Lady Marjorie's Love

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXV, Issue 10713, 11 April 1913, Page 2

Lady Marjorie's Love

By Carl Swerdna Author of "To the Uttermost Fwtbing," "A Mere Ceremony," "A Fight for Hono ir," Etc.

(OURSFR'/L

CHAPTER XXTT.—Continued. Harrington came nut, buttoning a li«rht dust cn.it. Norah turned and c-'aspi'tl his arm affectionately; the. lamp rays showed the glitter of tears, in her eves. "It's a foolish thing to do, Gerard--worse than foolish, isn't it?—but I have been wondering how it wouk. have been if things had fallen out as T think we each thought once they might do. If—l mean, we had married each other." "It : s ton late for that speculation, my dear girl!" His tone was gentle, caressing; lie could see the tears m her eves. . "Yes, ~ves —J know! she sighed 'T am foolish to speak of it, 1 know! But once it might have been, I suppose, is it strange or the reverse that it has not been, I wonder, when we have alwavs been so fond of each other? Never mind! Bid me goodbye, Gerard. We can't do it at the station. Ho took her into. Ins arms and kissed her, and s he kissed him with a sob as she did .so. "You will remember your promise, Xorah?" .iy ps —yes!" she answered earnestly. 'T will, indeed! You shall either see me or hear from me before a week is out. 1 promise yon, dear." He kissed her again, as if to seal the bargain and put her hand on his arm. They crossed the stretch - of grass, reached the path that skirted it, and their lessening figures were blotted out in the waving shadows of | the trees. J Lady Marjorie stood still, her heart I heating fast, lights dancing before her • eyes, and with her face white as tlie moonbeams. CHAFIER. XXIII. Castle Ma'.'hrg the next day received an uncomfortable surprise, and was the scene of a pitched battle, j The former was caused by the appearance of the dowager at the luncheon table, and the latter took place immediately after the conclusion of that meal. The dowager, in thus leaving her room and exposing herself to the chance of a second slip on the stairs, wa.s acting in direct, opposition to the commands of her doctor, the advice of the countess, and the meek remonstrances of her long-suffering maid. But to sot every one at defiance and do what she pleased in spite of them hist suited the perverse old woman. She was in her most irascible mood, and at the table made herself disagreeable with so much vigour and relish that even the imperturbable countess avoided rather than answered her gibes, and .Marjorie did not speak at all. Her aspect, indeed, was so utterly wan and miserable rlmt even her stepmother glanced at her once or twice and raised her handsome evebrows in a sort of cool wonder. But, although the skirmishing thus went on and the mutter of impending war was ominously in the air. the battle did not break. The dowager was merely rallying her force s preparatory to attack. The meal being over and the servants'gone, .she promptly fired .a broadside. "I'd like to know, me Ladv Marjorie. bow long ye think ye'll be taking with vour packing?" "I? My packing?" Marjorie started, the'cobu.r flew over her white little face. "My packing, grandmamma?" "Isn't it your packing I say?" cried the dowager sharply, with a tap of her glittering, wrinkled old baud. "It's soft or asleep the girl is, I think! Sure ye're your mother all over, -child, and it's a poor, weak, helpless bit of a thing she was if ever one'there was yet! I say, how long is it that vr.ur [lacking is going to take, seeing t hear from that saucy hussy Alio? that ye haven't so much as begun it yet? It's a little more active that ye'll have to be in Tipperary, me dear, for it isn't a maid to yourself that I'll lie able to afford ye! Here's me Lady Marlingford leave* the castle* nil Sat urda v. she tells me, and it isn't I that'll demean myself by staying here with the Chadburn man, so it's Saturday that I'll go, too. So now ye know, child, without any mistake,' how. long is it that ye've got to get ready in." "Oh, no, grandmamma —no!" Marjorie sprang to her feet in a sort of terror, looking imploringly at the grim sardonically smiling old ''ace. "I—l can't go to' Ireland!" she said. "I told you so. I am waiting for Aunt Eleanor'* letter. I am going to her." She iilanced beseechingly at her stepmother, mutely begging for help, but the countess' hard eyes were cast coldly down; her expression and a'" ; - hide' plainly showed that she withdrew herself entirely from the conversation. The dowager laughed. "It's to Tipperary ye're going and nowhere else, and it isn't a fuss, 1 tell ye plainly, me dear, that 1 mean to have about it!" she said, with a portentous nod of decision and a. tap of the ivory-headed , s tick. "And, as for Eleanor'Paget, ye'll be good enough not to mention the name of her to me again. . It's a good memory f have," for all I'm seventy-seven, and well do T remember the names she's put her tongue to for me before ever she bothered that poor innocent boy.Harry Paget, into. marrying her. 'Yo.'li regret it, me dear, for , s itro it's the extravagance of a payeock --Ik has. and never a sixpence to jingle against another!" said I to him. and, faith, so .she had. and regret it he dV long before ever bi s day came- to lie in the grave that she worried him into. And if ye had any sense, me lady, instead of being the si irmly vl! of a child ve are, it's well ye'd know

why it i.; ye've had no answer to your letter!" ' The t b>»vager grimly chuckled again. "Sure, Eleanor Paget's no fool, and ye're too pretty, Marjorie, though I say it, to be seen with those, two great awkward gawks of girls of hers. And you without a sixpence, too! It isn't the bread of charity that Eleanor Paget will cut, much less butter, let me tell you. No, no, me dear, ye'll just pack your boxes and come to Ireland with inc.' There's nothing to keep ye in England." The tone of the last sentence was expressive; the glance lent it stress. Marjorie opened her lips to spe.'k. The dowager, watching her keenly, did not intend her to speak. She struck in before a syllable could pass her lips. X'ever did there live one of her sex more cruelly astute than the little old woman. She made, a peremptory gesture with her shrunken. jewelled old hand —made it as though the girl had answered her. "Pooh, pooh, me dear. It isn't at this time of day that ye'll try to make a fool of me or to demean yourself b\\talking of Loftus Bligh! Sure it was but your money that he was after; and it's plain enough he's •shown that it's little he wants >ou now that it's gone. And as for tiie precious engagement—and your father would never have allowed it if he'd had bis wits —sure, it isn't that that it's worth!" cried the dowager shrilly, with an emphatic thump of the stick. "Faith, it's a money-hunt-ing jackanapes of a scamp he must bp. and it's I that would like to tell him .so! Xo, no, Marjorie, ye'll do as 1 tell ye, and put that nonsense out of your head, my girl. If ye would have taken young Jocelyn, that T understand from Lady Marlingford here has offered ye more than once, why, ye might have staved and welcome, - but since ye won't' —" "I hate Tom Joceiyn!" Mr.rjone flashed fiercely. "Fenella knows T do!" "But since ve won't, why, ye must came b;i"k to Ireland with me." concluded the dowager eabnly. "Xo!" Marjorie said emphatically. "T am not ;i slave," -be said. "I am not a child! T—T von't go banc with you!" (To be Continued.)