THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XI, Issue 906, 13 April 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIPE IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Doha. Thorn*;," " o.\- Hub TVmddixo 3loiin," " RkKKIiJIKD uy Lovis," " A Woiux's War," &c, «fcc. (Continued from last Saturday's issue.) CHAPTER XIV. It was nearly half an hour afterwards when Lady Peters once more drew aside the hangings. < Philippa, she said, gently, ' you will take cold out there,'

She wondered why the girl paused some few minutes before answering; then Miss L'Estrange said, in a low, calm voice—- ' Do not wait for me, Lady Peters ; I am thinking, aud do not wis") to be interrupted.' But Lady Peters did not seem quite satisfied. ' I do not like to leave you sittiug there,' she said; ' the servants will think it strange.' 'Their thoughts do not concern me,' she return, haughtily. ' Good nigh t, Lady Peters y do not interrupt me again, if you please.' And the good-tempered chaperonc went away, thinking to herself that, per haps, she had done wrong iu interrupting the tete-a-tete. < Still I did it for the best,' she said to lmself; and servants will talk.' Philippj L' Estrange did not move. Lady Pete :s thought she spoke in a calm, proud voice. She would have been surprised could she have seen the beautiful face all wet with tears ; for Phjlippu Jio.4 {aid tier bead 011.

the cold stone, an 1 was weeping such tears as woman weep but ouco in life. She sat there lut striving to subdue , the tempest of emotion that shook her,/giving full vent to her passion of grief, stretching out her hands.and crying to her lost love. It was all over now. She bad stepped down from the proud height of her glorious womanhood to ask for. his, dove, and he had told her tlr-it he had none to give her. She had thrown aside her pride, her delicacy. She had let him read the guarded secret of her heart, only to hear his reply—that she was not his ideal of womanhood. She had asked for bread—he had given her a stone. She had lavished her love at his feet —he had coolly stepped aside. She had lowered her pride, humiliated herself all in vain. ' No woman,' she said to herself, ' would ever pardon such a slight or forgive such a wrong.' At first she wept as thongh her heart would break; tears fell like rain from her eyes—tears thatsoemed to burn as they fell; then, after a time, pride rose, and gained the ascendancy. She, the courted, beautiful woman, to bo so so* slighted ! She, for whose smile the noblest in the land asked in vain, to have her almost offere.l love so coldly refused ! She, the very queen • of love and beauty, to be so spurned! When the passion of grief had subsided, wbeu the hot and angry glow of wounded pride had died away, she raised her face to the night skies. ' I swear,' she siid. ' thab I will be revenged—that I Avill take such vengeance ou him as will bring his pride down far lower than he has brought mine. I wil never forgive him. I have loved him with a devotion passing the love of woman. I will hate him more than I have loved him. 1 .vjuld have given my life to make him happy. I now consecrate it to vengeance, I swear to take such revenge on him as will bring the name of Arleigh low indeed;'

And that yow she intended to keep. ' If ever I forget what has passed here,' she said to herself, 'may Heaven forget me!' To her servants she had never seemed colder or haughtier than on this night, when she kept them waiting while she registered her vow. What shape was liar vengeance to take?' ' I shall find out,' she thought $ ' it will all come in time.' Miss L'E itrange was standing alone in the small-conservatory- on the morning following her eventful conversation with Lord Ar'eigb, when the latter was announced. How she passed the hours of the previous night was known only to herself. Her white, morning dress, made of choice Indian muslin, was relieved by faint touches of pink - fine white lace encircled Inr throat and delicate wrists. Tall and slender, she stood before a large plant witli scarlet blossoms, when he cime in. Lord Arleigh looked as he felt—ill at ease. He hud not slept through thinking of the conversation in the balcony ; it h-id made him profoundly wretched. He would hive given much not to ivnew it; but she had asked him to come, and he had promised.

"Would she receive hi in with tears and rep loaches'? Would she cry oat that lie was cold and cruel I Would she torture both hoiv>elf aud him by t:yi*ig to tiud o :t why ho "did not love her? Oi, wou'd sr.e bo sad, o/.d, and iud liferent ? lli.s relief was great when-she raided a hriq-hiiiEf, ra li.iut face to his, aud held our hand iu greeting ' Good rnorniiig, ••Norman,' she said, in a pleasant voicj. •' Now confess that I am a clever actress, and that I gave you a real fright. 110 looked at li3r in wonder. * I do nob understand you,' he returned. '.lt is so easy to mislead a man/ she said, laughingly. • I do not understand, Philippa/ he repeated. ' Did you really lake all my pretty balcony-sceue in earnest last night V she asked. ' I did indeed/ lis replied; and acrain the clear musical lauidi seemed to astonish him.

' J could not have believed it, Norman,' she said.' Did you really think that I was ia earnest ?' ' Certainly I did. Were you not V 1 No/ she answered. ' Then I thank Heaven for it, 1 he said, < for I have been very unhappy about you. Why did you say so much if you did not mean it, Philippa ?' ' Because you annoyed me by pleading the cause of the Duke. He had no right to ask you to do such a thing, and you were unwise to essay such a task. I have punished you by mistifying you— I shall next punish him.' ' Then you did not mean all that yon s:iid f ha interrogated, still wondering at this udexpected turn of events.

' I should have given you ere J it f)r mote penetration, Norman,' sho replied. ' I to mean such nonsense —to avow a preference for any man I Can you hav.e been so foolish as to think so I —lt was only a charade, acted for your amusement.' ' Oh, Philippa,' he cried, I am so pleased, dear i And yet—yet, dj you kuow, I wis l ? you had not done it ? It lus given me a shock. I shall never be quite sure whether you aw jesliiig or serious, I Shall

never feci that I really understand you. '"Sou will, Norman, li did seem so ridiculous for you, my old playfellow, to sit lecturing me so gravely about matrimony. You took it so entirely for granted that I did not oare for the Duke." * And you do care for him, Philippa V he asked. ' Can you doubt it, after the description yon gave of him, Norman V 'You are mocking me again, Philippa,' he said. 'But yo.u were very elcqnenr, Norman,' she persisted. 'I have never heard anyone more so. You painted His Grace of Hazlewood in such glowing colours that no one coald help falling in love with him.' ' Did 1 1 Well, Ido think highly of him, Philippa. And so, after all, you really care for him V * I do not think 1 shall tell you, Norman. You deserve to be kept in the dark. Would you tell me if you found your ideal woman ?' 4 1 would. I would tell you at once,' he replied, eagerly. ' If you could but have seen your £»ee !' she cried. ' I feel tempted to

ux the charade over again. AVhy, jVorn>an, what likeness can you see between Philippa L'Eslrange—the proud, cold woman of- the world—and that sweet little Puritan maiden at her spinning-wheel V 1 1 should never have detected any likeness unless you, yourself, had first pointed it out,' he said. 'Tell me, Philippa, are you really going to make the Duke happy, at lust? 'lt may be that I am going to make him profoundly miserable. As punishment for your lecture, I refuse to tell you anything about it,' she replied; and then she added, ' You will ride with me this morning, Norman.' • Yes, T will ride with you, Philippa. I cannot tell you how thankful and relieved I am.' 'To find that you have not made quite so many conques:s as you thought,' she said. 'lt was a sorry jest to play, after all, but you provoked me to it, Norman. I want you to make me a promise.' 'That 1 will gladly do/ he replied. Indeed, he was.so relieved, so pleased, so thankful to be freed from the load of self-reproach, that he would have promised anything. Her face grew earnest. She held out her hand to him. 1 Promise me this,' Norman,' she Kaid—' that, whether I remain Philippa L'Estrange or become Duchess of Hazlewood—no matter what I am, or may be—you will always be the same to me-as 3*oll are now— my brother, my truest, dearest, best frieud. Promise me,' 'I do promise, Philippa, with all my heart, he responded. 'And I

will never break my promise.' 'lll many, you will come to see me—yon will trust in will be just what you are now—you will make my Louse your home, as you do this ?' ' Yes -thai is, if your husband consent?,'replied Lord Arleigh. ' licly upon it, my husband—if I ever have one—will not dispute my wishes,' she said. * I am not the model woman ycu dream of. She, of course, will be submissive in everything; I intend to have rny own way.' 1 Wo ore friends for life, Pbilippa,' lie declared; 'and I do not think • that any one who really understands me will ever cavil at oar friendship.' ' Then, Ihat being settled, we will go at once for our ride. How those who know me best would laugh, if they heard of the incident of the

Puiilyij maiden I If Igo to another fancy lull this season, 1 shall go as Priscilla of Plymouth, and you hud better go as John Alden.' lie held up his hands imploringly>■ 'Do not tease rae alout it auy more, Phllippn,' he begged. 'I cannot quite tell why, but you make me both significant and vain j yet nothing would have been farther from my mind than the thoughts you have filled it with.' 'Own you were mistaken, and then I will be generous and forgive you,' she said laughingly. ' I was mistaken—cruelly so—happily so,' he replied. ' Now you will be generous and spare me.' 7b be Continued.