THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume X, Issue 918, 11 May 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WIFE IN NAME ONLY. By the author of " Doba. Thobne," "On Her Wedding Moen," " REdeemed by iiov£," "a woman's Wab," &c, &c. (Continued from last Saturday's issue). CHAPTER XVIII. /o ' •No ; not m the least. Still, Lord Arleigh, although I do not share the fault, I share the disgrace— nothing can avert that from me. 'Nothing of the kind,' he opposed; ' disgrace and yourself are as incompatible as pitch and a dove's wing.' ' But,' she continued, wonderingly, ' do you quite understand ?' ' Yes ; the Duchess told me the who'e story. ' I understand it, and am truly grieved for you ; I know the Duke's share m it and all. He saw her face grow pale even to the lips. ' And yet you would be my friend— you whom people call proud — you whose very name is history ! I cannot beliere it, Lord Arleigh.' There was a wistful look m her eyes, as though she would fain believe that it were true, yet that she was eorapeled to plead even against herself. 'We cannot account for likes or dislikes,' he said ; I always look upon them as nature's guidance as to whom we should love and whom we should avoid. The moment I saw you I — l liked you. I went home, and I thought about you all day long.' 1 Did yon ?' she asked, wonderingly. * How very strange ! Most extraordinary !' • It does not seem strange to me,' he observed. ' Before I had look:d at you for three minutes I felt as though I had known you all my life. How long have we been talking here ? Ten minutes perhaps — yet I feel as though already that there is a something that has cut us off from the rest of the world and left us alone together. There is no accounting for such strango feelings as these,' • No,' she replied' dreamingly, ' I do not think there is.' 'Perhaps, he continued. 'I may have been fanciful all my life ; but years ago, when I was a boy at school, I pictured to myself a heorine such as I thought I should love when I cume to be a man.' She had forgotten her swoet. halfsad shyness, and sat with a faint flush on her face, her lips just parted, her blue eyes fixed on big. 1 A heroine of my own creation,' he went on ; ' and I gave her an ideal face — lilies and roses blended, roseleaf lips, a white brow, eyes the colour of hyacinths, and hair of pale gold,' ' That is a pretty picture,' she said, all unconscious tl^at it was her own portrait he had sketched. His eyes softened and gleamed at the na'ivc'.c of the words. 'I am glad you think so • Then my heroine had, mmy fancy, a mind and soul that suited her face — pure, original, half sad, wholly sweet, full of poetry.' She smiled, as though charmed with the picture. • Then I grew to be a youth, and then to be a man,' he continued. ' I looked everywhere for my ideal amongst all the fair woman I knew. I looked m courts and palaces, I looked m country houses, but I. could not find her; I looked at home and abroad, I looked at all times and all seasons, but I could not ft-id her, He saw a shadow come over the sweet pure face, as though she felt sorry for him, • So time passed, and I began to think that I should never fiud my ideal, that I mu3t give her up, when one day, quite unexpectedly, I saw l}er.' There was a gleam of sympathy m the blue eyes. ' 1 found her at last,' he continued: ' It was one bright June morning 5 she was sittins; out amongst the roses, ten thousand time fairer and sweeter than they.' She looked afc him with a startled glance ! not the faintest idea had occurred to her that he was speaking of her.. 4 Do you understand me V he ask°d.

' I— l am friglifcsncd. Lord Arle'gb. 1 • Nay, why should you fear ? YVhat is thero to fear ! It is brup, The moment I saw you aittiug here I knew that you were my ideal, found at last.' ' But,' she said, wiih the simple wonder of a child, • I aui not like tbe portrait you sketched. • You are unlike it only because you are a hundred times fairer,' lie replied ; • that is why % inquired abqufc you— : why I asked so many questions, It was because you were to mo a dream realised. So it came about that I heird your true history. Now will you be my friend V 'If you still wish it, Lord Arleigh, ye.3 ; buji, if you repsnt of having asked me, and should ever feel ashamed of our friendship, remember that I shall not reproach you for giving me up.' ' Giving you up f oried Lord Arleigh. ' Ah, Madaliue— let me call you Madaline, the name ia so sweet - 1 shall never give you up ! When a m*n has been for many years looking for some one tj fill his highest and brightest dreams, he knows how to appreciate that somo qn.6 found, 'It seem 3 all so strange,' ahe said, musingly. ' Nay, why strange ? You havo read that sweetest and saddest of all lov---stories — Borneo and Juliet 1 Did Juliet think it strange that, so soon af Cer seeing l^er, Rqmeq should ha willing to g^ve his life for her '■*' ' No, it did uot seem strange to them,' ahe replied, with a smile ; ' but it is different with us. This is the nineteenth century, and there are no Juliets.' c There are plenty of Romeo 3, though,' he remarked, laughingly, • The sweetest dreams m life are the brio'est. Will you pluck one of tho.3e roses for me and g;r.a it to me, saying, • J promise, to be youv friend T ' Yoii make me do things against my will,' she said ; but she plucked a rose, and held it towards him m her hand, ' I promise to bo your friend,' she said, gently. Lord Arleigh kissed the rose- Ai he did so their eyes met, and it would have been hard to tell which blushed ths more deeply. After that, meetings, between them ' beoama more frequent, Arleigh made seeing her the one great study of his life — and the result was what might be imagined. The yacht of Mr Confers, one of the ricli?Bt commoners m England — a yacht fitted as surely no yacht ever before had begn fitted— was f<«r saje, Hq was a wealthy man, but to keep thafc sea- '