(Continued.) CHAPTER XL.

Waikato Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2075, 24 October 1885, Page 5 (Supplement)

(Continued.) CHAPTER XL.

ailie'h promise. "Wjiu can f say to you, Ailie?" he reP"RteJ. ' Only this— learn to love mo less, ciikl ; love me less." " I cannot," she replied ; " and even if I could, I would not. I would rather love you uubnp-oily, m I do, without hope of return, than I would love another who should wor'bip iiio. My love torture 3 me, I love the p-un ; it stubs me, I kiss the wound ; it binds Tue la*t, I love the chains. I would not change my lot with that of the happiest v/oman living, because it is you I love — only you!" "My poor Ailie— poor child 1" he s«id, gsntly ; and uli? "aw by the light of the moon that trars stood in hh eyes. "Do not pity me," she said; "I do'not \. nh to make you sad. I read the other day a story that Btruck me ai no other ha* ever doni.— the story of ' Patient Griselda 'I am i >methiag hko her. Nothing that you oould \" • or say — no coldre =), no unkindnes, c '<l change my lo^e or p.ltor it, lessen if, inako it colder. I • bear all things from your hands. I" yon -"ra to kill me, I should blc3S you a3 111 1 ied. Y u mipht remove a mountain, stop tV ow of ne tide, t'A\ the fun not to shine, bi>i tho tars give no 1< 'lit, and all would be in or-- cosily done than my love could be changed or lessened." He looked gravely at her. "You think, then, Aiiie, that you oould Bufter aa Patient Griselda did ? " "I am quite sure," she replied. " Try me -- only try mo ! I think I should love suffering for youv sake— it would be bear. I should forget that it was pain if it were borne for you." " But, Ailie," he said, " do you know that this is the very sublimity of love — the love that gives all and expects nothing in return ? It is heroic love." "Is it ? " she said, indifferently. " I do not know— l do not understand. It is the plain, honest, simple truth." He looked greatly perplexed. " ])j you know," he said, " that I would far rather— a thousand times rather- '- f you disliked me?" " Would you ?" she asked, wonderingly. " Yes ; because for all thi3 great love of youra, I have nothing to give you," he replied. " I do not want anything," she said. " But a man does not care to be outdone in fftnerosity. It is as though you gave me hoiw r>rioele3 u jewel, some great, rich treasure, (tud I have nothing to give you." " Ypk, you have; you could aiuke me happy With bo little, Lord Carsdale— so little that you vould be cruel to refuse it. I will ask <j ou one f<wor, and if you graut that, I am a p%id— more than repaid." H* dropped the little white hand that he b*d been holding in hia own ; he looked untaaily at h.-r. What was she going to ask him? 11 Ji'.t me hear what it is, Ailie. We must b^ prudent, you know." lit r beautiful lipj curled slightly, and he thought to himself how scornful she could bo if she choee. " I will never forget that prudence is your favorite virtue, Lord Carsdale," she said. " You may save me all sarcasm, Ailie ; I <!o not deserve it. Tell me what the favor if. 1 It was hard to look up in that cold f ace.and Hay what she wished to say ; but it must be done— she would not flinch. " I will tell you," she laid. " Let me stay here ; do not send me away." " Ig is impo t "uble," he replied, curtly. " Do not think of cuch a thing." Hho laid her soft, white hand in his, and it was not in human nature to resist tho appeal of that soft, caressing touch. " It is not impossible, Lord Caradalp," she aiiid. " I mi^ht have remained here for long weeks without your knowing me. I will be so careful ; I will never speak to you, never look at you, never utter your name. I will be prudence itself. No one shall ever gue«s that I have seen you before ; but let me stay. Oh, my love, my love, let me stay 1 " " Why do you wish it so much? Why do you denirc it so much?" "Why?" she asked. Because I aball be near you ; even though I may never Bee you or utter your name, I shall be near you. I shall breathe the same air you breathe; I nhaM look on the same faces, listen to thu same voiced. I shall see you sometimes when you pass bj— in the morning, when you are going

ou 5 to drive or to ride; at night, when you aro tired, and the hour of rest corner. I shall hear you speak, even though not one word you utter comes tome. I shall sometimes have to do little thing." for you. Lady Waldrove will tell me to mend your gloves, to cut your books, to get your papers ready, and it will be heaven on earth to me. Ido not ask you to be kind to me, or speak to mo, or take even the least notice of me — only lot me live near you. It is not much, but it will make heaven on earth to me." " Poor child I" he said, pityingly ; "it seems little." " Ye ; but it ia so much to me— so much." •' Ailie," said Lord Carsdale, gravely, " have you though of what you are asking ? If, as you say, you love mo so very mnch, will it not add to your pain? You will be near rap, yet farther off ; you will see me speaking to others, and you will not, pprhaps, like it." Then his voice faltered, and the words died away on his lips. " I know that," she said, " I shall have muoh to BufTtr, I shall have some terrible pain ; but I have weighed it over, and I say to the pain and the sorrow, < weloome, thrice welcome,' since you oame from my love. I will bear it all with a smile, only to be near you, my love, my love 1" He was touched morn than he cared to own There is yet another thinpr. " You think you love me so very muoh. Shall you always be sure of yourself— shall you always be discreet and prudent, liemember that want of self-control, even for one moment, would ruin ua both." " I can answer for myself," she said, proudly. " Because I love you, do you think me weak?' 1 j "I do not," he replied. She took courage from his kinder tone. " L°t me stay, Lord Carsdale," she said. " I will promise you faithfully, that at the very first shadow of anger to you or to me — I will qo — I will not linger one moment. Until that time comes, do not shut the face of the smiling heavens away from me." " I will not," he said ; you shall stay. I know I am weak in yielding, but I cannot send you away. Poor Ailio 1 and so you have learned to love me so dearly. You shall stay, and I will trust to your honor ; yet I shall be better content if you repeat your promise. Place your hands in mme 1 '— she placed her hands in his, and stood looking up at him with a rapt expression of face that was very beautiful. "Say after me : • I promise never, even under pain of death, to reveal the seoret of my marriage. 1 " She repeated the words, slowly and solemnly. 11 1 trust you, Ailie," he said ; " and now, do you not think it would be wise and well for yon to return ? It is very late, and I should not like you to run any risk." •' Yes; I will go," she said. Then she stood quite still for a few minutes, looking at him. Had he no kinder word — had he not even a brother's kiss to give her, after all these long years? He saw the pathetio wistfulness on her face, but did not understand it. He understood every expression, every ohange on Lady Ethel's face; but this was a sealed page to him. " Good-night, Ailie," he said, holding out his hand. " If, in my surprise at seeing you. I said anything very harsh, you must please forgivo me. I am excited, and did not measure my words." She bowed her fair face over the strong hand held out to her. " I have nothing to forgive," she replied. II You have been very kind to me. Goodby." The next moment aha had passed from his sight, and the moonbeams fell on the grass where she had stood. He did not move; long tgo he had forgotten all about his cigar and why he was there ; he oould not at first recover from the nbock. What he said seemed cruel, but it was perfectly trne— he had almost forgotten her. The fact of his marriage he had not, and never could, forget ; but he had "almost forgotten her— her features, her voice. If he had met her suddenly, he would not have recognized her. He felt very sad and very muoh surprised. That she should havo grown into such a passionate, loving, earnest woman, astonished him as muoh as her beautiful faoe had done ; and flhe loved him so completely, so entirely. "It was ten thousand pities t " he said to him3elf. " Here, for one act of boyish folly, theree people are made miserable for lifeLady Ethel, my golden-haired love, whose life is made miserable beoause of her love ; Ailie, who will never be happy ; last of all, I, myself who love a woman 1 can never marry, and am married to a woman I can never love" What, a wreck of love, of life, of happiness it all seemed— three lives all spoiled ; for he said to himself that, though she was beautiful exceedingly, he should never love her. Only one woman had power to touch his heart, and that woman was never to be his. Ha could never recover from the shock. It seemed plmont terrible to him that this girl, through whom hig life had been marred, ahoula have been living in this house — the house that was one day to be his. It had been a shock to him to find Lady Ethel at Hoscneath ; it would not have happened but that he left Gibraltar two months hefore the time originally named. Lady Ethel had accepted the invitation to Roseneath without tho faintest notion that she should see him there ; it had been by the purest accident they met. Had Lady Ethel been quite wi&e when she hoard that he was expected, she would have started off at once, and so have avoided him ; but shs did not know the barrier that divided them, and she longed with all her heart to see him again. Lord C irndale, to do him justice, was not delighted altogether when he found that Lady Eobel was there; he loved her, and he knew that this love was to be crushed. He said to himself it wat unfortunate that she was there ; still he could not be rude or abrupt. lie knew that it would bo better, and she would suffer 'es*!, if he went away at once ; but then, an he Siud to himself, he had been away 6otne Gvo years ; it would look ill-bred and awkward if he went away again — in faot, he could not do it. He promised himself, however, that he would be, for all that, moft courteous. Ho waa a man of honor — it was not likely that he should do or say anything that would be bettei left undone. Before he had been tvrenty-f our hours with Lady Ethel, be naid to himself that it would have been a thousand times better and safer had he never returned.