THE STORY-TELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume X, Issue 927, 1 June 1878, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER.

WlFti IN NAME ONLY,

By the author of " Dora Tiiokjjk," "On Her "Wj;i>mxo Monx," " Re. BKKJIKD UY LoVJi," "A WoMAx's War," &c, &c. (Continued from lust Saturday's issue). CliAi-TER XX. 7o - ! He repeated the linos to himself | as lie stood watching her. and then ■ he went nearer and called— j 'Miuhline!' I . . Jw doubt that she loved I 1"!"-' H«r fUce Hushed deepest i crimson ; but, instead of turnin- to ;him sho moved half coyly, half 1 shyly away. J J> ( 'How quick you are, 1 ho said,! to seize every opportunity o? evad- ' "*g mo ! Do you think you cm ' escape me, Madaiine ? l)j you ' Jtliink my love is so weak, so faint, ' *J tcoblo that ifc can };o p» a .«ii, e I '

lightly usidu by your will 2 Do you think that, if you tried to get to the othor end of the world, you could escape me V Half blushing, half laughing, trembling, yet \rith a happy light m her blue eyes, she said — ' I think you are more terrible titan anyone^ 1 know. 1 ' I am glad that you aro growing frightened, and are willing to own that you have a master — that is as it should be. I want to talk to you, Madaline. You evade me lest you should be compelled to speak to me ; you lower those beautiful eyes of yours lest 1 should be made happy by looking iuto them. If you fiud it possible to avoid my presence, to run away from me, you do. lam sure to woo you, to win you, to ma*ke yon my sweet, dear wife, to make you happier, I hope, than any woman has ever been before — and you try to evade me, fair, sweet, cruel ]\ladaline !' ' I am afraid of you, Lord Arleigh,* she said, little dreaming how* much, that naive confession implied. ' Afraid of me ! That is because' you jsee I am quite determined to win you. I can easily teach you how to forget all fear.' She raised her blue eyes to his. ' Can you fahe asked, doubtfully, ' Yes. I can indeed, Madaline. Deposit those peaches m their greon leaves on the ground. Now place both your hands m mine. She quietly obeyed the first hal of his request as though she were a child, and then she paused. The sweet face crimsoned again ; he took her hands m his. ' You mast be obedient,' he said. ' Now look at me.' But Ihe white lids drooped over the happy eyes. 'Look at me, Madaline,' he repeated, 'aud say, 'Norman, I do love you. I will forget all the nonsense I have talked about inequality of position and be your wife ' ' ' In justice to yourself I cannot say it.' He felt the little hands tremble ins. his grasp, aud he released them with a kiss. ' You will be compelled to say it some day, darling. Yon might as well try now. If I cannot win yon for my wife, I will have no wife, Maduline. Al>, now you are sDrry that you lmvo vexed me ! Ami ho it was, kali sly, half shy, You would and would not, little one, Although I pleaded terribly tenderly, And you and I were all alone. Why are you so hard, Maduline] I am sure you like me a little ; you dare not raise your eyes to mine andi say, ' I do not love you, Norman. ' r ' No,' she confessed, 1 1 dare not. But there is love and love ; the lowest love is all self, the highest is all sacrifice. I like the highest/ And then her eyes fell on tke j.e iches, and she gave a little cry of alarm. 'What will the Duchess say? she cried. 'Oh, Lord Arleigh, let me go ! ' i Give me one kind word then/ * What am Ito say. Oh, do let me go ! ' • Say, ' I like you, Norman/ " ' I Uke you, Norman,' she said ; and, taking up the peaches, she hastene.l away. Yet. with her flushed ft «j and the glad light m her happy eyes, she did not dare to present herself at once before the Duchess and Lady Peter.,-. Was^ there some strange, magnetic attraction between Lord Arleigh and Madaline, or could ilfc be that the valet knowing or guessing the state of his master's affections, gave what he no doubt considered a timely hiufc } ? Something of the kind must hare , happened, for Maduliue, unable f v > sleep, unable to rest, had risen early morning, while the dew was on the grass, aud had gone oufc into the shade of the woods. The August sun shone brightly, a soft wind fanned her cheeks. Madaline looked round before site entered the woods. The square turrets of Verdun Eoyal rose high above the trees. Then she opened the little gate, and passed under the trees. They were tail and thickset, with great umbrageous boughs and massive, rugged trunks, the boughs almost reaching down to thft long thick gVas.s. A little brook went singing through the woods — si brook of clear, rippliug water. Madaline sat down by the brooksido. Her head ached for want of sleep, her heart was stirred by a hundr^j varied emotions. Did she love him f Why v * j. j ier self the question ? She did ]' O y o him -she trembled to think hr jW mucli It was that very love w> t ,i ehc h , na( ] ' that could attra-et him He waao descendant of one of th. oldes family 1n England-],* had a title, he Vrm wealthy, he vu everything that was great and good •—yet he loved her ; lie stooped from his exalted position to love her, aud she, lor his own sab-, wished to refuse him. B u t she found it difficult. She sat down by ihe brookside, and, perhaps for the 'first time m her gentle life, a feeling of dissatisfaction rose within her. Yet it was not so much that as a long-ing thatshe could be different from what showas — a wish that she had been nobly born, and endowed with some groat gift that would have brought her nearer to him. And just as that thought came toher, the blue eyes filling with tears alie saw him utandin£ before her. '

She was not surprised ; he was b< completely part and parcel of hei thoughts and her life that sho would nsver have felt surprised at seeing him. __Le came np to her quietly. • My darling Madaline, yon face is pale, and there are tears in -yon. eyei. What is the matter ? What has /brought you out here when yon ought to bo in-doors ? What ia the trouble that has taken away the roses and put lilies, in their place V 4 1 have no trouble, Lard Arleigh, she replied. ' I came here only to . think.' 1 To think of what, sweet ?' Her face flashed. *" I cannot tell you/ she answered. 1 You cannot expect that I should tell you everything.' 1 You tell me nothing, Madaline. A few words from you would make iue the happiest man in all the world, yet you will not speak them.' Then aU the assumed lightness and carelessness died from his manner. He came nearer to her ; her eyes drooped before the fire of his. ' Madaline, my love, \it ine plead to you,' he said j for the gift of your lore Give me that, and I shall ba content. You think' lam proud,' he continued ; ' I am net one half bo proud, sweet, as you. You refuse to love me — why ? Because ef your pride. You have some foolish notions that the diffence iu our positions should partus. You are quite wrong — love knows no such difference.' ' But the world does,' she interrupted. ' The world 1' he repealed, with contempt. * Thank Heaven it is no t my master. What matters what the world aays ?' *You owe more to the name And honour of your family than to the world,' she said. * Of that,' he observed. ' you must allow me to be the best judge.' Sho bowed submissively. * The dearest thing in life to me lathe honour of my name, the honour of my race,' said Lord Arleigh. 'It has never been tarnished, aud .1 pray Heaven that no stain may ever rest upon it. I will be frank with you, Madaline, as you are with mc, though I love you so dearly that my, rery life is bound up in yours. I would not ask you to be my wife if I thought that in doing so I was bringingashadowof dishonour on my race — if I thought that 1 was in even in ever so nlight a degree tarnishing my name ; but I do not think so. I speak to you frankly. I know the story of your misfortunes, iuid, knowing it, do not deem it sufficient to part us. Listen and believe me, Madaline— if X stood with you before the altnr, with your hand in mine, and the solemn words of the marriage service on my lips, and anything even then came to my knowledge which I thought prejudicial to the fame and honour of my race, I should without hesitation ask you to release me. Do yon believe me V * Yes,' she replied, slowly, ' 1 believe you.' 'Then why not trust me fully ? I know your story — it is sn old story, after all ; I know it by heart. lam the best judge of it-j I have weighed it most carefully. It has not been a lightly-considered matter at all with me, and, after thinking it well over, I have come to the conclusion that it is not sufficient to part us. It is plain to you, sweet, that you may implicitly believe me. I havo no false glo_s ot compliments. Frankly, as you yourself would do, I admit the drawback: but, unlike you, I affirm that it does not matter.' ~J* * But would you always think so t ''_.he time might come when the reJuembrance of my fathor's — ■—-' 1 Hash,' he said, gently ' Tho matter must never be discussed between Us. I tell you frankly that I should not care for the whole world to know your 3tory. It is not likely that I shall ever repent, for it will never be of any more importance to me than it is now.' He paused abruptly, for her blue eyes were looking wistfully at him. ' What is it, Madaline V he asked, gently. * I wish yon would let me tell you all about it— how my mother, so gentle and good, came to marry my father, and how he fell-— hew he was tempted aud fell. May I tell you, Lord Arleigh V 'No,' he ieplicd, after a short pause, ' I would rather not hear it. The Duches. has told me all 1 care to know. It will be better, believe me, for the whole story to die away. If I had wished to hear it, I should have aske^ you tell it me.' Mt would make me happier,' sho said ; ' I should know then that there was no mistake.' ' There is no mistake, my darling —the Duchess has told me ; and it is not likely that she has made a mistake, is it fl' 4 No } aha knows the whole story from beginning to end. If she has told you, you know all.' ' Certainly I do ; and, knowing all, I have come here to beg you to make me happy., to honour me witlf your love, to be n»y wife. Ah, Madaline, do not let your pride part. - sl ' „ , iHe saw that sh? trembled and hesitated. To be Continued.