the camp raider 1 And if I wore a mask I should create quite a sensation shouldn't I? Oh, what nonsense one talks sometimes 1" ! He leaned over her shoulder again, | and as he leaned she felt his lips touch her hair with a light caress. For a I moment she sat in silence, her whole I being thrilled with a strange, passionate delight that held a sweetness such ' as she had never even dreamed of. Then she turned her head and whispered back to him over her shoulder: 'l'm mad, too," she said, "for I wish the same." Captain Jack laughed once more, a little unsteadily this time. "There are moments when madness is heaven," he said, "and this is one of them." ****** All that passed afterwards seemed like a dream to Primrose. Often she I felt that it could not be real, and yet it was ecstatically real. The rids, the wild, mad ride, with Captain Jack, through the bush, and on as near as he dared go to Melbourne ; her embarking and sailing; the voyage to England, under special charge of the captain of the steamer; the daily life on board ship, of which she grew woefully tired; then the excitement of the moment when at last the white cliffs of England came into view; her meeting with Sir Gerald \ Lesbie; her landing, and the journey to London with him. AH these things seemed rather vague to her when she thought of them afterwards. • But there was one thing that stood but in bold relief against the misty background of her thoughts, because it puzzled her—had puzzled her all the time.

There had been a man on the steamer, one of the second-class passengers —she had caught sight of him once by chance on the voyage—a man whose face had been vaguely familiar to her. She had felt 6ure that she had seen him before, but she could not remember when, and he showed no sign of recognizing her. It chanced, too, that he had travelled to London by the same train that she and Sir Gerald had travelled by; he had passed them again on the platform when the crowded London terminus was reached. Then, as Sir Gerald helped her out of the electric brougham at the door of Mrs Vivian's pretty, flower-decked house in Pont Street, the last thing she had seen as she passed through the door was the same man whirling by in a taxicab. (To b« ContittHed).