TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10433, 26 September 1911, Page 2

TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

CHAPTER XlX—Continued

"Yes, I know. Do I know why ho went?" "Yes —you must." Her lips formed the words rather than spoke them. She did not look up. Her hand lay near, and he touched it. "Would he speak ? Could you not stop him?" Surely she granted a right to be questioned while her hand was t»hus yielded? "No, 1 could not. I tried I had tried before. lam very sorry —I am afraid he blames me. But it is not my fault —a man sometimes will not see." It seemed that the sound of her own voice encouraged her, she gently drew her hand away from his. "I tried to stop him," she added, but it Was useless. I saw last night that it would be so."- v "I, too, saw last night that :t would.'-' ! "Last night? You?" In surprise she glanced at him. "At the theatre ?'■ "Yes." "Ah!" She caught at the subject with a tremulous eagerness, with a sparehcy, he told himself exn'i* antly, which should,have deceived no one She did know I He had fright, enad her; she understood well enough that she could hold him at bay only as long as he chose that it shouM be so. "Ahl" shesaid with a laugh. "Yes, the theatre —I had forgotten that. Jl ill <?ive us something to talk aboin. It will be more amusing that nothing, at any rate. Tell me—what .lid-you think of the opera?" "I know nothing about it. I saw only you." All that he was burning to utter was spoken in the words. Her breath camo audibly through-parted lips; she blanched and shrank away. What was the expression in her dilated eyes? Terror, triumph, agony, joy? The wonder flash ed through hi 3 brain even as the blindly hurried'movement with which sho sprang'to her feet was stopped tby his arms about her.

"Lorraine!" His voice broke hoarsely upon his first speaking of her name; there was the hot smarting of tears in his eyes, so exquisitely keen was the enaction which possessed him. "Lorraine you must be my .wife—you mint! I love you! I'm yours utterly! I have been blind, insane, I think, but now —

Last night that other man by you — good heavens, it drove me mad I And you are mine—mine, as I am yours—you shall own it! Ah, you do!" She had struggled faintly, had tried to .press him back from her, but now the hands locked shieldlike upon her breast parted and drooped unresistingly, and her lips, meeting his, gave kiss for kiss. But she spoke no word. Her eyes answered his, her lips answered his, but she lay in his arms dumb. When he would have spoken she raised her hand and pressed it upon his lips hurriedly. "Hush!" she said in a rapid whisper. Don't speak! Not yet! Not yet!" Severance did not wish to speak. The delight of holding her thus, of the bewildering joy of knowing her won, was sufficient to satisfy him. But not for long. At a faint movement which she made, as though to withdraw herself, he strengthened his clasp about her, bringing his lips to her ear. "Not yet, 'Lorraine—you don't escape so easily! You give me yourself, you give me your lips, but I want words from them. How long will they keep me waiting to hear what I know already?" , As he kissed her she returned the kiss, but in giving it while she clung to him she shivered. Then with her hands against his breast she pressed him back from her.

"No; longer," she said in a voice strangely low. "I will speak at once. What can it matter? The words can be no worse in your memory than my kisses. You will laugh to recall botih, perhaps, some day. Yes, I love you!" 'fLaugh!, Worse!" If the words bewildered, the change in her face, the look in her agonised eyes, appalled him.' "Lorraine!"

"Let me ( go!" she said faintly. "I'm weak while you touch me-7-I can't speak;: Let: me, gol". "Involuntarily," inEis amazement, he yielded to her movement, his arms dropped, and she stepped back. With a strange smile on her white lips she stood looking at him, and made; a downward gesture with her hand, as though she pointed to an impossible gulf which stretched between them.

"Yegj I love you!" .she said again, deliberately, and in a monotonously steady tone. "I always have loved .you—always' from the first—at Redbourne. I have known for a, long time time that you have loved me that with a word I could open your eyes, could make you understand, if I chose. I saw in your face to-night that you would speak if I gave you the chance, and I encouraged you. Why? Because I was mad, perhaps. I longed to feel 'your arms round me—to take your kisses a,nd give you mine. I hope this makes you hate me —I' tell you to make make you loathe me if I can. Well, I've had my wish." She put her hand to her throat; the smile quivered across her lips again the very ghost of mirtih. "You thought you understood when I said I loved you you thought it was only the beginning, that all would follow as you would have it do. No, it is the end! It be-' gins with that and ends with that, I shall never be your wife!" "Lorraine!" He sprang towards her, but she evaded him. j

"Don't touch me!" she repeated. ■"I ara strong enough to resist you now I even if you have me in your arms again, but don't touch mo! It is true son.

(OUR NEW SERIAL.)

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

CHAPTER XX

—I will never marry you." "You are mad!" he cried. He felt as though he were mad himself as he caught her hands by force and held them, making her face him. "Do you think that after to-night I will take this from you?" "Say I am mad," she answered. "It makes no difference. It is true." "You will not be my wife, you say " "No —never." ' 'Wo are to part —you and I?" "Yes, we are to part." "And vou say you love me?" "Yes, I love you!" "Then what is it? In the name of all that is sensible, what do you mean?" He loosened his hold of her hands. "There is something I don t understand," ho said hoarsely. "There is someone between us—some other man?" "That ?" Even in tfoe midst of his rage and bewilderment he saw the amazed reproach of her face. "I have kissed no man but you in my life 1" she said. "There is not, there never has been, another for me."

Severance did not answer. He stood looking at her,, struggling with the temptation that assailed him to seize her in his arms again, to crush her resistance out of her, and stifle every word on her lips but those that he chose to hear. But would she yield? She looked rigid as marble —a rock against which his rage and misery might beat in vain. He struggled with himself 'again and spoke in a tone as coldly level as her own. "This is you last word, Lorraine?" "Yes," she answered faintly. "I am to leave you—now ?" \ "Yes—yes! Oh, go! I can't bear much more!"

"Very well, I will go. For to-night you shall have your way. But only for to-night. I shall come again tomorrow."

"I —I will not see you." "I stall come until you do. It shall be a fight if you will have it so. We will see which wins!" He laughed harshly. "TSbrture me with this whim of yours if you like—it shall not be for long!' You will not marry me, you say ? A woman who Ibas owned to a man that she loves him has parted with three-fourths of her defences. You shall be my wife before the year is out!"

"So everybody was there last night, Clare?" / ; "It seemed like it. Mrs Wilsou said I must scold you —you were the only defaulter, she thought." i "One very little imissed. And it was a pleasant dance, dear?" "I suppose it was. Every one seemed to enjoy it." "Did you, love? You have told me very little about it." "No not much. I am tired of all this kind of thing, and shall be glad< to get back to ißedbourne." All Clare's replies had been unusual-; j ly curt; her face, as she sat by the' window, her chin resting on her hand, was, gloomy. She had breakfasted in bed, had declined to appear at luncheon on-the plea of a, headache, and had remained until the afternoon upstairs in-the sitting room which the ' foster sisters shared 'between them. So far her unusual silence and absorption —quickly noticed—had been an intense relief to Lorraine. Conscious of her own pallor and of the purple rings which a night of sleepless misery had draiwn beneath, her eyes, she had shrunk from meeting the eager, fond: inquiries.which Clare at any other; time would have been quick to make. I Lorraine, watching her with anxious eyes of alarm and questioning, felt an added weight upon the heart which already lay like a/stone in her breast. Her own agony might wring her to excruciation, but she could not dis- " regard Clare's trouble. And she desper-. ately longed.to relieve the torture which well nigh maddened her —the torture of remembering last night; She bent over Clare's chair, caressing tfhe hair which fell over the girl's shoulders.

"What is it, darling? lam not mistaken in thinking—that you are out bi spirits, surely ? " "No." Her breast heaved with 4 breath that was almost a sob: "I — I'm miserable, Lorraine!" "Miserable? You!"

"Yes." Clare's lips were trembling. "I —I wish I haid not gone last night. It was horrid,altogether. I cried myself to sleep, I was so wretched! I —oh, I wish there was nolx>dy in the world but you, Lorraine!" She burst into tears, flinging herself on the other's shoulder and clinging to her neck. Without speaking Lorraine drew a chair beside her and sat down, slipping an arm about, her waist. She would have been more demonstrative at another time at the sight of this distress in her darling. Her emotions were partially stunned. Part of her life .seemed to have passed away last night. "iSomething happened at the dance," she said gently—"something that annoyed you ? You will tell me What it wias, dear?" (To be Continued.)