CHAPTER LI.

Waikato Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2084, 14 November 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER LI.

W'MIUATION IS NOT I.O\ Y. The whole party at Itoseneath Abbey were assembled in the library ; some of tho gentlemen had gone out riding or driving, the ladies were holding a solemn assembly still on tho name subject — the famous charade party. Lord Carsdnlo had preferred joining the discussion ; it wat sorao years unco he had been at a charade party, and he was doirous of seeing them. Lidy Ethel was bucy discussing what was to be done, Ailiein finding books and references for Lady Waldrove. The day was fine and beautiful, the Bun shone warm and bright through the open windows, the flowers laughed in tho lovely morning light, everything was bright and happy except the three whose lives were all marred by one act of supreme folly. Lord Carsdaic went to the book-fihelvps, and, after standing there some little limn, he took down a book, and crossing the room, laid it before Ailic. " \ou w°re in«(iiiiing about old French coattimes, Miss Derwent," he said; "look at this." From tho quiet »i?niliaance of bis tone Ailic knew there waa more in the few wordn tWin they seemed. Hho took the book from hifl hands, and saw n folded paper. Five minuted afterword, when she had an oppoi ttinity of opening it, she did 00, and found the words : " I want to see you particularly. Could you lie on tho western tcrraco to night, after eleven ' } ' " How cautious ho ia," bhc thought to herself, first of all ; " there is no name." Then she began to wonder why he winhed to see her. Never did the hours ot any day pass so slowly ; it seemed to Atlie that they would nevor end ; Hhc could not have told how thej had pnsned. She Haw a crowd of fnw3, but recognised none of them ; she heard voices but the tones were strange to her ear. She

I went through her tin tips mrrhnnically. lin ( h^art was f t ill with wonder and furprisr. Whj di'l Lp want her? CjuM it po*pi'>ly ha thai ho hail leampd to care Pomeli'He for her.anr was going to tell her fo ? Would the long cruel hourarrvrr pa»B? She mu>t go throng the torture of dinner, of dcßf-ert, of minic— nevtr, surely, had or.c day sef mod fo long [ Then came ten, and Luly Waldrove, tired of a day of— for her— unusual f itigup, began to talk of retiring. The gentlemen, as a rule, always went to the smoking-room when the ladies rt tirr d, and left it, each one as his faocj dictated. The young ladies of the partj talked o\er the occurences of the day in each other's rooms, ro that Ailio knew nhe should have every chance of what she wanted— an hour to herself. It would be awkward, o( course, if Lady Waldrove wanted her to read, as she often did; but even if that were the ea?e, if he really wanted to see her, he would wait until die cime. She heard every one paying good night ; she saw Lady Waldrove, who loved her son, if eho loved anything on earth, kisn him and wish him pleasant droara? . .She Htood by her side when this was done, and never once did her eyes seek her husband's facp. " How careful ehe is," he thought ; " how trup she is to me ! " When the ladies had all disappeared it was after eleven. Sir Charles Legard asked him if he were going to join them in a cigar, to which he replied : " \o, not this eveninc" "You look gloomy, Vivian," paid the Earl of Waldrove to his son. "Thero is nothing the matter, is there ? I hopo you did not leave your heart at Gibraltar Pier ? " "I am quite sure of that, sir," replied his son. " Nothing wrong over money, is there ? " asked the carl. " oung men will be young men, as I know. If you want any, remember I am your banker." " My dear father, you are very kind, but I do not cvm ppend all I have, so that I cannot want more." " Well," said llio earl, with a quaint sigh, •' I can Bay no more. If it be neither love nor money that clouds your face, my dear boy, I am a poor gucsser." " I am not i|uite sure that ray face is clouded," said Lord Carsdale, laughingly; but bis voice ha 1 not the light ring in it, and he turned away with a sigb. lie would have given all chat he had to have avoided the scene that he must pasi through. He was a man of tender heart, sensitive to the highest degree over pain ; he could not endure to indict it on others; be could not b p ar to see it. Of late he had understood mire and raoie how deeply and dearly Ailie loved him, how entirely her whole lifo waa wrapped in his ; ho began to understand what the terrible, paia would be to her. On the other hand was the woman he loved— her life and her happiness to be considered. \bi went to tho western terrnce with something of the feeling of a man who goes to his doom. The ni^ht was dark and silent, with a sweet dewy quiet and repote about it. There was no moon, and few stars ; a fragrant darkness lay over the u'.lont earth. He found Ailie there. He did not see her at first, but when ho walked to the stone ballu^trade sbo looked through the darkness to the flowers below, and she came up to him very quietly. "Lord Caredale," aho said, "you wanted me, and I am here." He stood quite silent for one minute, almost unable to dtir, so great was his emotion. Then bo turned round. Even in the darkness her beautiful, passionate face shone out clear as. a star ; her golden hair and white hands seemed to draw all the light there was to themselves. He looked for one minute at the fair, pure face, then he thought to himself it would be better by far if they could both die there together— he before ho told his story, she before nho heard it. "Shall we cross the ground, Ailie, and go into the park ? " he askod. " Yes," she replied. " I will go anywhere that you like." Thon they walked down the broad flight of steps that led from the terrace to the ground. As they entered the park, they turned, as though by mutual consent, to look at the bouse. The greater part of the massive, picturesque building lay in darkness ; from the windows of the smoking-room, on the ground floor, there came a broad stream of light ; from the windows of the rooms on the second floor came a lesser light ; and Ailie saw her husband look, with wistful eyo», at the window of the room where Lidy Ethel slept. " You thought that so Dear the house we might be Been .'" she, said. " I had the samo idea. It is much safer here." Then they did not speak again until they reached the lake-side, and Lord Carsdale said, gravely : " Sit down here, Ailie. That which I have to say will take some lime. I must not tire you." Ailio sat down. He stood leaning against the iron seat, thinking to himself it would be easier to kill her than to break her heart. In the darkness he could just see the fair, innocent face ; the eyes so full of trust and faith ; the sweet, sensitive lips. He could ccc it and he hated to speak the words whioh would bring the bitterness of death and sorrow there. It had to be done, and he knew that the longer he stood watching her, the more unwilling he would be to begin. "Ailie," he said, with desperate earnestness 1 , " I want to speak to you as I hate never spoken to you before— heart to heart. I want to tell you my story — my love— my sorrow — my desire." Even in the darkness he saw the sudden gloom that came over her face. She rose from her seat. " Let me be nearer to you, then, Lord Carsdale," she said. " Sitting here, it seems to me that lam twenty miles away. Lot me be nearer to you. Somowhere— where I can hold your hand." "It will be better not, Ailie," he said, gravely. But she did not seem to have beard him. She stood by hi 3 side, looking at him intently, as though life or death depended on his words. She took his hand ;he could not refuse her. 11 Poor, gentle child," he thought. "It is almost for the last time." " What are you going to say to me, ray love?" said Ailie. "Soe how the leaves there tremblo and shudder in the wind, yet they do not tremblo an I do. You look so grave, I am afraid, sorely afraid." "Listen to roe, Ailie," he said, "anJ believe me that I hate myself as I speak — that I would give the world, were it mine, to free myself from the odium that must clldr to me. I— l am not whnt people call a religious man; but I beg pardon of (lod, and of you, Ailio— of you " " I have nothing to forgive," nho Faid. •' You have been nil that waa most generous and noble to inc." " I must go back to tho beginning of our acquaintanceship," he eaid, " to make my story clear. Ailie, tho day that I went suddenly to the housekeeper's room and Haw you was an unfortunate day for us both." " Not for me, love," Ailie said genMy, " not for me." " For us both, Ailie; had \\c never mot, you would have loved and married some one who would bavo made you a far better husband than I have ever done." " I would rather have misery from your

hands than happiness from unother,' ohe saitl. ' You know, Ailic, that aftei all there has beon no deceb. That day when I brw yon firet, I thought you the prettiest girl I had ever Been. I —you know it, bo I need not tell you — I did not love you. I have never loved you, Ailie, but I adiniro you. I admired you that moment, and I have done so ever but fvdtnii ition id not love, ia it, Ailie .' " " No, indeed," she replied, with a eu&len little amilo, " it is not love, Lord Carlisle." "No ; wo both agree theio, As I tell you, Ailie, I admired you, and you seemed to me so innocent, so helpless; and when I spoke to you, you told mo that you had so little happinetjs. The thought that came into my mind was of the groat difference between our lives ; I htid had so much pleasure, you so little, that I longed to put some little happiness in your way. I thought of no moro than that at the time— no more." " I know it," eaid Ailie, gently. "It was a generous thought; one that only comes from a generous mind." " I pu//,led myself for some little time until I thought of that unfortunate regatta. Now, Ailio, I ought to havo bad more sense ; I ought to havo known better than to have persuaded a young girl like you to go out for a day in that fashion, but I meant no harm, ocly that you should have one day's pleasure." "I knowit," she replied, gently. " All our misfortune cime from that," he said ; " and, Ailie, it is of the consequences of that day I want to spoak to you now." Then she knew the hour she had long waited for had arrived, and that her husband was going to speak to her about her marriage,