PRIMROSE DELORAINE

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10310, 10 August 1911, Page 2

PRIMROSE DELORAINE

OUR SERIAL.

CHAPTER XXll—Continued. | t ■ "Yes, life is sweet," "Lord Evers- j dene mused again, and love is sweet, j too. Love and Primrose. My Prim- j rose. But sometimes one has to forfeit life, however sweet it ts; and—" Ho paused abruptly, for the great j Dane had -raised his head again swiftly, with a low, ominous growl, as a , sound suddenly cut the silence like a ; knife. The sound that had disturbed the • stillness so strangely was the sound of hurried peremptory tappings at , the Vreiit French window, and ,swift ; as aliash, Lord Eversdene crossed the , room, anl glanced out into the black- : ne'.s of the night. \ A iif-aro w;.s standing outside, on tho grass. A voire, sharpened with agonised terror, called to him: _ "Let me in! Let mo in, for Heaven's sake!" He Hung open the window, and as r-o did so the muffled figure stumbled across the threshold, and when the light fell on the white, raised face he •rn-" n swift, startled exclamation. tJ "Primrose I What in Heaven's name brings you here?" She clung to him with ice-cold, trembling hands, casting an affrighted glance behind'her into the night. . "Close the window, Jack,"she appealed shudderingly. "Ah! thank Heaven that you are alone, and I am in time. Thank Heaven I am not too late!" She caught her breath in a gasping, phoking sob, and the man put his strong arm about her, and half led, half carried her across the room, and put her gently down into the big chair by the fire that he had just left. One glance told him that she was in\ the last stage of fright and exhaustion, utterly overwrought, and he did not question her. He just knelt down by her side, and with deft, practised fingers, unfastened the snow-white furs about her neck, and drew out the torquoise pins from tier white motor cap, tossing them onto a table. Then he gave another exclamation —a tender, horrified one. this, time — as he caught sight, of her little feet in thin, white satin slippers that were J drenched and soaked through with 'her swift" run across the dew-wet grass. Gently he stooped down and drew them off, and lifted her feet onto the brass rail fender as carefully and tenderly as if he had been a wo- | man, and tried to warm her frozen hands in both his own. "AH right, my sweet," he said gently; "don't tremble so. You are safe with me, Primrose. Nothing in all the world can hurt you here." His arms closed swiftly and protectingly round her white, trembling, girlish sweetness, and at the touch of those beloved arms poor distraught Primrose broke down completely. She hid her face on his shoulder, and burst i into such bitter weeping as tore the ! soul of the man who listened. j He soothed her with quiet, caressing words, and presently the great, choking sobs ceased, and she lifted her head, pushing back the tumbled, shining hair that framed her face in sunny, glorious confusion, and looked up at., him with wide, sad eyes—eyes full of ' a lurking horror, a wordless dread. "Ah! how could I waste precious time like this?" she wailed, "when any moment —any moment -'-' < She rose swiftly, casting another ., terrified glance into the night; and i as" she rose the dark blue coat that wrapped her slipped and revealed her delicate, lissom figure in a clinging evening gown of dull, soft white satin',' She turned to Lord Eversdene, her hands clasped convulsively over her wildly throbbing heart. "Jack, you must go away," she went on, with wild appeal. "You are to go now—at once. There isn't a moment to lose. Oh! my dear one, I have come all the way from London tonight to warn you. Mrs Vivian came to me this afternoon and told me' all the story of the hold she has over you, and she offered me the same terms that she offered you. She said that , if I would give you up forever she and j others would 'help you to evade the -j law and insure your safety; and—oh, Jack, I didn't give you up. I would '"not. Was it wrong of me;.dear?. I think it wasn't. I gave 1 her,the answer that I knew you would have .me. give her, the answer that you gave her yourself. I told her that as long as we both lived I would never give you up of my own free will, unless you told me to. But because we have given her that answer danger threatens you—danger that I daren't think of for fear of going mad. Danger of—ah, dear Heaven!—danger of death—death!" She wrung her little hands together passionately, her eyes flashing into his through the mist of blinding-tears that darkened them. "I ought to have given you up," she cried, with sudden reproach. "Oh, I see it all now; now that it's too late. I was wrong, after all. I ought to have given you up, and then Mrs Vivian and others would have helped you and made you safe. But—but——" ' "Hush P'he interrupted.' sternly. ■;'' |Hush! Dfln't talk, like that, , darling. You were right, not wrong. If you had given me up a thousand times, Primrose, T wouldn't have accepted the help of those people—no, I wouldn't have considered it for one moment. I will play the game off my own bat, and if I win, I win; and if I lose, I lose." He smiled coolly, but Primrose wrung her hands again. "She said she would go to Scotland Yard," she s moaned. "Already they may be on your track, and you must

- DAUGHTER. .IE PENDENNIS. '„; <. "Sir Reginald's ..j,im," "The Forgotten Heir.'' "Rival Beauti &s,' 'etc.

go, beloved. You mustn't wait a min- ; ute longer. You must go away from the Castle now while there yet may be time, and make your escape, and save your dear life. Ah! you must go at once, at once." The words fell from her white lips , in broken, panting gasps. She lifted her face, pale as a lily, in its halo of sun-bright hair, in the crimson lamp glow, her wide, frightened eyes meeting his with passionate, agonucd appeal. Lord Eversdene put a hand on each of her graceful shoulders to steady her as she swayed like a broken flower on its stem. For a moment his eyes softened with an infinite tendernses, then they lightened. "You seem in as. awful hurry to get rid of me," ho said coolly; and an odd look Hashed into his face, as he met the blue, lovely raised eyes. "If,"'he went on slowly, "Mrs Vivian told you the whole story, she told ! you that! am wanted by the Australij an police, told you that there was a price on my head, that I am accused of—murder. And you, knowing all this, have come down from London to-night, Primrose, have risked everything to warn me of my danger. What does that mean, little girl? Does it mean that the love that my lady has given me is so great that it endures still, even when she knows that the man she loves is not only a camp raider, a bushranger, and a desperado, blit blood guilty, as well, to add to the pleasant list ? Does it mean that ?" - "Yes," she said brokenly. "It w,ould mean even that, Jack. Nothing in all the world could kill such love as mine. When a woman loves, she gives all, you know; all her faith and trust for always. But you are not a murderer —I know that. I would stake my life on your innocence. You would never do such a coward's action as that. You are innocent." "Ah, yes!" he said, with a sort of bitter weariness. "I am innocent, Primrose. I could never have come to I you and asked for your love with the j stain of a low, cowardly crime, the 1 stain of blood, on my'soul. But that is beside the point— a mere detail, ' really, /that doesn't count. The only thing that counts is the case that the police have-got against me, and that, I am afraid, I'm not in a position ■ o disprove or refute. It is a stiff case, too, with evidence black eough to hang me." ( Then his tone changed and he squar\ed his. broad shoulders with all his I' old reckless defiance. "But all the same," he added, "I am not going to run away like a thief in the.night. If the blood hounds of Scotland Yard come I shall be here to receive them." The corners of his grave, strong mouth twitched with a reflective smile. "I hope, by the way," he added, "I haven't forgotten t oplay the host during my rovings in the wilds. One gets a bit out of touch with all such things there. Anyway I hope I know how to face the music, however unpleasant the tune may be. It won't be the first time I've faced the music, though it may be —the last." Then, as he saw the deathly pallor of Primrose's face, once more his tone changed. He bent to her swiftly, passionately, his, arms around her. ■' "Ah, heart's love, don't look like jfchat," he said, rather unsteadily. "I can'tstand it; I'm only human, and I love you. Heaven alone knows how I thank you for your dear sweetness „, .in coming here to-night; Heaven knows that I shall never forget it as long as life lasts. But I can't do what you want me to do, dearest —I simply can't. You wouldn't have the man you love turn coward, would you, little one? I shall fight for all I'm worth, of course, and if there's a counsel alive who can prove my innocence and save me, I shall be saved. But things are black, dear, awfully, sickeningly black against me. I can't tell —I dare not hope." He paused and set his teeth grimly. . "But, come what may," he went on a moment later, "I won't play the coward. lam everything that is mad and bad and worthless, Heaven knows, but I've never,played a coward's part, and it is too-late in the day to, begin, now. I f they-come from Scotland Yard they will find me waiting here. If they take me I shall go quietly. If I am sent to Australia, and condemned there— —" His voice broke for a moment, but the gay, careless smile that curved his ,mouth never wavered. The smile that would never l desert him, even when he; went forth to meet the dread, penalty of a crime of which he was innocent. And Primrose, seeing the smile; flung her arms upward and about him with a bitter, heartbroken cry. To i save him! To save him! That was the one thought that filled her tender heart, the one prayer of her soul. To save him from the dread penalty of the law, from the dark shadow of death. He would not save himself by running away, that she knew now. It was not his nature: to run away. I fthey came for him they might take him. He would not try to escape from them —he realised his danger, just as she realised it, but the dare-devil coolness that characterised him made him make light of it, brush it aside with a laugh as unconcernedly as he flicked off a speck of cigarette ash from his sleeve. k (To be Continued).