Lady Marjorie's Love

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXV, Issue 10713, 22 April 1913, Page 2

Lady Marjorie's Love

(OUR SERIAL

By Carl Swerdna Author of "To the Uttermost Farthing," "A More Ceremony," "A Fight for Hono ur," Etc.

CHAPTER XXVlT.—Continued. "Quito right," said Harrington, "for really I have not. Norah and I have lived together as brother and lister, and cared ifor each other as siifli ever since .1 was about eight and she about four, but there is no relationship between us. She is the daughter of a girl who when he was a very young man, my father loved very dearly." "Yes?" .Marjorie leaned forward eagerly and interestedly. "Go on, plea.se!" she said. "It is a common enough story," Harrington went on simply. loved her, but she did not love h:m, and married somebody else. Ho never forgot her. When she died, a widow and very poor, he took the child to bring it up—he promised her —as though it were his, own. My mother was dead then. He kept his word—it isn't in him to do otherwise and so it comes about that I have a sister, in fact, though not in blood. I can never remember 'home without Norah. Shorn of embroideries, that's the story." It might have been told with far more circumlocution and far less effect. Perhaps Marjorie,, knitting her pretty eyebrows as she cogitated over it, thought so. Presently she came out of her abstraction with a little nod. "Thank you," .she said. "T understand now; it did puzzle me awfully, because, you see, I—" This wa<s dangerous ground, and she checked herself and bl'u&hed again. "I —I suppose," she said, hesitating, "that your father is very fond of Norah I- 1 " "Of Norah? He loves her as though she were his own daughter." "Of course! I dare say he forgets that she as not." She paused again with a doubtful glance. "'lt is so odd," she said, "but until last, night, vou know, I didn't even know you had a father!" "Dicmf you? Oh. yes, T have!" Marjorie did not catch his rapid glance and smile; her face was suddunly overcast and timid again, and her hand was feeling in her pocket. When she drew it out it had a little packet in it. "Mr Barrington," she said, with one glance at him, and then looking nervously away, "there is a little thing I want you to do for me if .vou will, please. You are sure to be going to Upton Wafers presently; when you go you will please, register and post this little packet for me? It is sealed and directed.' I particularly want it to go safely and to go to-day."

fled hurriedly upstairs; Barrington growled out something as improper as it was inarticulate, and swung round in the direction of the oak parlour. Inside, lie slammed the door viciously. "Bother that woman! Couldn't she have kept out of the way for three minutes longer? My poor little darling. 1 shan't catch another glimpse of her all day now, I 'suppose!'' He paced up and down wrathfully. "She'll cry her eyes out —half bieak her heart up there! I'd go and knock her door down for sixpence, confound it! Ten to one that old harridan will.be tormenting her again. Oh, hang this —I've had about enough of it—i can't stand it!" He made a. dash at the writing table. "I shall wire the governor to come down to-morrow!"

"With pleasure. It shall be posted sis soon as I get there, and-1 will take care that ti catches the two o'clock post. That will do?" "Thank you, that will do."

He had no need to glance at the size and shape of the little packet she held out to guess its contents; he would Jiave guessed it if lie bad not previously seen that the third finger of her left hard was hare. He knew that she was sending her engagement ring back to Laftus Blrigh. He took it without looking at it, and slipped it into his pocket. Marjorie rose, setting Jack down; lie had been coiled up beside her all this tiitne. Her glance toward the stairs was so expressive of her intended retreat that he spoke to check her, spoke, too, with a change in his voice, a formal change. "I beg your pardon. Lady Marjorie—l am sure I may be allowed to ask you a question : Do you know that the countess proposes to leave the castle on Saturday—the day after to-morrow?" ' "Yes', I know." She set her lips, trying to control their sudden quiver. "It does not make any difference to me. Tam not going with her." "No, I understand that. T was about to ask if it was an-auged when the - dowager—'' "She goes on Saturday, too. They are both going." v"I did not know that." He had indeed had no idea of it, and looked blank enough. "Then may I "ask what vour plans are? Do vou go to Ireland?" "No, I can't go—l won't go! It would break my heart—kill rae lif I

did, I think!" Her breast heaved; she turned toward the window, clasping her hands tight to keep herself composed. "I —I haven't any plans," blig said brokenly—"J don't know what I shall do. I only know that I can't go to Ireland. And, cf course, I can't stay here. There is another mail from the Continent to-night; perhaps I may get a letter from Aunt Eleanor in the morning. If I don't oh. I don't know what T shall do!" Her voice broke piteously ; her lips were quivering, her eyes .brimming; it was the scene in the park all over again. Altogether it '-ould have been nothing to wonder at if lie had allowed 'himself to presume again, to repeat the audacity of that memorable occasion. But lie did not. He maintained his coolly formal tone perfectly, and only bent a little closer to the bowed, brown head. I "It is a most* unfortunate state of affairs, certainly," he saild; "• after so much delay and so many disappointments 1 fear it will not be prudent to count on the receipt of Mrs Page's letter. But if you would allow me to presume so far as to offer you a, suggestion'—" "Yes?" As he paused she looked up into his face. "What is the euggestion " How does it come about that faultless people are so excessively trying to their fellow creatures? Why did the countess —that immaculate woman—choose that most unpropitious moment to open the library door and sail rustling into view!' Marjorie uttered a little scream and

CHAPTER XXYin. ■Sunlight a.s bright as that of yesterday streamed into the hall of Castle .Marling through Lady Marjorie'is favourite square window, but, although it streamed Tip on her, turning her hrown hair to ruddiest golden russet, she scarcely knew it was shining. With her face lvidden in the faded folds of a heavy curtain, she was sobbing hopelessly, despairingly. A to.ni envelope lay on the floor at her side* a crumpled letter was crusli. Ed in her hand. Mrs Paget's delay was over at last; yesterday's Continental mail had brought her niece her answer. It wa.s a long answer, an elaborate answer; it was affectionate, commiserate, regretful, effusive—-Mrs Paget could gush, on paper or otherwise, in the most voluble feminine fashionbut it was inexorable and unmistakable- for all that. Words—many as she used—could not set forth her sorrow or express her sympathy, but, much as she should rejoice at the prospect were her unfortunate circumstances different, it was quite sible, that she could receive her nio:-?. Her dear girl must pardon the suggestion, but surely Lady iMarlingford or the 'dowager was the proper person to afford her a home? As for the | aversion which she had taken to Irej land and to the idea of life with her , grandmother, surely there was a good deal pf• fancy in that ? No doubt she i would find herself able to lis very happy there. When the writer re- . turned to England—which might he next year and might not —why. then, c.f bourse— And so the platitudes spun themselves out. Marjorie had mastered the meaning of the letter long before she reached the end, and had crushed it between her hands with a fierce little cry of . wounded pride and wrath and misery. Every one was cold and cruel and heartless —everything failed her —no one wanted her!- She turned to the curtain, buried her face in its fusty folds, and sobbed, heartbroken. Gerard Barrington, conring quickly out of the oak parlour on his way across the hall, might not have seen he.r had he possessed less keen eyes. Hub they were very keen, and he was instantly aware not only of her pre•sence, hut cf the passionate arief ar d despair which were exnreused in every line of her figure. The letter in her hand, the envelope on the floor at her .side, completed the story; he. quite understood. A curious expression crossed his face a,s he advanced to her—,it was like a wince and a smile in one. "I am afraid ynu have had had news, Lady Marjorie." "Yes." She heard him coming, hut had not stirred. —lt was of no nso to attemipt concealment, shethought wretchedly, and what could it matter? Nothing mattered, ■She. spoke without raising her T T have had my answer from Mrs Pa fret." "I fear it is'not the. answer you expected?" "It is the answer I should have expected, T suppose. She will not have me." She made a passionate little gesture. "Oh, I thought she was so fond of me! She can't care — she can't! Oh, it i>? cruel —cruel! Nobody wants me —nobody! f don't know what T shall do —I don't know where T shall go!" (To be Continued.)'