THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XI, Issue 897, 23 March 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIFE IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Doha Thorne," "On Her Wedding Moen," "Eedeejted by love," " a woman's War," &0.,.& c. (Continued from last Saturday's issue.) CHAPTER XI. She was of dauntless couvasre she knew no fear ; but she did tremble and quail before the future stretching out before her—the future that was to have no love, and was to be spent without him. How was she to ib 1 She had known no other hope in life, no other dream. What had been childish nonsense to him had been to her a serious and exquisite reality. He had either forgotten it or had thought of it only with annoyance ; she had made it the very cornerstone of her life. It was not only a blow of the keenest and cruelest kind to her affections, but it was the cruelest blow her vanity could have possibly received. To think that she who had more admirers at her feet than any other woman in Loudon should have tried so hard to win this one, anl have failed—that' her beauty, her grace, her wit, her talent, should all have be'en lavished upon him, and lavished in vain. Why had she failed so completely % Why had she not won his lo?e ? It was given to no other—at least she hiid the consolation of knowing that. He had talked about his ideal, but he had not found it ; he had his own idea of womanhood, but he had'not met it.

4 Are other women fairer, more lovable than lam?' she asked hex*self. ' Why should another win where I have failed f

So. through the long hours of the night, she lamented the love and the wreck of her life, she mourned for the hope that could never live again, while her name was on the lips of men who praised her as the queen of beauty, and fair women envied her as one who had but to will and to win.

She would have given her whole fortune to win his love—not once, but a hundred times over.

It seemed to her a cruel mockery of fate that she, who had everything the world could give—beauty, health, wealth, fortune should ask but this one gift, and that it should be refused her.

She watched the stars until they faded from the skies, and then she buried her face in the pillow, and sobbed herself to sleep. It was when the sun, shining into her room, reached her that an idea occurred to Philippa which was like the op-springing of new life to her. All was not yet lost He d\d not love her—he had not thought of making her his wife; but it did no* follow that he would never do so. What had not patience and perseverance accomplished before now? What had not love won ?

Ho had acknowledged that she was beautiful ; he had owned to her often how much he admired her. So much granted was it impossible that he should learn to love her ? She told herself that she would take courage—that she would persevere —that her great love must in time prevail, and that she would devote her life unweariedly to it. She would carefully hide all traces of pique or annoyance. She would never let him find her dull or un happy. Men liked to be amused. She would do her best entertain him. He shculd never have a moment's vacancy in her society. She would find sparkling anecdotes, repartees, and witty and humorous stories to amuse him. He liked her singing; she would cultivate it more and more. She would study him, diess for him, live for him, and him alono ; she would have no other end, aim, thought, or desire. She would herself be the source of all his amusements, so that he'should look for the every-day pleasures of his life to her ; and, such being- the case she would win him—she felt sure of it. Why had she been so hopeless, so despairing % There was no real cause for it. Perhaps, after all, he had looked upon the whole affiir, not as a solemn engagement, but as a childish farce. Perhaps he had never really thought of her as

Ibis wife; but there would be an end to that thoughtlesness now. What had passed on -the previous day would arouse his attention ; he could never know the same indifference again. So she rose, with renewed hope. She shrank from the look of her face in the glass- ' Cold water and fresh air,' she said to herself, with a smile, ' will scon remedy such paleness/ And thus, on that very day, began for her the new life- the life in which, no longer sure of her love, she was to try to win it. He would have loved her had be been able, but his own words were true * Love is fate.'

There was nothing in common between them—no sympathy—none of those mystical chords that, once touched, set two human heart? throbbing, and never rest until they are one. He could not have been fonder of her than he was, in a brotherly sense j but, as for lover's love, from the first day he had seen her, a beautiful, dark-eyed child, until the last, he had never felt the least semblance of it.

It was a story of failure. She strove as perhaps woman never before had striven, and she succeeded in winning his truest admiration, his warmest friendship. He felt more at home with her than with anyone in the wide world. But there it ended ; she won no more. It was not his fault; it was simply because the electric spark—love -had never been and never could be elicited between his soul and hers, fle would have done anything for her; he was her truest, best friend—but he was not her lover.

She hoped against hope. Each day she cbunted the kind words he had said to her ; she noted every glance, every look, every expression. But she could not find that she made any progress—r-nothing that indicated any change from brotherly friendship to love. Still she hoped against hope; and, but for this living fouutain of hope, the.chances are that she, would have died of a broken heart.

Then the season ended. She went back to Verdun Royal with Lady Peters, and Lord Arleigh went to Beechgrove. They wrote to each other at Christmas, and met at Calverley, the seat of Lord Rineham. She contrived, even when away from him, to fill hie life. She was always consulting him on matters of interest to her; she sought his advice continually, and abo"t every thing, from the renewal of a lease to the making of a new acquaintance. 1 1 cannot do wrong,' she said to him, if I follow your advice.' He was pleased and happy to be able to help the daughter of his mother's dearest friend.

Her manner completely deceived him. If she had evinced the least pique or discontent—if she had, by word or look, shown the least resentment—he would have suspected that she cnred for him, and would have been on his guard. -As it was, he would not have believed any one who had told him she loved him.|

The explanation had been made ; there was no longer even a shadow between them; they, both understood that the weak, nonsensical tie was broken. That they were the dearest of friends, and qnite happy, would have been Lord Arleigb's notion of matters. Philippa L'Estrange might have told him a different story. The proposed party at Beechgrove did not come off. There were some repairs needed in the eastern wing, and Lord Arleigh himself had so many engagements that no time could be found for it; bat when the season came round Philippa and he

met again. By this time some of Miss L'Estrange's admirers had come to the conclusion that there was no truth in the report of the engage, ment between herself and Lord Arleigh. Amongst these was his Grace the Duke of Hazlewood. He loved the beautifully queenly girl who had so disdainfully refused his coronet —the very refusal had made him care more than ever for her. He was wordly-wise enough to know that there were but few women in London who would have refused him, and he said to himself, that, if she would not marry him, he would go unmarried to his grave. He was one of the first to feel sure that there was no truth in the. rumour that had grieved him so the previous year. Miss L'Estrange and Lord Arleigh were by force of circumstances great friends—nothing more; and this season he determined to make si friend of the man whom he had detested as a rival.

WhentheDukeof Hazlewood made up his mind, he generally accom-1 plished his desire ; he sought Lord Arleigh with such assiduity, he made himself so pleasant and agreeable to him, that the master of Beechgrove soon showed him his most cordial and sincere liking. Then they became warm friends. The Duke confided in Lord Arleigh—he told him the whole story of his love for Miss L'Estrange.

4 1 know/ he said, ' that no one has so much influence over her as you. I do not believe . in the absurd stories told about an engage ment betwen you two, bnt I see plainly that she is your friend, and that you are hers : and I want you to nse your influence over her in my favour.' Lord Arleigh promised to do so —and he intended to keep his promise } they were on such intimate

and friendly terms that he could venture upon saying anything of that kind to her. She would not be displeased -on the contrary, she would like his advice; it might even be that before now she had wished to ask for it, but had not liked to do so—so completely did these two play at cross-purposes and misunderstand each olher.

* It was easier to say to himself that he would speak to her as the Duke had wished than to do it. He saw that any allusion to her lovers or admirers made her ill at ease—she did not like it; even his laughing comments on the homage paid to her did not please her. ' I do not like lovers,' she said to I him one day, ' and I am tired of admirers—l prefer friends.' ' But,' he opposed, laughingly,' if all that wise men and philosophers tell us is correct, there are no true friends.' He never forgot the light that shone in her face as she raised it to his.

'I do not believe that,' she returned ; c there are true friends—you are one to me.' The tenderness of her manner struck him forcibly. Something kinder and softer stirred in his heart than had ever stirred before for her ; he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. ' You are right, Philippa,' he said. 'lf ever a woman had a true, staunch friend, I am and will be one to you.

J From her heart to her lips rose the words, 'Shall you never be more ?' Perhaps even her eyes asked the question more eloquently than her lips could have done, for his face flushed, and she turned away with some slight embarrassment. ' I shall try to keep your friendship,' she said; ' but that will be easily done, Norman.' ' Yes,' he replied, * one of the traditions of our house is * truth in friendship, trust in love, honor in war.' To be a true friend and a noble foe is characteristic of the Arleighs. ' I hope you will never be a foe of mine,' she rejoined, laughingly. And that evening, thinking over the events of the day, she flattered herself that she had made some little progress after all. 2b be Continued.