THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume X, Issue 912, 27 April 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIFE IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Doha Tiiokn'k," ''On Her Weddino Motor," "EcDEEMED BY LOVE," "A 'WOMAN'S Wab," &C, &XC. (Continued from last Saturday's issue.) CHAPTER XVI. It was a beautiful June morniiio*. For many .years (here had not been so brilliant a season m London ; every one seemed to be enjoying it all ; ball succeeded ball, fete succeeded fete. Lord Arleigh hacl received a note from tho Duchess of Hazlewood, asking him if he would enll before noon, as she wished to see him. He went at once to Verdun House, and was told thiit the Duchess was engaged, but would see him m a few minutes. Contrary to the usual custom, he was shown into a piotty morning-room, one exclusively used by the Duchess — a small octagonal room, daiuti y furnished, which opened on to a small rose-garden, also exclusively kepb for the use of the Duchess. luto tlr's garden neither friend no.* visitor ever ventured ; it was filled with rosetree?, a little fountain played m the midst, and a small trelissed arbour w:is at one side. Why hud he been shown into the Duchess's private room ? He had often heard the Duke tease Irs wife about lar room, and siy that no one was privileged to enter it ; why, then was such a privilege accorded him I He smiled to himself, thinking that m all probability it aj^Si- somo mistake of the servants ; he' pictured lo himself the expr s ion of Philippa's face when sho should find him there. He looked round ; the lhe room bo-.e traces of her prjFencc — around him weic some tf her favourite flowers and took?. He went to the long Fench window, wondering at the tich collection of ro?es, and there he s:i\v a picture that never forsoik his memory again — there he met hia fa to saw the ideal womau of his dreams at last. He had treated all notion of love m a very ofT-liand, cavalier kind of manner ; he had contented himself with his own favorite axiom. — 'Love is fate'; if ever it was to come to him ib would come, and there would be an end ot it. He had determined on one thing — this same love should be his slave, his servant, never his master ; bub, as he stood looking out. he was compelled to own his kingship was over. Standing* there, his heart throbbing as it had never done before, every nerve thrilling, his face flushed, a Strang, unknown sensation filling him with vague, sweet wonder, Lord Arleigh met his fate. This was the picture he saw — a beautiful but by no means a common one. In the trellised arbour, which contained a stand and one ov two chaiis, was a young girl, of tall, slender figure, with a fair, sweet face, inexpressibly lovely — lilliea and roses exquisitely blended — eyes like blue hyacinths, large, bright, and star-like, with white lids, and long, dark lashes — so dark that they gave a peculiar expression to the eyes : one of beauty, thought, and originality. The lips were sweet and sensitive — beautiful when smiling, but even more beautiful iv repose. The oval contour ot tim face was perfect. From tlio white brow, where the veins were so dearly marked, rose a crown of golden hair, not brown or auburn, but of pure pale gold — a dower of beauty m itself. The expression of the. face was one of shy beauty. One could imagine, meeting it m the dim aisles of some cathedral, near the shrine of

a saint, as an angel or a Madonna one could imagine it bending over v sick child, lighting with its pure loveliness the home of sorrow ; but one could never picture it iv a ballroom. It was a face of girlish; saintly purity, of fairest loveliness— a face wheie innocence, poetry, and passion seemed to meet and blend m one grand harmony. Thero was nothing commonplace about it. One could not mistake it for a plebian face— "patrician" was written on every feature. Lord Arleigh looked at her like one m a dream. 'If she had an aureole round her head, I should take her for au angel,' lie thought to himself, and stood watching her. The stirne secret and subtle harmony pervaded every action ; each new attitude seemed to be tho one that suited her best. If she raised lier arms, she looked like a statue. Her hands were white and delicate, as though carved m ivory. He judged her to be about eighteen. But who was she, and what had brought her there ? Ho could have stood through all the long hours of that sunny day watching her, so completely had she charmed him — fas .cinated his every sense. I Love is fate !' How often had he said that to himself, smiliug the while?' Now here his fate had come to him most unexpectedly — this most fair faoe had found its way to the yery depths of hits heart, and nestled there. He could not have beeu standing there long, yet it seemed to him that long hours parted him from the life he had not known before. Presently he reproached himself for hia follw What had happened to liim? Why should he look upon himself ns completely changed % What liad taken place '? He had seen a fair face, that was aala! — a face that embodied his dream of loveliness. He had realised his ideal, he had suddenly, and without thinking of it, found his fate — the face, the figure, the beauty that he had dreamed of all his life. Nothing more than that; yet the whole world seemed cljanged. There was a brighter light m the blue skies, a new beauty had fallen on the flowers ; m his beatt was strange, sweef. music ; everything was idealised— glorified. Why"? Because he had seen the nice which had always filled his thoughts. It seemed to him thab he had been there long hours, when the door suddenly opened, and her Grace of Hazlewood ente-ed. ' Norman,' she said, as though m sudden wonder, « why did they llio w you m here f I I knew they were doing wrong.' he replied. 'This is your own especial sanctum, Philippa.' r Yes, it is, indeed; still, as you are here, you may stay. I want to speak to yo" about that Richmond dinner. My husband does not seem to care aboub it. Shall we give i* upf They talked for a few minutes about ib, and then the Duchess said, suddenly — 1 What do you think of my roses;, JS orm anr' ' They nre wonderful,' he replied • add then, m a low voice he asked, — ' Philippa who is that beautiful girl out there amongst your flowers .' She did not guide, but a sudden light cune into her uyes. ' It worAl be a great kiiidness not to tell you she answered. ' You sec what comes ol trespassing m forbidden places. I did not inteti 1 you to see that young lady. • Why not?' he asked, abruptly. 'Thd answer to your question would be superfluous,' she replied. ** But, Philippa, toil me at least who she is. ' That I cannob th>,' she replied ; and then the magnificent i'aee was lighted with a smile. 'Is she like your ideal woman. Norman V she asked. ** My dear Philippa, he answered, gravely, * she is the ideal woman herself — neither more nor le-ts.' ♦Found at last!' laughed the Duchess. *" For all that, Norman, you must not look at her.' Why not? Is she married, engaged ?' 'Married? That girl! Why, she has only just left school. If you really wish to know who she is, I will tell you ; but you must give me your word not to mention it.' ' I promise,' he replied. He wondered why the beautiful face grew crimson and the dark eyea drooped. ' She is a poor relative of ours,' 'poor, you understand, — nothing else.' 'Then she is relate-1 to the Duke ?' he interrogated. ' Yes, distantly ; and after a fashion we have adopted her. When she marries we will give her a suitable dot. Her mother married unfortunately.' 'Still, she was married.'' said Lord Arleigh. 'Yes, certainly: but unhappily married. Her daughter, however, has received a good education, and now she will remain with us. But, Norman, iv tbis I may trust you, as m everything else 4' * You may trust me implicitly,' he Implied, <" The Duke did not quite like thi idea of haviug her to live with us al first, and I do not wish it to be men tioned to him, If he speaks of it t< you at all, it will be as my caprice Let it pass— do not ask any question! about her— it only annoys him. Sin is very happy with me. You see. ghe comiuued, ' woman can keep i

; secret. She has been here three i weeks, yet you have never seen her 3 before ; and now it is by accident.' b ' But,' said Norman, ' what do you . iut?nd to do with her?' , The Duchess took a seat near him, . and assumed quite a confidential air. i ' I have been for some time looki iug out for a companion,' she said ; i ' Lady Peters really must live at ! Verdun Royal — a housekeeper is not i sufficient for that large establishment; it requires more than that. She has consented to. make it her home, aud , I must have someone to be with me.' ' Yon have tho Duke,' he put m, ■ wouderingly. * True, ancl a husband musl, perforce, be all Ihat is adorable. Still, having been accustomed to a lady companion, I prefer keeping one, and this girl — so beautiful, so pure, so simple — is all that I need or could wish for.' ' So I should impgine,' he replied. *■ Will you introduce her into society, Philippa V 'I think nofc. She is as simple as a child, yet woaderfully clever. No — society shall not have ! her. I will keep her for my own.' ' What is her name V asked Lord Arleigh. The Duchess laughed. 1 Ah, now, man-like, you are getting curious ! I shall not tell you. Yes, I will ! It i.s (he name above all others for an ido..l — Madaline.' * Madaline,' he repeated, ' it is very musical — Madalino !' llt suits her,' sad the Dudiess ; ancl now. Norman, [ musb g>. 1 have some pressing engagements today. 1 ' You will not introduce me then, Philippa ?' *" No — why should 1 ? It would only disturb the child's dream.' Lord Arleigh could not rest for thinking of the vision he bad seen ; the face of the Duchess's companion haunted him as no otlier face had ever done. He ttied hard to forget it, saying (o himsslf that it was a fancy, a foolish imagination, a day-dream ; ho liied to believe that m a few days he should have forgotten it. It was (Juite otherwise; He left Ver Jun liouse m a very fever of unrest ; he went everywhere he coulJ to distract his thoughts. But the fair face with its sweet maidenly expression, the tender blue eyes with the'r rich poetic depths, the sweet sensiiive lips were ever present. Look where he wotld he saw them. He went to tho Opera, and tliey seemed to smile at him from the skige 3 he walked home m the star--1 igh t — there th ey w re sin lling at hi m from the stars; h-j tried to sleep, — they haunted liis dreams. What was he to do ? No other face had so haunted him. He had seen faces perhaps more brilliant, eyes as beautiful had moved him ; none had followed him as tbose eyes did. ' I think my heart and brain arj .on fire,' he said to himself. ' I will go ancl look once agaiu at the fair young face ; perhaps if she smiles at me or speaks to me I shall be cured.' He went ; it was noon when he reached the Duke of Hazlewood's mansion. He inquired for the Duchess, and was told that she had gone to Hamplon Court. He repeated the words m surprise. ' Hampton Court!' he said. Are you quite sure ?' ' Yes, my lord,' was the footman's reply. Her Grace has gone there, for I heard her talking about the p'ctiuos this morning. He could hardly imagine the Duchess at Hampton Court. He felt half inclined to follow, and theu he thouglit that perhaps it would be an intrusion ; if slie had wanted his societ}'-, she would aertaiuly have asked for it. No, he would not go. He stood for a few minutes irresolute, wondering if he could ask whether the Duchess had taken her young companion with her, and theu he remembered that he did not even know her name.