TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10404, 26 August 1911, Page 2

TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

CHAPTER IV.—Continued

"Yes, we have been together all our lives, never apart for more than a day. I shou'.d bo lost without her. Yon, don't know \vlhat she L; to me. I could not stay at liedbourne unless it is her home, too." In the midst of her rapid speech she stopped, aware, it seemed of them, of the suprised perplexity of her listener's expression, and then with a look and gesture of relief she turned toward the opening door. "Oh, I forgot you did not know! I am so stupid 1 This is Lorraine," she said. Bernard Severance, who had never heard of or suspected the existence of \Lorraine, would; have looked with interest and curiosity ,£t any entering figure, however commonplace; but most people who looked once looked twice at Lorraine Latouche, realising something strange, something unique, in her appearance and personality. Severance did so immediately, and, with an observation no* less sure, decided that there could not well stand side by side two girls more dissimilar. Lorraine was rather tall, perhaps on inch or so taller than Clare, and she possessed a beautiful figure. At the first, glance Severance perversely declined to admire anything eke about her. Her mouth was too large, her chin too firm, her skin too pale. The hair, twisted into a heavy knot and lying in careless, curled end* over her broad, low forehead, was of so glowing a chestnut that it was almost red. At a second glance he found himself bound to acknowledge the presence of a redeeming point in her eyes. Large, dark, yet intensely brae, they looked out from the shadow of long lasher> as black as the straight, somewhat heavy biows above them. Wio.s she older than Clare? She looked so. There was no girlish flutter and nervousness here. Who was she? There was something odd and bizarre about her which seemed to extend even to the quaint fashion of her thin black dress, rat low upon the full, white throat and clasped at the waist by a knotted girdle,, and to the black fillet of ribbon that bound back her glowing hair She stood still for a moment,. the light from the door flowing uporl her, and looked, at Severence as steadily and keenly as he looked at her. Then she advanced, quietly letting the door close behind her.

"I was under the impression that you were alone, Clare," she said. "I

thought T heard someone leave the room a few minutes ago." ' "Yes, dear, it was Mr Bethel'. Someone wanted to speak to him, I believe. Mr Severance and I were ailking " She broke off. "I beg Your Dardon. Mr Severance, let me introduce you to Miss Latouche. She is my sister."

"Indeed?" Returning the composed bend of Lorraine's head, Severance looked with involuntary wonder at Clare. "I must confess myself surprised," he said. "I was I —excuse me —not aware that you had a sister, Miss Throckmorton." "We are foster sisters." Lorraine quietly interposed. "The tie has been so much more to us all our lives than the ordinary tie of kinship that we are aDt to forget that it should be so much less."

Yes, Severance could see it. If the fondest trust and affection lay in the soft hazel eyes as the two stood side by side, #. very passion of love and devotion blazed up in the stormy depths of the blue. And he had always thought Hue eyes insipid! But not such eyes as those of Lorraine Latouohe! He did not admire her; something in her grave composure irritated him, but he admitted now that she had many claims to be termed beautiful.

"Lorraine," Clare said eagerly. "Mr Severance has been so. kind as to say that he hopes I shall still have my home at Redbcurne, and I have told him that I know that it is to be so if mother and I choose. And I have added, dearest, that I cannot part from you. You make home to Lorraine." ' She kissed' the other's cheek; her eyes were brimming with tears again". Not returning the kiss, but slightly tightening her arm about the other girl's waist, Lorraine addressed Severance. . "You see," quietly she said to him, "what she says, I say. Unless it is her own wish I shall never leave Clare." ' "Oh, at my wish!" Clare cried reproachfully. ' 'Lorraine!" "Many things happen, my love," Lorraine steadily answered. "We have had some happy years together, but we may live to look back to this day and wish that we had died now." She glanced at Severance again, and smiled oddly. "Clare is of a sanguine nature, Mr Severance. She loves me, and to the end of her days' it will puzzle her that the rest of the world does not of necessity regard me with her eyes. She is" quite sure now, as you perceive; that you will- bid me welcome here." !

'•, ''Miss Throckmorton is right,'' Severance said.: "Let me express my sincere hope, Miss Latouche, that you wil 1 make your home at Redbourne." He spoke cordially, hut he knew that he was genial only for Clare's sake. Already the impressions made upon him by the two girls differed as widely as did their personalities. To say that he had token a dislike to Lorraine Latouche would be too much, but just as he wiarmly.and spontaneously admired Clare, so he found himr self instinctly critical of her foster sis-

(OUR NEW SERIAL.)

By CARL SWERDNA, Author of "A Mere Ceremony."

ter. He was glad that the few words of thanks which she uttered were quite formal in their brevity. As she spoke them she looked back at Clare. "Your mother was awake when *•. passed her room, dear," she said. "She was asking for you, and I said I would send you. lam sure Mr Severance will excuse your going." The words, caressingly toned as they were, were yet spoken almost as ;i mother might have spoken them, and, like a daughter, Clare instantly obeyed. As she left the room, Lorraine looked at Severance with a faint smile once more upon her face . "I am glad I told her to see you today," £ihc said. "It will divert her thoughts. She is very sensitive, very affectionate;, she .feels Sir Bernard's loss greatly." She paused; to his surprise and discom torture she read his involuntary thought instantly. "You are thinking that I speak of het almost as though she were a child, * she said calmly. "Perhaps I do fail into that habit now and then. But remember, please, that I am so much older than Clare."

"Older?" Severance echoed, puzzled. He was not attracted by her — he was vaguely repelled, indeed—but ho had already began to think that in more than looks this was an unusuil girl. "I beg your pardon, Miss Latouche. but, since Miss Throckmorton spoke of you as her foster sister. I must confess that I fail to see " "How 1 can be older?" She made a quick, disdainful gesture with her hand. "Clare has lived just twentyfour years," she said. "I have lived just twenty-four years. But what a folly, what a mockery, to call us the Rame age because the earth has gone round the sun the same number, of times since we both were born! Yes, we have lived the same number of years in the world, and are the samo ago as the almanacs reckon. It is the orly point that we have in 'common, I think, except that we love eacn other. But perhaps you are one of the men that believe that „ women never do that. Are you?" "I hope not.'! /

"Ah!" she exclaimed, and paused. "In other respects -we are as unlike each ..other as it is ppsisible to be. ■ I will sum it up in one sentence for you. Clare is an angel, and I What is the antithesis of an angel in your vocabulary?" Her great, stormy eyes shot a mocking glance at him that was oddly defiant, too. "You don't care to answer, though I deserve that yoii should. It doesn't matter. lam talking sheer folly, and I know it. I had something different to say to you." She passed her hand over her forehead, and presently let it drop with a weary gesture; the gibing note died out of her voice. "Mr Severance, although I am Clare's foster sister, I beg you to understand that I am not her equal in any way — in any way, remember. My father was lance-sergeant in the regiment in which hers was major. My mother was a Liverpool working girl, I believe. They both died when I was quite a little thing. Some army asylum would have given me shelter, I suppose, but for Clare. She loved me then as she loves me now; we had been always together, and she refused to part from me. I have shared her life in all ways ever since, learning as she learned, growing as she grew. It is to her I owe the fact that,.l am here as what is conventionally called a 'lady' instead of a mere drudge bred in charity. There are some grains of pride in me which have no business there. T shudder at the thought of that. And do you know what Clare does—Clare, who is an angel? She calls me her superior—she • believei that lam so! I beg your pardon! i don't know why I bore you like this! Don't heed me!"

She turjtied away, dashing her hand with an impatient besture across her eyes. He knew that there were tears in them, and the knowledge softened him, but not with the same distress and pity which he had felt at the sight of them in Clare's eyes. He judged it best to leave her to speak, and in less than a minute she did so, but. to his surprise she entirely changed the subject. She was determined to ignore her emotion, it seemed, and he could easily divine it .was itat.one.to which she often gave way. "Clare tells me everything, Mr Severance," she said, "and Sir Bernard told most things to Clare. So you will not be surprised at my knowing that until to-day you were a poor man. _ May I ask you a question? Does it make much difference to you?" "Difference?"

"Yes. Not in your circumstances—that question answers itself—but in your feelings. Does it please you to be rich? Do you care much?" t "Naturally!" Her eyes still questioned him, unsatisfied with the word, that he went on: "Care? If you knew anything of what my life had been, Miss Latouche, you would- not require. a reply, believe me. trhave worked for eight years against hope; 1 I have known the bitterness of failure" afterfailure; my poverty has gripped; me back from success a score ,of times, and I suppose I am what is called both a proud man and an ambitious man. Does that answer your question?" (To ibe continued.)