THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XI, Issue 894, 16 March 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIPE IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Doba Thobne," "On Heb "Wedding Mobn," " Redeemed by Love," "A "Woman's , Wab," &0., kc. (Continued from last Saturday's issue.) CHAPTER X. As he watched her, there seemed fco him no trace of anything but light-hearted mirth and happiness; about her. She laughed and talked ; sho was the centre of attraction — the life oi the fete. When he spoke to her, she had a careless jest, a laughing word for him ; yet he could nofc divesb himself of the idea th at tliere was something behind all this. Was it his fancy, or did the daik eyes wear every now and then an. expression of anguish % Was it his fancy, or did ifc really happen that, when she believed herself un« observed, the light died out of her face ? He was uncomfortable, without knowing why — haunted by a vague, miserable suspicion h.a could not explain, by a presentiment he could not underst aud — compelled, against bis will to watch her, yet unable to detect anything m her words and manner that justified his doing so. It bad been arranged that, after the fete, he should return to Verdun House with Lady Peters and Philippa. He had half promised ta dine and spend the evening there, but now he wondered if that arrangement would be agreeable toPhilippa. He felt that some degree of restraint had arisen between them. He was thinking what excuse he could frame, when Philippa sent for him. He looked into the fresh young face ; there was no cloud ort it. ' Norman,' she said, ' I find that Lady Peters hns asked Miss Byrton to join us at dinner — will you come now . Ifc has been a charming day, but I musfc own that the warmth, of the sun has tired me." Her tone of voice was so calm, so unruffled that he could have laughed at himself lor his suspicions and fears. < I am quite ready,' he replied. 'If you would like the carriage, ordered we will go at once,'

He noticed her going home more particularly than he had ever done before. She was a trifle paler, and there was a languid expression m her dark eyes, which might arise from fatigue; but she talked as lightly as usual. If anything, she was even kinder to him than usual, never evincing the least consciousness of what had happened. Could it have been a dream 1 Never Was man so puzzled as Lord Arleigh ! They talked after a dinner about a grand fancy-ball that Miss Byrton intended giving at her mansion m Grosvenor Sqnare. She was one of those who believed implbitly m the engagement between Lord Arleigh .and Miss L'Estrange. ' I have a Waverly quadrille already fornaed,' said Miss Byrton — ' that is de rigueur. There could not not be a fancy ball without a Waverly quadrille. How I should like two Shakespei'ean ones ! I thought of having one from "As Yon Like It " and another from " Romeo and Juliet ;" and, Miss L'Estrauge, 1 wish youte come as Juliet. It seems rude even to suggest a character to anyona with such perfect taste as yours — still I i should like to have a beautiful iTuliet : Juliet m white satin and glimmer of pearls." ' I am quite willing,' returned Philippa. ' Juliet is one of my favourite heroines. How many Romeos will you have ?' 4 ' Only one, if I can so manage it,' replied Miss Byrton — ' and that will be Lord Arleigh. She looked at him as she spoke ; he shook his head laughingly: ( N6 — I yield to no one m reverence for the creations of the great poet,' he said: 'but, to tell the truth, I do not remember that the character of Borneo ever had any great charm for me.' ' Why not V asked Miss Byrton. ' I cannot tell yon ; lam very much afraid that I prefer Othello — the noble Moor. Perhaps it is be--cause sentiment has not any great attraction for me. I do not think I could ever kill myself for love. I should make a sorry Romeo, Miss Byrton. With a puzzled face she looked fron him to Miss L'Estrange. ' You surprise me,' she said, quietly. ' I should have thought Romeo a character above all others to please you.' Philippa had listened with a smile — nothing had escaped her. Looking up, she said, with & bright laugh — '1 cannot compliment you on being a good judge of character, Miss Byrton. It may be perhaps that you have not known Lord Arleigh well enough. But he is the last person m the world to make a good Romeo. I know but one act m Shakespere's plays tkat would suit him. 'And that?' interrogated Lord Arleigh. 'That,' replied Philippa, 'is Petruchio :' and amidst a general laugh the conversation ended. Miss Byrton was the first to take her departure. Lord Arleigh lingered for some time — he was still unconvinced: The wietched, halfformed suspicion that there was something hidden beneath Philippa's manner still pursued him ; he wanted to see if she was the same to him.. There was indeed no perceptible difference. She leaned back m her favorite chair with an air of relief as though she were tired of visitors. ' Now let us talk about the fete, -Norman,' she said. ' You are the Only one I care to talk with about my neighbours.' So for half an hour they discussed the fete, the dresses, the music, the different flirtations— Philippa m her usual bright, laughing, half-sarcastic fashion, with the keen sense of humour that was peculiar to herLord Arleigh could not see that there was any effort m her con versa* tion ; he could not Bee the least shadow on her brightness ; and at heart he was thankful When he was going away, she asked him about riding on the morrow just as usual. He could not see the slightest difference m her manner. That unpleasant little conversation on the lake might never bave taken place for all the remembrance of it that seemed to trouble her. Then, when he rose to take his leave, she held out her hand with a bright, amused expression. 'Good night, Petruchio,' she said. 'I ara pleased at the name I have found you.' ' I am not sure that it is appropriate, he rejoined. ' • I think on the whole I would rather love a Juilet than tame a shrew.' 'It may be m the book of fate that you will do both,' she observed ; they parted, laughing at the idea. • To the last the light shone m her eyes, and the scarlet lips were wreathed m smiles ; but, when the door had closed behind him, and she was alone, tbe haggaid, terrible change tbat fell over tbe young face was painful to see. The light, the youth, the beauty seemed all to iade'from it ; it grew white, stricken, as though the pain of death were upon her. She clasped her hands as one who bad lost all hope. < How am I to bear it ?' she cried. < What am Itodo ?' She looked round her with the bewildered air of one who had lost her way— with the dazed appearance of one from beneath whose feet the plank ol safety had been withdrawn. It was all over— life was all over; the love that had been her life was suddenly taken from her, iHop was

dead — the past m which she had lived was all a blank — he did not love her. She said the words over and over again to herself. He did not love her -this man to whom she had given the passionate love of ber whole heart and soul — he did not love her, and never intended to ask her to be his wife. Why had she lived for this 1 This love, lying now m ruins around her, had been her existence. Standing there, m the first full pain of ber despair, she realised what tbat love had been — her life, her hope, her world. She had lived m it ; she had known no other wish, no other desire It had been her all, and now it was less than nothing. ' How am I to live and bear it V she asked herself again; and the only answer that came to her was the dull echo of her own despair. That night, while the sweet flowers slept under the light of the stars, and the little birds rested m the deep shade of the trees — while the night- wind whispered low, and the moon sailed m the sky — Philippa L'Estrange, the belle of the season, one of the most beautiful women m London, one of the wealthiest, heiresses m England, wept through the long hours — wept for the overthrow of her hope and her love, wept for the life that lay m ruins around her. To le Continued.