HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Times, 1916-08-10, Page 7S Sn�S T S SSS S SuS SS
August loth, 1916
THE WINGHAM TIMES
Page 7
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WIFE IN NAME ONLY
BY BERTHA M. CLAY
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""r2 "have Ween yut3- nc'I EImtre
you. I have all the affection of a
brother for you, Philippa—" and
then he paused abruptly.
But," she supplied, "yon have
never thought of making me your
wife? Speak to me quite frankly,
Norman."
"No, Philippa, I have not."
"As matters stand between us, they
require explanation," she said; and
lie saw her lips grow pale. "It is not
pleasant for me to have to mention it,
but I• must do it. Norman, do you
,quite forget what we were taught to
believe when we were children -that
our lives were to be passed together?"
"My dearest Philippa, pray spare
yourself and me. I did not know that
you even remembered' that childish
nonsense."
She raised her dark eyes to his lace
and there was something in them be-
fore which he shrank as one who feels
pain.
"One word, Norman -only one word.
'That past which has been so much
to me -that past in which I have liv-
ed, even more than in the present or
the future -am I to look upon it as
what you call nonsense?"
He took her hand in his.
"My dear Philippa," he said, '"I
hate myself for what I have to say -
it makes me detest even the sound of
my own voice. Yet you are right -e
there is nothing for us but perfect
frankness; anything else would be
'foolish: Neither your mother nor
mine had any right to try to bind us.
Such things never answer, never pros-
per. I cannot myself imagine how
they, usually so sensible, came in
this instance to disregard all dictates
,of common sense. I have always
looked upon the arrangementas mere
nonsense; and I hope you have done
rthe same. You are free as air -and
-so am I."
She made no answer, but, after a
Yew minutes, when she had gained her
-self-possession, she said:
"The sun is warm on the water -
1 think we had better return"; and,
'as they went back, she spoke to him
carelessly about the neve rage frog' gar -
.den -parties.
"Does she care or not?" thought
'Lord Arleigh to himself. "Is she
pleased or not? I cannot tell; the
ways of women are inscrutable. Yet
.a strange idea haunts me -an uncom-
fortable suspicion."
As he welched her, there seemed
•to him no trace of anything but light -
:hearted mirth and happiness about
her. She laughed and talked; she
•w'as the centre of attraction, the life
•of the fete. When he spoke to her
:she had a careless jest, a laughing
ward for him; yet he could not di-
vest himself of the idea that there was
something behind all this. Was it
fancy, or did the dark eyes wear every
now and then an expression of an-
;gtiish? Was it his fancy, or did it
'really happen that when she believed
+herself unobserved, the light died out
.of her face?
He was uncomfortable, without
knowing why --haunted by a vague,
rmiserable suspicion he could not
.explain, by a presentiment he could
snot understand -compelled against his
•will to watch her, yet unable to de-
tect anything in her words and man-
ner that justified his doing so. It
:had been arranged that after the fete
he should return to Verdun House
:with Lady Peters and Philippa. He
thtad half promised to dine and spend
'the evening there, but now he won-
dered if that arrangement would be
:agreeable to Philippa. He felt that
:some degree of restraint had arisen
between them.
He was thinking what excuse he
-could frame, when Philippa sent for
him. He looked into the fresh young
dace; there was no cloud on it..
' "Norman," she said, "1 find that
'Lady Peters has asked Miss %atm
ado join us at dinner -will you come
new? It has been a . charming day,
,but I must own that the warmth oI
the sun hat tired me."
Her tone of voice was so calm, so
uunm d..-he,..conld- have lausher.L4
Had Weak Back
and ,Kidneys.
"COULD HARDLY MOVE IN IED.
When the back becomes weak and
:starts to ache and pain it is a sure sign
r ,that the kidneys ate tot performing, their
1 functions properly.
On the first sign of backache Doaree
Kidney Pills should be taken and serious
;.kidney troubles prevented.
Mr. Francis McInnes, Woodbine, N.S.,
•writes: "I deem it my duty to let you
know the wonderful results I have re-
,eeived from the use of Doan's Kidney
Pills. For a long time I had been suf-
•ftring from weak back and kidneys. I
• uszd to suffer the most at night, and some
,tithes could hardly move in bed with the
pain. I could do no hard labor on
.account of my back, A friend advised
me to give Doan's Kidney pills a trial,
.anrl I am glad I did for the pain le sty
kidneys is "gone; my hack is strong, and
I can perform any hard labor and get
my gook night's sleep. I telly used three
'boxes of the pills."
Dean's Kidney Pills are *60 tents per
box, or 3 boxes for $1'.25; at sell dealers, or
mailed direct on receipt of price by 11, -
Milburn Co., limited, 'Pilton tG, (
When orderieg direct specify "Doau'e :•'
1
liitmen'ror&--eupp eitM, TvE "f'ear�¢
"I am quite ready," he replied. "Ii
you would like the carriage ordered,
we will go at once."
He noticed her going home more,
particularly than he had ever clone
before. She was a trifle paler, and
there was a languid expression in
her dark eyes which might axis* hum
fatigue, but she talked lightly as us-
ual, never evincing the least con-
eciousness. of what had happened..
Could it have been a dream? Never'
was man so puzzled as Lord Arleigh..
They talked after dinner about a,
grand fancy ball that Miss Byron•
intended giving at her mansion m
Grosvenor Square. She was one of,
those who believed implicitly in the
engagement between Lord Arleigh and
Miss L'Estrange.
"I have a Waverley quadrille al-
ready formed," said Miss Byston--
"that is de rigueur. There could not
be a fancy ball without a Waverley
quadrille. How I should like tau
Shakespearian ones! I thought of
having one from 'As You Like It' and
another from 'Romeo and Juliet"; and,
Miss L'Estrange, I wish you would
come as Juliet. It seems rude even
to suggest a character to any one with,
such perfect taste as yours --still I
should like a beautiful Juliet --Janet
in white satin, and glimmer of
"I ani quite willing," returned Phi-
lippa. "Juliet is one of my favorite
heroines. How many Romeos will you
haver'
"Only one, if I can so manage it."
replied Miss Byron -"and that will
be Lord Arleigh."
She looked at him as she spoke; be
shook his head laughingly.
"No -I yield to no one in reveranee
for the creations of the great poet,"
he said; "but, to tell the truth, I do
not remember that the character of
Romeo ever had any great cbaarn-ler
.Why noir asked Miss Beaton
"I cannot tell you; I am very much
afraid that I prefer Otheile--the noble
Moor. Perhaps it is because senti-
ment has not any great attraction for
me. I do not think I could ever kill
myself for love. I should make a
sorry Romeo, Miss Byrton."
With a puzzled face she looked from
him to Wes L'Estrange.
"You surprise me," she said, quiet-
ly. "I should have thought Romeo
a character above all others to please
yon."
Philippa had listened with a smile
-nothing had escaped her. Looking
up, ahe said, with a bright laugh:
"I cannot compliment you on be-
ing a good judge of character, Mies
Byrton. It may be perhaps that you
have not known Lord Arleigh well
enough. But he is the last person
in the world to make a good Romeo.
I know but one character in )aake-
speare's plays that would suit iYium."
"And that?" interrogated Lord Ar -
"That, " replied Philippa, "is Pe.
truchio"; and amidst a general laugh
the conversation ended.
Miss Byrion was the first to take
her departure. Lord Arleigh Lingered
for some little time --he was still un-
convinced. The wretched, half formed
suspicion that there was something
hidden beneath Philippoes manner
still pursued him; he wanted to see
if she was the same to him. There
was indeed no pereeptibie difference.
She leaned back in her favorite chair
with an air of relief, as though she
were tired of visitors.
"Now let us talk about the fete,
Norman," she said. "You are the
only one I care to talk with about
my neighbors."
So for half an hour they discussed
the fete, the dresses, the music, the
different flirtations -Philippa in her
usual bright, laughing, hall -saris
fashion, with the, keen sense of hu-
mor that was peculiar to her. Lord
Arleigh could not see that tbete was
any effort in her converted/ion; he
egad not "see the least : s inflow cn
thitn=hiniess, and at heart he was
When he was going army, she rak-
ed him about riding on the mortar
joint as usual. He could not see the
slightest difference in her manner.
That unpleasant little conversation Oe
thelake might never have taken piece
for' all the remembrance of it that
seemed to trouble her. Ti,dsewhen
he rose to take his leave, she field bat
her band with a bright,. =needec-
Oression.
"knoll -night, Petrnchio." she std.
"I ani pleased at the name I lreiie
found for you." -
"I am not so sure that it is appro-
priate," he rejoined, "I' think, ton
the whole, I would rather love a Ju-
liet than tame a' sheen."
'"It may be the book of fate that
yon will de both, ' she observed; and
they parted, laughing at the idea
To the .bat the 'light shone in her
eyes, and the scarlet lips were wreath-
ed in sunder; but, when the door had
dosed behind hire and she was alone,
the. haggard, terrible change that fell
over the 'oma lace was painful to
see. The ligirt, the youth, the beauty
manned all to fade from it; it grew
whit, steidcen, as though the pawn of
demith were 'upon her. She claspedher
balsas as one who had last all hope.
"now am I to bear it?" she cried.
"What, Mir I to doe' She looked
around her' with the bewildered `air
of one who had lost her way--•liith
the darted' apoidanee of one fetal be-
neath whose feet the plank of safety
had been withdrawn. It wasall over
-•life.,was,.7il. iver �. Ott . »
beenTier rire'w`as-sucrdeniy taken irons
her. Hope was dead -the past in
which she had lived was all a blank -
he did not love her.
She said the words, over and over
again to herself. He did not love her,
this man to whom she had given the
passionate love of her whole heart
and soul- =he did not love her, and
never intended to ask her to be his
wife.
Why, she had lived for this! This
love, lying now in ruins around her,
had been her existence. Standing
there, in the first full pain of her de-
spair, she realized what that love had
been -her life, her hope, her world.
She had lived in it; she had known
no other wish, no other desire. It
had been her all, and now it was less
than nothing.
"How am I to live and bear it?"
she asked herself again; and the only
answer that came to her was the dull
echo of her own despair.
That night, while the sweet flowers
slept under the light of the stars,
and the little birds rested in the deep
shade of the trees -while tbe night
wind whispered low, and the moon
sailed in the sky - Philippa
L'Estrange, the belle of the season,
one of the most beautiful women in
London, one of the wealthiest heir-
esses in England, wept through her
long hours -wept for the overthrow
of her hope and her love, wept for the
life that lay in the rains around her.
She was of daumtless courage -she
knew no fear; but she did tremble
and quail before the future stretch-
ing out before her - the future that
was to have no love, and was to be
spent without him.
How was she to bear it? She had
known no other hope in life, no oth-
er dream, What had been childish
nonsense to him had been to her a
serious and exquisite reality. He had
either forgotten it, or had thought
of it only with annoyance; she had
made it the very corner -stone of her
life.
It was not only a blow of the keen-
est and cruelest kind to her affections,
but it was the cruelest blow her van-
ity could have possible received. To
think that she, who had more admir-
ers at her feet than any other wo-
man in London, should have tried so
hard 'to wire this one, and have failed
-that her beauty, her grace, her wit,
her talent, should all have been lav-
ished upon him, and lavished in vain.
Why had she failed so completely?
Why had she not won his love? It
was given to no other -at least she
had the consolation of knowing that.
He had talked about his ideal, but
he had not found it, he had his own
ideal of womanhood, but he had not
met with it.
"Are other women fairer, more lov-
able than I am?" she asked herself.
"Why should another win where I
have failed?"
So through the long hours of the
starlit night she lamented the love
and the wreck of her life, she mourn-
ed for the hope that could never live
again, while her name was on the lips
of men who praised her as the queen
of beauty, and fair women envied
her as one who had but to will and
to win.
She would have given her whole for-
tune to win his love -not once, but
a hundred times over.
It seemed to her a cruel mockery
of fate that she who had everything
the world could give -beauty, health,
wealth, fortune --should ask but this
one gift, and that it should be refused
her.
She watched the stars until they
faded from the skies, and then she
buried her face in the pillow and sob-
bed herself to sleep.
CHAPTER XII.
It was when the sun, shining into
her room, reached her that an idea
occurred to Philippa which was like
the 4 -springing of new life to her.
All was not yet loot. He did not ,love
her -he had not thought of making
her his wile; but it did not follow
that he would never do so. What had
not, patience and perseverance aoeom-
plithed before now? What bad not
love woe?
He had acknowledged that she was
beantifvl; he had owned to her often
how much he admired her. Sa much
granted, was it impossible that he
efould learn to love ' her? She told
herself that she would take courage -
thee she world persevere -that her
great love =east in time prevail, and
that she would devote her life en-
weariedty to it.
She would caaefufly hide all traces
of pique orannoyance. She would
never' let him find her dell or un-
happy. Men liked to be amtised. She
would do her best to entertain him;
he should never have a moment's va-
cancy in her society. She would find
sparkling anecdotes, repartees, witty,
humorous etiiriiese to amuse Mimi. He
liked her singing, she would culti-
vate it more and more. She would
seedy him, dress for hint', lice for him,
and him alone; she would have no
other 'cosh aim, thought, or desire.
She would herself be the source of
all'his amveemente, so that he should
look for the •evey-day pleatsuree' Of
hill life to her --mill, such being the
base, she would win hire; she feltsnro
of it. Why had she been so hopeless,
so despairing? There was no real
canoe for it. Perhaps, atter all, he
bifid looked tipbn the whole affair,
not as a solemn engagement,, but as
a childish farce. Perhaps he had nev-
ar-lreAiis ..gueleh-t .af 1 .-W.a ra
Heart Palpitated
Would Have to Sit Up in Bed.
FELT AS IF'SMOTHERING:
Mrs. Francis Madore, Alma, P.E.I.,
writes: "My heart was in such a bad
condition I could not stand any .excite-
ment, and at times when I would be
talking my heart would palpitate so
that I would feel like falling. At night,
when I would go to bed and be lying
down for a while, I would have to sit up
for: ten or fifteen minutes, as I would
feel as though I was smothering. I read
in the daily paper of a lady who had been
in the same condition as I was, and was
cured by using Milburn's Heart and
Nerve Pills, so I bought a box, and they
did me so much good, my husband got
another, and before I had used half of
the second box I was completely cured.
I feel as though I can never say enough
in favor of your Heart and Nerve Pills."
Milburn's Heart and Nerve Pills are
composed of the very best heart and
nerve tonics and stimulants known to
medical science, and arq for sale at all
dealers, or will be mailed direct by The
T. Milburn Co., Limited, Toronto, Ont.
Price, 50 cents per box, or 3 boxes for
11.25
Mit Viers -OITICFie dui end- fo-ffiat
thoughtlessness now. What had pass-
ed on the previous day would arouse
his attention; he could never know
the same indifference again.
So she arose with renewed hope.
She shrank from the look of her face
in the glass. "Cold water and fresh
air," she said to herself, with a smile,
"will soon remedy such paleness."
And thus on that very day began for
her the new life -the life in which,
no longer sure of her love, she was
to try to win it,
He would have loved her had he
been able; but his own words were
true -"Love is fate."
There was nothing in common be-
tween them -no sympathy -none of
those mystical chords that, once
touched, set two human hearts throb-
bing, and never rest until they are
one. He could not have been fonder
of her than he was, in a brotherly
sense; but as for lover's love, from
the first day he had seen her, a beau-
tiful, dark -eyed child, until the last
he had never felt the least semblance
of it.
It was a story of failure. She strove
as perhaps woman never before had
striven, and she succeeded in winning
his truest admiration, his warmest
friendship; he felt more at home with
her than any one else in the wide
world. But there it ended -she won
no more.
It was not, his fault, it was simply
because the electric spark called love
had never been and never could be
elicited between his soul and hers.
He would have done anything for her
-he was her truest, best friend; but
he was not her lover.
She hoped against hope. Each day
she counted the kind words he had
said to her; she noted every glance,
every look, every expression. But
she could not find that she made any
progress -nothing that indicated any
change from brotherly friendship to
love. Still she hoped against hope;
and but for this fountain of hope the
chances are that she would have died
of a broken heart.
Then the season ended. She went
back to Verdun Royal with Lady
Peters, and Lord Arleigh to Beech -
grove. They wrote to each other at
Christmas, and met at Calverley, the
seat of Lord Rineham. She contriv-
ed, even when away from him, to fill
his life. She was always consulting
him on matters of interest to her;
she sought his advice continually, and
about everything, from the renewal
of a lease to the making of a new
acquaintance. "I cannot do wrong,"
she would say to him, "if I follow
your advice." He was pleased and
happy to be able to help the daugh-
ter of his mother's dearest friend.
Her manner completely deceived
him. If she bad evinced the least
pique or discontent- if she had by
word or look shown the least resent-
ment -he would have suspected that
she cared for him, and would have
been on his guard. As it was, he
would not have believed any one who
hail told him she loved him.
The explanation had been made;
there was no imager even a shadow
between them; they both understood
that the weak nonsensical tie was
broken. That they were the dearest
of friends, and quite happy, would
hay, _beery_ArtPie . notion ref
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ompipIRPINIMPINIPININIMPIIIMPO
tTiit1eis.'bitiilap z ;isieanginnrgiit
have told a different story.
The proposed party at Beechgrove
did not come off, There were some
repairs needed in the eastern wing,
and Lord Arleigh himself had so many
engagements, that no time could be
found for it; but when the season
came round Philippa and he met
again.
By this time some of Miss
L'Estrange's admirers had come to
the conclusion that there was no truth
in. the report of the engagement be-
tween herself and Lord Arleigh.
Amongst these was his grace the Duke
of Hazlewood. He loved the beauti-
ful queenly girl who had so disdain-
fully' refused his coronet -the very
refusal had made him care more than
ever for her. He was worldly-wise
enough to know that there were few
women in London who would have
refused him; and he said to himself
that, if she would not marry him, he
would go unmarried to the grave. He
was one of the first to feel sure that
there was no truth in the rumors that
had grieved him so the previous year.
Miss L'Estrange and Lord Arleigh
were by force of circumstances great
friends -nothing more; and this sea-
son he determined to make a friend
of the man he had detested as a rival.
When the Duke of Hazlewood made
up his mind, he generally accomplish-
ed his desire; he sought Lord Arleigh
with such assiduity, he made himself
so pleasant and agreeable to him, that
the master of Beechgrove soon showed
him his most cordial and sincere lik-
ing. Then they became warm friends.
The duke confided in Lord Arleigh-
hehim told th , e whole ole story of his
love for Miss L'Estrange.
"I know," he said, "that no one has
so much influence over her as you. I
do not believe in the absurd stories
told about an engagement between
you, but I see plainly that she is
your friend, and that you are hers;
and I want you to use your influence
with her in my favor."
Lord Arleigh promised to do so -
and he intended to keep his promise;
they were on such intimate and
friendly terms that he could venture
upon saying anything of that kind
to her. She would not be displeased
-on the contrary, she would like his
advice, it might even be that before
now she had wished to ask for it, but
had not liked to do so-so completely
did these two play at cross-purposes
and misunderstand each other.
It was easier to say to himself that
he would speak to her as the duke
wished than to do it. He saw that
any allusion to her lovers or admirers
made her ill at ease -she did not like
it; even his laughing comments on
the homage paid to her did not please
her.
"I do not like lovers," she said to
him one day, "and I am tired of ad-
mirers -I prefer friends."
"But," he opposed, laughingly, "if
all that wise men and philosophers
tell us is correct, there are no true
friends."
He never forgot the light that shone
in her face as she raised it to his.
"I do not believe that," she re-
turned, "there are true friends -you
are one to me."
The tenderness of her manner struck
him forcibly. Something kinder and
softer stirred in his heart than had
ever stirred before for her; he raised
her hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Yon are right, Philippa," he said.
"If ever a woman had a true, stanch
friend, I am and will be one to you."
From her heart to her lips rose the
words, "Shall you never be more?"
Perhaps even her eyes asked the ques-
tion more eloquently than her lips
could have done, for his face flushed,
and she turned away with some slight
embarrassment.
I shall try to keep your friend-
ship," she said; "but that will be
easily done, Norman."
"Yea," he replied; "one of the tree
ditiong of our house is 'truth in friend-
ship, trust in love, honor in war.' To
be a true friend and a noble foe is
characteristic of the Arleighs."
"I hope you will never be a foe of
mine," she rejoined, laughingly. And
that evening, thinking over the events
of the day, she flattered herself that
she had. made some little progress at -
ter all.
CHAPTER XIII.
The opportunity that Lord Arleigh
looked for came at last. Philippa had
some reason to doubt the honesty of
a man whom she had been employing
as agent. She was kind of heart, and
did not wish to punish him, yet she
felt sure that he had not done his
duty by her. To speak to her solicitors
about it would be, she felt, injurious
to him, whether innocent or guilty.
If innocent, it would create a pre-
judice against him; if guilty, they
would wish to punish him. She re-
solved upon laying the matter before
Lord
neigh, and seeing what be
thought of it.
He listened very patiently, exam-
ined the affair, and then told her that
he believed she had been robbed.
"What. shall I do?" elm asked, look-
ing at him earnestly.
I know what you ought to do,
Philippa. You ought to punish him."
"But he has a wife, Norman, and
innocent little children; in exposing
him I shall punish them, and they
am innocent."
That is one of the strangest of uni-
versal laws to me," said Lord Ar-
/ h: "why the innocent always do
anti always must suffer for the guilty;
it is one of the mysteries 1 shall nev-
er understand. Common sena tells
me that you ought to expose. thin mau
-that he ought to be punished for
what he has dome. Yet, if you do, his'
wife and children will be dragged
down into an abyss of misery. Sup-
pose yon make a eoamprome of mat-
ters and lecture him well.
He was half smiling as he speke,
but she took every word in senora
earnest.
°Philippa," he continued, "why do
you riot marry? A husband would ea>,e
you all this trouble; he would attend
to your affairs, and shield yar from
annoyances of this kind."
"The aaswar to your question,
do I not marry?" would form a bag
story," she replied, and that she
turned the conversation.
But he was determined to )kap his
w4, as ea4ed. wfti► her- fuer t
gym.+y,
Ng 42
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Opium,Morphine nor Mineral.:
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THE CENTOR o�YO k'
MONTREAL & N�
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Exact Copy of Wrapper.
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For Infants and Children.
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Thirty Years,
CASTORIA
?Ni CiNT*' COMPANY,"Nee, YO,,,( C,TV-
duke. -Anotliei^ opportuniff came tans
evening. It was Lady Peters' birth-
day, and Philippa had invited some
of her most intimate friends; not
young people, but those with whom'
she thought her chaperon would en-
joy herself best. The result was a very
pleasant dinner party, followed by a
very pleasant evening. Load Arleigh
could not be absent, for it was, in'
some measure, a family fete.
The guests did not remain very late,
and Lady Peters, professing herself
tired with tbe exertions she had madei
lay down on a couch, and was soon
asleep. Philippa stood by the window,
with the rose -silk hangings drawn.
"Come out on tbe balcony," she
said to Lord Arleigh, "the room is'
very warm."
It was night, but the darkness was
silver-gray, not black. The sky above
was brilliant with the gleam of a
thousand stars, the moon was shin-
ing behind some silvery clouds, the
great masses of foliage in the park
were just stirred with the whisper of
the night, and sweetest odors came
from heliotrope and mignonette; the
brooding silence of the summer night
lay over the land.
Philippa sat down, and Lord Arleigh
stood by her side.
The moonlight falling on her beau-
tiful face softened it into wondrous
loveliness -it was pale, refined, with
depths of passion in the dark eyes,
and tender, tremulous smiles on the
scarlet lips. She wore some material
of white and gold. A thin scarf was
thrown carelessly over her white
shoulders. When the wind stirred it
blew the scarf against her face.
She might have been the very god-
dess of love, she looked so fair out in
the starlight. If there had been one
particle of love in Lord Arleigh's
heart, that hour and scene must have
called it into life. For a, time they sat
In perfect silence. Her head was
thrown back against a pillar round
which red roses clustered and .clung,
and the light of the stars fell hill up-
on her face; the dark eyes were hill of
radiance.
How beautiful it is, Norman!" she
s suddenly. "What music bas ever
equaled the whispers of the night
wind? It seems a sad pity after all
that we are obliged to lead such con-
ventional lives, and spend the greater
part of them in warm, dose rooms."
"You have a great love for out•of-
door freedom," he remarked, laugh-
ingly.
Yes, I love the fresh air. I think if
any one asked me what I loved best
on earth, I should say the wind. I
love it in all its moods -rough, car-
essing, tender, impetuous, calm,
stormy. It is always beautiful. Listen
to it now, just sighing in the branches
of those tall trees. Could any music
be eweeter or softer?"
"No," he replied, and then added:
"The time and the scene embolden
me, Philippa; there is something that
I wish to say to you --something that
I long have wished to say. Will you
hear it now?
A tremor` like that of the trees in
the wind seemed to pass over her.
There was a startled expression in
the dark eyes, a quiver of the crirrr-
eon lips. Was it coming at last --this
for which she had longed all her life?
She controlled all outward signs of
emotion and turned to him quite calm-
lyi`I ant always ready to listen to
you, NNrtnan, and to hear what yon
have to say."
"Yore bee; ghilippe, the starlight
makes me bold. If we were in that
brilliatrt1y iig}it�i drawingaroom of
yoga, I shorild probably hesitate long
before speaking, as tun going to do
now."
He saw her clasp her hands tight-.
ly, but he hod no key to *hat was
passing in her mind. He area nearer,
to her.
'Yost leisure, P'hierok" he began.
"that I have aiwape bean f+bud of
you. I have always taken the Jame
interest in ran _that I aleoudd have
taken in a dy-loved elder of my
own, if Heaven had given. me one."
She muuunmrod some flyer words
w7ch_lt�e did_�u .ice .. -
--r sat going to apes= to you now/4
lie continued, "just as though. yo
were my own sister; have I your per-
mission to do so, Philippa?"
Yes," she replied.
And you promise not to be angr'yj
about anything that I may say?"
"I could never be angry with yotte
Norman," she answered.
"Then I want you to tell me wh1
you will not marry the Duk of Harley
wood. You have treated me as your
brother and your friend. The question
might seem impertinent from another,
from me it will not appear impertin.t
ent, nor curious -simply true ands
kindly interest. Why will you not
marry him, Philippa?"
A quick sharp spasm of pain passed
over her face. She was silent for at
minute before she answered him, and
then she said: -
The reason is very simple, Normans
-because I do not love him."
"That is certainly a strong reason;t
but, Philippa, let me ask you now
another question -why do you not,
love him?"
She could have retorted, "Why do
you not love me?" but prudence fora
bade it.
I cannot tell you. I have heard
you say love is fate. I should imaging
it must be because the Duke of Hazle-
wood, is not my fate."
He did not know what answer tot
make to that, it was so entirely his;
own way of thinking.
But, Philippa," he resumed, after
a pause, "do you not think that yea..
might love him if you tried?"
I have never thought about it,"t
was the quiet reply.
Lord Arieigh continued:
"In my idea he is one of the mostt
charming men in England; I have
never seen a more perfect type of what!
an English gentleman should be• -het
is noble, generous, brave, chivalrouse
What fault do you find with him,
Philippa?"
I?" she asked. looking up at him;
in wonder. "My dear Norman, I have
never found fault with the duke irg
my life."
"Then why can you not love him?"t
"That is a very different thing. Il
find no fault with him; on the con=
trary, I agree with you that he is one
of the noblest of men, yet I hovel
never thought of marrying him.
But, Philippa" -and with kindly,
impressiveness he laid one hand on.
her shoulder -"why do you not think
'of marrying him? Between you and'
myself there can be no complimentg,1
mo flattery. I tell you that of all the;
women in England you are the one'
most fitted to be the Duchess of
Hazlewood• -rand you would be a bean-
rtiful duchess, too. Think of the posi
tion you would occupy -second
to royalty. I should like to see you in
such a position -you would fill its
grandly. Think of the power, the in -4
'fluence, the enormous amount of good
you could do; think of it all, Philip--
Pa."
' He did not see the sudden, sharp
quiver of pain that passed over the
beautiful face, nor how pale it grew
in +' • starlight.
"I am thinking," she answered,
quietly --"I am listening attentively
to all that you say."
1 She drew the light scarf more close-
ly around her shoulders, and shudder-
ed as though a chill breeze had pass-
ed over her.
e "A y yon cold, dear?" he asked
k"Odd! How could I be on this
warm starlit night? Go on, Norman;
let me hear all that you have to say."
"I am trying to persuade you to
accent what seems to ire one of the
happiest lots ever offered to worean,
I want to see you the Duke of Thule,
wood's wife. I cannot imagine hn
man more calculated to trio a wom-
an' love or to please her fancy than
he is. Ile is young, handsome, noble
in face and figure as he is in heart
and soul; and he is clever and gifted."
"Yee," she allowed, slowly, "he is
all that, Norman "
"Some day or other he, will be the
leading spirit in the land; he will be
the head of a great' party."
"That I believe," she agreed.
"And he loves you bo well.,
lava newel seen 'a wean mdrlk
*.� li(TO S ONTIN1J D.,)